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Silent Call Posted 5-19-2003 12:31
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Dear God,
I know you're looking at me and shaking your head
You know how I'm feeling
You know as I lay in bed
I wonder why it seems that I'm still by myself
And then I look at my Bible, gathering dust on the shelf.
You gave me a lot, something I can't regret
But you took away things I just wasn't ready to give away yet
Everything is a struggle, and I know that's how it's suppose to be
But when you have no spirit left and feel like there's no soul, what do you do from there
I don't like to fantasize because I've tread this world too long
I don't like to wish, because wishing is for children and sometimes just for fools
Why have I changed? Am I just of the world
Or are you unraveling who I am so you can fix me back like before
Why is the world like this, Lord? Why are people so fake? Why give us the power of decision, when we don't know how to make it?
Dear God, I know you're looking at me and saying "you can handle this, I brought you through some other things and the storm always quits" Look into my depth and tell me what you see...Is it ugly, old, ragged, well hey, that's just me. I used to look at the world, but now I'm just a part of it. Help me return, before I come to judgement. I don't know where I stand or if I'm even standing at all. So this is a prayer, this is my silent call.
EXCELLENT EXPOSURE
Lamar Hill & Taalam Acey
Taalam:
I'm a send this out to the bullshit promoters,
not all yall, just the ones who think yall getting over.
Telling these poets "This gig here don't pay,
but it's gonna be excellent exposure."
Then at the end of the night
after he features for you like a soldier,
you be in the back room countin' up cash
and you set aside an envelope for that wack ass band
with them loud ass amps
turned up so high I couldn't even here my man.
And they had the nerve to turn it up even higher
when the flier said this was supposed to be a poetry jam.
How you gonna misuse his issues to get you
some groceries? watch me closely "Fuck You!"
I hope a poet keys your car in the store lot.
Then bust all your windows and tires
and wait around to see what you got.
Then ram your ass with the shopping cart.
And be like "Yo, you best to deposit my share
of what we bought."
Poetry's on television and Broadway
so you thinking it's hot.
So you gonna charge your crowd a fee
then get your poets to feature for free.
And at the end of the night have the nerve
to not even cop his CD?
poet's listen to me, pay that mothafucka a visit.
Be like, "Yo, you announced my CD from the stage
dawg but then you ain't get it."
Then place it firmly in your hand and grip it
and smack the shit out of'em with it.
And don't leave the scene,
until all your excess product is appropriately fitted.
Lamar Hill:
They say those who can't do
teach, and this may be true.
But in poetry, those who can't do
become promoters and open up poetry venues,
then they hate on every single big dawg
that comes through
like "No Mar, we can't get you
on the list tonight that shit is full."
When they know half the crowd
came to see the god get down
and since poetry is how i make my living
its almost like their taking food
directly out of my son's mouth.
And i can't have that
so i sit in the rear
back to the wall
with two 22s in my shoes like Biggie Smalls.
The last thing in this lifetime you wanna do
is piss a nigga from Newark off.
So when the show's over
i'm a need your wallet,
car keys and cell phone.
And, if you're really nice
and give me gas money,
i might take your punk ass home.
Fuck exposure,
i put the fear of God in promoters.
Cause if i don't get paid,
be afraid,
be very afraid.
This ain't a game.
You niggas ain't focused.
You watched loved Love Jones and figured
you could make a couple of dollars
exploiting hungry poets.
But i eat well,
so the next time i hear about a poet
getting a raw deal
me and Taalam gonna come through your spot,
rock then confiscate your cash box,
distribute the money
to the poets that we feel are hot,
then leave you in the worst part of your city
in nothing but a pink scarf and tube socks
nigga what!
Taalam Acey:
I don't know what his crowd was thinking
but yo he ain't pay to bring him here.
That poet paid his own plane, train or bus fear.
Knowing deep inside he had some tears to share
and hoping he might sell a few CDs when it was over.
And yall felt him to the bottom of your soul
but at the end of the night yall still gave him the cold shoulder.
And that poet might of had a few drinks tonight
but I can tell yall one thing once he realizes
that he's about to leave here
with more CDs than he came with
oh he's gonna be so sober.
And the saddest thing is latter on this week when you're
at your favorite record copping some bullshit CD
you're gonna wished had snatched his
but then again for him i guess it was just excellent exposure!
Lamar Hill:
Two or two hundred they get the same show
so two or two hundred I need the same doe.
It's not my fault your wack ass can't promote
nobody told you to pass out poetry flyers
at a fucking rap concert.
and i don't wanna hear that bullshit
about i had a bad night.
cause you gonna have a worse night
if you don't get right.
I mean do you really believe
that i don't intend to eat.
Do you really believe
that i don't intend to put this
gun in your side and escort you
to the ATM down the street.
(Lamar, you gotta calm down
and be sensible.)
No cause this ain't about the money
it's the principle.
Click Here to purchase Mar Hill CD's
Click Here to purchase Excellent Exsposure
Nailah
For my Lil Mami, Nailah Mae Saleem
She is of me -- She is mine
A phenomenal beginning overwhelmed my ever fiber of being
Fulfilling creation through the creator, I have only begun to be...
