Thursday, April 8, 2010

Let's do it

About to take a new twist to this blog...Hope you enjoy

Friday, February 27, 2009


Sitting on the couch with my hand inside my ziplock,

My phone sends word that my answer is coming,

A sweet voice greets my ear, gently speaking “I’m here”,

And asking if I could open the door,

So anxious, to show her the feeling that’s been feeling me up and down my body

I rose up slowly to the open the door that should remain closed,

But closed was my mind to the wisdom whispering “No”,

And as the knob twisted to allow an acquaintance most distant,

temptation’s scream “Yes” was all that I had listened too…

To her mouth to her neck going to the rated X,

I expressed loudly the noisy feeling that kept my ears ringing…

Heart pounding…Legs trembling…Lungs panting…

Underwear, panties, sweat, and sheets lay spread across the canvas,

Doomed to stay forever; the consequence of pleasure given by Temptation,

She kisses me slowly to seal my soul into the prison she keeps between her thighs,

As she uses her eyes to drown my flesh into the pool of her grey iris…

Skin dark chocolate…Body like a rocket…And a smile that could slide any boy into her back pocket…

Temptation was my first love and yes, I really mean it,

My heart was ensnared in her godless affairs and the pressure she bore on me when all she had to say was “I’m lonely”,

Never “I want you” or “You’re amazing” always that one simple phrase that would make my ego rise to 125 on a scale of 100,

Not knowing I was last on her list of caller IDs…

I was the only one thinking that our trapeze act was unique,

No safety net involved,

Yet still no crash,

Only meaning that there was no shred of evidence that us together ever existed…

Yet I poked my chest out and filled my head with helium because Temptation’s “I’m lonely” was my master calling,

Master bating myself to debating my wealth to such a diminishing level that when my reflection came from the mirror I felt like Dracula,

Invisible to the reality that it’s the death to my spirit that’s keeping my heart trapped…

All because I ignored the whisper of wisdom’s “No”,

And heeded to temptation’s scream of “Yes”,

Translated through Temptation’s sweet “I’m lonely”…

Friday, January 2, 2009

"Lean Thine Ear O Lord"

How come poeticism can't go over music?
I sit here frustrated with hip-hop beats boxing in my head,

It's not fair Lord that I can't spit Your word into a microphone within a padded booth,
Noise being blocked out by studio headphones.

Lord I don't want glamor or fame,
I even hid my name in a just in case fashion so they'd know You're not old fashioned,

So they know my poems phloem goes down to the roots of where it all started,
Where David first seeked Your heart,

Where Solomon climbed into a situation that he couldn't have imagined would have lasted eternity,
Yet the intimacy he spit watered a seed which sprouted into a biblical floetry,

Causing youth from futures unknown to kneel at Your feet with passions similar,
The only thing different now is my vernacular.

No more "thees" and "thous" or "bosoms" and "gardens",
but vocabulary with a lisp that forms even broader horizons.

It's our gift and curse of knowledge that accents our expression,
and it causes me to endure and expand further on this art of a poet's worship.

Even though the worship of the musician has grown so public now,
And honestly I desire to be apart of the powerful glow that comes in the form of blowing eardrums out...

See, a poet's worship gets drowned out by the drummed up guitar keys,
or the Pro-tools that blast out orchestrated auto-tuned beats,

And it's all because of the strings of an instrument or computer...
They cause my worshiping cords to strain and snap trying to match up with the glorification that they seem to give You.

See Lord, it's the poets heart that causes the vibrations that form this sound,
And yes I know You can see that but tell me how does that help everyone else out?,

You know I'd love to have international ears like The Breax, Theory and Lecrae,
not that I envy Your blessing to them it's only my desire that I feel will bring more demand on people to do things like Yahweh.

Well I desire that until You rebuke the storm after seeing my desire to give You praise,
At the same time convicting me with Paul's words reminding me that Your ways are not my ways.

