May 26, 2012

y’all do know that about 87% (<–random #) of the things we participate in are made up right? social constructs…and littered with flights of fancy. Money, Time, etc. All social constructs. There is a currency, but it’s not this paper we chase, there is time, but the clock is way longer than we would ever count. But they way we understand the world, the how we do things is created by whatever the power structure is, and altered according to the whims of that same power. So…that means change is possible, and inevitable. Get to making a difference.

Good morning. Happy Saturday!


May, 25th 2012

I know certain nonsense ideals exist in every part of life, but I have worked really hard to shed other people’s filters at whatever the cost that is acceptable to me. And im better for it in my quest to absorb culture, create and support style as well open up spaces that allow for free and honest expression it is important true to myself. That doesn’t mean you will always be right but honesty removes clutter & without clutter your destiny and.purpose becomes clearer. 

Let me also say, I don’t mean what you want whenever or however you want…but I do mean whatever you do inject truthfulness. 

Thoughts for today. Happy Friday!

welcome (back)

I have dusted off my blog for the purposes of posting three poems.

I do not tend to write on topics because they are popular but I wrote these poems because of the artfully done poem “,but (For Trayvon Martin)” by Danez Smith at

Click for poems ONETWO, and THREE.

I must warn you THREE is not for the babies. It’s about them but not for them.




Say it! It feels so sensational coming off the tongue.


Go on, say it. It carries certain sensuality

(See:  Nigglet, Niggra, Nigger Bitch, Black, Dirty, or Crafty Nigger, and Coon)

“F – – – – – – – Coons”

See how it fits your lips?

Now say:  “Killer”, “Perp”, “Arrest”

I will admit it’s not quite as sexy, but the family of a certain boy has had to say it many times in the past month before someone else would.

Say, 3 times fast:  “Left in the morgue for 3 days”

Do not say this in a mirror, because there is a killer on the loose.

(If you see him say “Bloody Mary” or “Mary Mother of God” depending on your predilection.)

Say: “Drug Testing”

(Because this is what we do with suspects)

Now Say: “Mis-Handled”, “Botched”, “Cover-up”

These words make me tingle.


Say it now, tomorrow,  forever

Say it for those who cannot say for themselves. Across the globe, and in your backyards,

Say not only what is sensational,

But what is true

Get all up in the face of Power and say (in a whisper, a yell, a sign, a still small voice)

Say anything you need to.


Thank you! You have just read “Say.” see also, When Little Boys Are Dying.” & “I Offer.”


I offer.

Though I offer no sympathy for the killer

He is dead, too.

I wonder, in his former life what they fed him to make him so husky.

They probably spooned to him that the best kind of ‘Nigger’ is a dead one.

The only kind of ‘Nigger’ is a high one

A lying one

A ‘person of interest’

A suspect

An assailant

They gave him no concept of smiling boys that we nursed,

we changed, we fed, we watched play in first games, go on 1st dates,

boys who were invited inside our gates.

(he probably didn’t know we had nursed his father, either)

He only knew that you gotta be lickety lightning spit quick to get one

(because, as he was told,  “they always get away”)

He was only securing the premises

lest the sugar-addict-boy

bomb yards with high fructose rainbows

and showers of the finest iced tea

He was only protecting his own upbringing

Only practicing for his police exam

He was only following, lurking, lusting, pursuing, protecting.

He was only part and parcel to the plan.

A pre-meditator, a good student of his instructors

I wonder what his prize was for making it home that night.

For being a star pupil

For ridding the world of one dark spot

We know what the other guy got.


Thank you! You have just read “I Offer.” see also, When Little Boys Are Dying.” & “Say.” 


When Little Boys Are Dying.

Whether they are hanging from trees,

Or their abandoned Nikes are strung from telephone lines

Or their conversations take place on collect-call dimes

Whether they are living their last days in rivers

Or hold up in the cold steely gray of the coroners lair

When Little Boys are dying

Same age as my cousin

Same age as my brother when he first saw the light,

When he first felt what it is to forge one’s own destiny,

To rail against the machine that had long since given him up for dead


Dead Black Boy Storage

Also known as the morgue,

also known as the purgatory for John T. Doe

When Little Boys are dying,

Don’t bring me your speeches,

Or your rhetoric.

Your religiosity, your politicking does not excite me.

As Jesus was a man of action,

Muhammad was a man of commitment,

Buddha was that of conviction and purpose,

Yahweh is a deliverer

All god’s represent verbs.

And though all provide comfort in the after things stop

They give you recipes for the here and the now.

Our babies are dying

From a steady diet of desperation, hate, legacy, regret, kismet, neglect

They are taken

By lonely, stray, misguided, or malicious bullets

They are leaving now-ignored lovers with the scars of hearing,

and the burden of knowing

Or bellies full of their seed

When they are dead figuratively,

, Literally.

There should be no pacification

No mishandling, no platforms, no sensationalizing, no red, or blue,

no heaven, no fire, no brimstone

We owe them more than just selling a few papers,

More than a few days of scandal or sermons or shaking heads

More than a few moments of movements

We spawned them (killer and victim alike)

And we owe them their first as well as their last rites.


Thank you! You have just read “When Little Boys Are Dying.” see also, “I offer.” & “Say.” 

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