Behold:
N ativity, Nobility, blessedness -nature, and nurturing -- a child of my own
A spiration. Above and beyond all else- ambition --adolescence, an adult will be grown
I nspiration. Innocent infant introduction to idealism, an inexplicable sensation
L ove, light, life.-- Love of the light in my life-- a lively situation
A ngelic. All encompassing, all endearing, arisen amidst angels-she is my all
H eavenly. Hedonistic, a healing herb for my heart-- heaven sent for all
God given gift, gifted by God with the entire world at her beckon and call
The world is hers-- and I promise-any and everything patriarchal possible
Nonetheless, not withstanding-- until the end of time
I am of her And she is mine
Nailah's Website
Tif, '99
By Mary K. Cannon
KittyMaryC@aol.com
Oh well! O closet here we go again
cleaning you up from end to end
I am checking every door of my heart
to see what's not needed within
first there are worn out shoes, that made wrong steps
and many hats I could never wear
for they never matched just who I was
and they became too hard to bear
there hung many coats long and short
a late fifties trench-coat from the past
that pocketed memories of long ago
and for some reason they seem to last
but I sorted it out, which to keep
ridding the ones that caused me pain
and I asked help of God with this chore
so in life, more I would gain
I boxed up UN-forgiveness, and threw it away
and asked for grace to take it's place
I put strife in the trash, and lit a match
and now I wear a smile upon my face
I bagged up anger, and cast it afar
so God would put joy and happiness there
then the burdens of my heart rolled away
for I gave them all into his care
though my closet was full and cluttered
it now is filled with the love of God
so now when I open, the doors of my heart
I know he is pleased in what I have inside
they can be so many things that will pile up
many unhealthy to one's soul
and before you know it, you have no room
or any space for God to hold
so O closet this was your clean up day
and I feel pretty good about it
for it frees my heart from unwanted deeds
plus, it keeps my soul brightly lit
“Mind-fuck” – partly inspired by Kandace Taylor’s poem “Eargasm”
Benjamin Hughes - Copyright © 2003
You were
Mind-fucking me
With your poetry
We
Intimately
Shared notions
Developing potions
In you’re cooking pot
Using those voodoo recipes
To capture me
Sexing me
Phonetically
And I can’t believe
That we connected
Subjected to your lyrics
Singing
That’s my song
So as long…
As you have the Mic, go on and on
My mind is strong
And it will keep on running
Mind-fucking
Meeeeee
Ready to accept what you have given’
Although
You may not know
That I have been living
The same life
I understand your hidden subjects
I want to discuss mind-sets
Without using tongues or lips
So mind fuck me
Mind-fuck me
Baby
Mind-fuck me
Caught up in a net
Thoughts getting wet
Let’s set
The stage with your voice
Engaging
Carefully selecting
Your words of choice
With your prose you were
Was, is and will be
See
You were mentally
Emotionally and physically
Engraving scenes from your memories
Into my view
Showing what was true to you
So keep on doing
What it is you do
Stay in control
Keep on stroking my mind
I look up as our thoughts collide
I’m ready as you finish
To go on another ride
Awestruck
Anticipating my next orgasm
From your mind-fuck
MORTAL DESPISE,
THE MOONS RISE,
SHADES OF FINAL
AUTUM NO LONGER DESGUISED,
LIFE CONSUMED BY TIMES SLICK BELLY,
INVISIBLE BEAST OF
TORMENT, LEAVING
EVEN THE STRONGEST TO LAMENT,
THE BLIND SEE THE TRUTH ,
WHILE THE SIGHTED MEET
ONLY DARKNESS.
SmgShawn31@aol.com
ItsReaLight This is... So, what do you call it when you write what you know? Now I’m stuck New Jerusalem sets my soul free Reminds me that the open fields fight for freedom wild grass hates the constraints of manicures Obesity strangles the joy “What Freedom?” Thought to say something The hot air burns Standing ground Oppression held me tight Collapsed as I observed flowers WHAT FREEDOM? I’ve been here Setting my soul free Free from the belly Copyright 2003. ItsReaLight
Belly of the beast
Inspired for Iyaba Ibo Mandingo
Well, I don’t know what the hell this is.
I was told that
“When you write what you think, it’s an essay
And when you write what you feel, it’s a poem”
Because I feel to write as I think
To express what I know
Well shit
The only thing that’s the same in all three
Is the fact that I write
To romp open wheat fields
Surrounded by tar babies ran over
Metallic cotton fields
Branches spring forward
Expressing what it wants to leave
Gathering buds in uprise
Grass wraps weed
In a sad attempt to smoke
Cutting their freedom to express
Flowers embrace the breeze in beauty
Wondering why they get picked on to death
Or out picked by imitation resemblances
Of warm summer strolls
Heat turns white to red
As face swells
The hot air burns back and neck
the voice exploded
about face
come face to face with beast
smelled of death
Reeked of aged neglect
“DARE YOU SPEAK?”
Hissing through the jagged teeth of oppression
“I...I...”
“YOU?”
“I mean...we...”
“WE WHO?”
“Me...”
“YOUR TALKING IN CIRCLES FOOL!”
“Yes! I’ll talk circles around you.”
“YOU DARE...”
“I represent the We that resides in Me
Dear, Beast stick with Me
My circles will turn you dizzy”
“WELL, I...”
“You? Well, riddle Me this...
I am a fragment of the We
The We of omnipotency
That resides in Me
The Me that stands before you
With the audacity to be fearless
I fear only We...God
Dare you speak”
I hissed through the teeth of victory
Turns white to red as face swells
Heat that leaves joy lost
From warm summer strolls
Beast arose with Maine at it’s head
Beast dove and swallowed I, We, Me whole
Blackout until I was in belly
Surrounded by run down tar babies
Metallic cotton fields
Watch wild grass protest the new manicure constraints
Dying to be picked over imitation
I think a fourth night
I know longer
I feel forever
To romp the open wheat fields
Of New Jerusalem
I write
We write
Me...write
All right reserved
