Congrats Bro!!!
It was close with Scroo, but Prez came out on tizzoop!
Well, you know what to do fam. Can't wait to read!

hey, y'all.

i truly appreciate this. thank you very much.

it means a lot.

peace

like i said well deserved......miss k

—for single moms

Held her son against warmth. “Mommy,
where’s daddy?” He
hadn’t been

home in a week. “Be back in
a few” meant he couldn’t live
between the hardness

of fatherhood & the rock
of marriage. “I don’t know, baby.”
Mother dripped so many

tears. Got caught, once. Said
her back hurt. Tad truth. Raising
a child alone

strained the strength of her effort. On
Sunday, spilled her needs
into soothe. First

view of comfort in days. Dipped
her eyes in paper news,
looking for outlet

& a smile from the comics. Garfield,
sarcastic & fat, chiseled a smile
within the stone. Up

to cook. “Mommy, I don’t want that!” “Baby,
mommy don’t feel well. You gotta eat
this.” Digs in to watch him eat.

Smiles. But the way he holds his fork,
like his daddy did. Another tear birthed
to the floor. Realization:

two alone will have to work harder. Daddy
ain’t needed, but the bastard
could’ve left some money.

damn, your style is mad original. im loving this duke.

peace.

that touched me.. cuz im in that situation.. sittin here readin this at the library teary-eyed.
werd.. last time i talked to my son's father he said "i still cant believe that im actually a father".. lol..
i said "well he's five"

but yo!!!!!!!!!! PRez!!!1 i voted for ya ass so im glad u won!!!!

your works are always inspirational and originally visionary.
that deserves honor.. werdum up..congrats man.


-Stephani

I'm a H.E.R.B.
Holotyped Existance
Rhetoric Bound

lol I overuse my "emotional center"
peep my wack site and pic!http://hometown.aol.com/ezzsential/myhomepage/index.html

when my soul speaks:
when watchin VH1 soul and they play back to back videos that i like, when I'm intertwined with intimacy, goin' to a Jill Scott concert and gettin in the front row, recievin a drum stick from the drummer, gettin on the vip bus, love, when talib pulled me on stage, then I asked him "what sign are you"?
,Common tellin people to "love themselves" at his show, tellin ?uestlove
"listen to me flow" hehe, and he listened, when collaborating with people who write like me, findin a poetry spot for women!, bubble baths and rose petals, "100 ways why he loved me" as a christmas present, breakdancing and deejaying, expressin' my autonomy and femininity,
phycoanalysis...

"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." Albert Einstein

thank you for reading. i have some friends that are single mothers, and i see their struggles.

peace

I think you must've lived a few other lives -- (Besides This One) -- Cuz you seem to relate to so many situations which I can't imagine you experiencing in "THIS LIFETIME"!

This was an awesome display of walking around in someone else's shoes -- Shoes too tight -- Too hole~y -- And too ragged for comfort!


*Felt*

I can feel that one...damn




We keep adding new songs from the forthcoming Geometry album, please check 'em-- ....http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/geometrymusic.htm

—for my unborn sister

Five years before me. Mom
tried, please know. You’d
be 33

now. I know you’d be beautiful. Probably’ve
had curly hair & dimples. I asked
mom about you

once, but never again. Her face
dropped to sadness when I did. I hate
to upset her,

so I took the words she
gave me & shaped you myself
inside my thoughts. I wonder

if you would’ve been protective
over me? I know that I would
guard you with

my fists & life. I love you,
even though your soul
never blossomed

into living shape. I love you because
we would’ve shared blood
& name. Sometimes,

when I’m alone, I think of you. I don’t
tell mom or dad, though. I think
of you pushing

me on swings & playing wildly
in the summer heat. I think
of similar

interests & wonder if we would’ve argued
‘til dad gave us one of his
“looks.” Be thankful

you’ve never gotten one of those. They
could knock a tree off its roots. He’s very
loving, though. He’d probably’ve

babied & spoiled you. He loves kids. Me
too. I want to teach
kindergarten—

& I would’ve been the perfect uncle to your
kids. But instead, you never birthed me a niece
or nephew. Never

will I see your smile or hear you speak. I write
these words to create fullness for the emptiness of you
being absent. The

next time I smell the aroma of happiness,
I’ll know it’s you blooming a smile
above me to pick.

this was mad beauty. there are a lot of "to my unborn child" pieces out there but this was the real. your experience is conveyed well and ya emotions are honest which i dig the most.

peace.

of the poems about ones lost, this one stood out the most to me. Maybe because you never had a chance to meet her and your imagination did the talking, but the pictures were vivid, well-placed and clever. Much respect for that one.
And because of your other piece, I think I'm gonna go visit my grandmother's grave today. I like to do that on nice days. That particular spot in the cemetary is quite relaxing to me. Death really can be a beautiful thing. I wish everyone could face that fact.

wow, fam.

the depth and scope of where you go when you write...

you pack more honesty into a breath than most do into an entire book.