Well Lord,
here I stand,

On the platform formulated for the worship given by the least heard,
but used in a mighty way simply because You made it apart of Your word,

And I will work overtime to ship this glorification to all ears,
because, thanks to You, a poet's worship is all I have to give.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Crying On Deaf Ears

Blue, Black, Red, or Green
Flowing down the abandoned streets,
Just a few colors flowing within a broad stream,
Colors in a desolate society of black and white aching from lack of variety,

Guilt, I think is what causes growth to pause,
Like looking into the eyes of a man who just saw you take his keys,
Yet you stick with "Naw it wasn't me!",
Until he comes down on your head with a thing unseen, but you know it's big because you felt it crack into your skull leaving you lying there numb...

But no longer numb to those colors that you just ignored,
As they have been slapped write over that tablet in your mind giving you no choice but to recite it
As the blood of you and another conform to each other within you,
Causing a rougher transition into reality than ever intended

See my pen bleeds,
But her screams are unheard,
Her inanimation inhibits her dramatization as the blood flows...

And I'm so tired of watching her suffer,
That's why I choose to use my voice to express her pain
So I can knock you upside your head in an effort to force you into my harsh reality
And providing the opportunity for another to join me in the stand against the stance of blind hypocrisy

Why see blood and ignore its presence?
Why bleed and expect everyone's acceptance?
Because even though they may see your tears or hear about the things you fear...
Does that mean they care?

The colors that flow out of the metal skins never settle down as they pour down the streets towards the doom of the next sewer...
Out of the sight of the one's who could have helped...

See, I rock a pen of many colors,
And I walk to my elders and tell them about my visions,
Yet they just look at me and glare...

Kind of like 1954, when segregation of minds and feelings were torn down so vicious,
Yet the one's of an older understanding and maturity could not make this vision theirs,
And they yelled, kicked, screamed like babies in a toy store because "No" reverberates in there ears

Because if you look in the B.C. and come back to A.D. you'll see that progress...?
Well, it all depends on your reality,
I still feel the affects of a segregation that causes my color to be ignored even though I can't take it off whether by disease or surgery
Because inside of me are the colors of many things viciously attacking each other waiting for someone to bring peace to the disorderly

So I bring up the question/issue that I suffer with constantly,
Because now you know the next step is you have to form a reaction,

So, did you hear the cry from the pen?
Or is it you struggling to the fight the voices that cause you to question your sanity?

Monday, December 8, 2008

Basic training of an Ephesians 6 Warrior

First and foremost,
Be confident in the one who presented you with the armor,

Because blood won't be shed but screams will erupt,
as rulers fall off their throne not founded on the Rock.

Secondly, before battle can commence,
things small and large must come into unison,

For order is a command in this army,
Given by the General of all.

Finally, confession,
admit that you don't deserve this thing,
admit that you should be the one being killed by the sword,

Only then will you be able to use it.

See, it's the helmet, the breastplate, the girdle, the sandels, and shield that protect,
But what good is defense if there's no offense to motivate?

So the sword is equally as important,
making the prerequisites more imminent.

So as you line up in preparation,
I stand before you with another proclamation,

To remember who the enemy is!
But never forget your weaknesses.

Testimonies always makes this enemy seem not so great,
And frankly he's already defeated,
But if you turn your back on him for a second,

Well that's just a second too late.

See, it's funny how victories lead to pride,
While our Commander commands us to be humble on the inside,

For our Leader knows all the tricks that the enemy has,
it's us that are left out of the scheme so who are we to think fast?

Free choice? Free will? Beautiful I know,
But taking away that freedom is truly the only way you can grow.

Take it all away in order for something to be given soldier,
Then you'll fight with blood on your hands,

Because the ultimate Warrior has risen.

He slayed Himself in order for us to fight!
See He and the Commander are kind of tight,
They came up with a scheme that only few will understand,

All because They wanted to see YOU where you stand.