congrats on a well-deserved place at the top.

peace,
slim

malaya: a filipino name
means "free"

i have a feeling if a situation would ever trap you
you could write your way out

—for grandmom

Sometimes, I feel her. She
gave me death as a gift. Most
would scream

that death ain’t a gift!
—I disagree: memories wrapped
in her warmth,

soft flower grip folding blankets
over sleep. Her tongue brandishing
love—

embraces felt like summer,
humid on the touch. When I see
a child walking

safely in the street, hand inside hand
of their grandmother,
that is me. I don’t

pretend not to cry. I miss her. Not
gone eight months,
& the feeling

of when mom told me “son your
grandmom died” still
dum-solos my

eardrum. I dropped to kitchen floor hands,
praying for comfort
that she was

mistaken. She wasn’t. I heard a bellow
shake pain inside my head. The distress
is still what keeps me up at night.

wow. stellar write. imma write my grandma no doubt. thank oyu.

peace.

im late to this but the voice u speak is of a unique choice in every piece u bless us with

I’m here, at your writing
desk. Two weeks after
pain handed

me news of your death. I’m
using your favorite pen. The
one that birthed

so many poems, so many pages
of thoughts & inspiration. Your
mother let me in. Still

crying. I hugged her as strongly
as I could, like you used to. As
I write these words,

anger fills the pen. Why did
you steal your life from
living? I relate

to you because you know that
I suffer with the same
disease.

Depression is hard, I know. But
you could’ve turned to me
instead of sitting

in the garage, letting car exhaust fill
your lungs. Damn it! You should’ve
known I could’ve helped. But

now what’s left, an absent
friendship, conversational
memories. Remember

when we were young, we’d
debate Bruce Lee movies? He kicked
the hell out of Kareem’s chest,

& Chuck Norris was just a memory
after Bruce left his neck undone
like a torn piece of paper. As

we got older, we both changed directions
in music. Got into jazz at the same
moment. You were

‘Trane’s reflection, Miles, mine. It’s funny
how “A Love Supreme”
& “Kind of Blue”

fit into my life so sharply right now. I listen
to ‘Trane’s horn & break
my hands

on concrete tears that fall from
reddened eyes. Miles’
modal tone

reminds me of your haunting voice. I woke
up last night. Dreamt you
were telling

me you were okay. Damn a dream! Asking
questions without answers,
like walking

in circles without a purpose. I am broken, man. I
need to head home. I’ll hug
your mother, again. Be

back soon, lending my soul to your space. Next
time, I won’t be as angry,
I promise. I miss you.

this is one of the most powerful pieces i have ever read. i am jus gettin into ya flow and the subtley of it is the strength no doubt.

Damn a dream! Asking
questions without answers,
like walking

in circles without a purpose.

DAMN. DAMN DAMN DAMN.

ya got it duke, no doubt.

peace.

I'mma stop reading now!

I don't know if you have any more tear jerkers in this thread -- But I ain't takin' no mo' chances! -- *grrrrrrr*

I have no tissues -- And tryna suck these tears back up in my head ain't workin'! -- *sniff*



(((Sadly Beautiful Flow~Stream)))


*Felt*

this piece reminds me so much of a piece i wrote for my brother
we he left for the service.. the emotion.. the nostalgia.. capturing
moments in time.. i really felt this one.. could really relate
to this.. fortunately, the endings are different.. but could
definately know what's it like to lose a friend.. even though,
i lost mine momentarily.. the pain is still there.. keep ascending..

Man...I been writin about my depression for a long time..and you just hit it, man. You hit every nail I been aiming for right on the fucking scalp.

It's scary. Even the part about debating Bruce Lee movies...man..this piece was me.

-Tp

i write about my depression often, too. it's theraputic in its ways... and often i feel better after doing so. thanks for reading.

peace

but I think this may be my fav piece from you. Really......it speaks to me.

ur voice is becoming more recognizable now, and its still very very beautiful, each line echoed, it was emotional yet numb at the same time, thats depression for ya, this hit home hard, this is wow, can i still change my vote? lovin it, peace

People ask me why I write how I do. I tell them, “I want my words to swing.” “Swing?” “Yeah…
Listen to Duke Ellington, Count Basie, any other jazz great, & you’ll know what kind of swing I mean.” If you know me deeply, or have come across some of my poetry, you’ll know I love jazz. I have a passion for it. I sleep covered in rhythm, brush my teeth in time-four tempos, tap my feet while doing everyday activities. I came across this genre while looking for meaning within music. There’s something about being serenaded by Stan Getz, while dancing with that perfect shape, that’ll get her skin covered by me wanting to expand our vision to all-night sights of slow dance-embraces. Jazz is art. Simple in its rudiments, & can be complex in the same breath. If I had a choice, I’d love to live when Bird first took flight. When the Savoy housed Chick Webb vs. Benny Goodman. Must’ve been electric. I’d be a 52nd street vagabond. Absorb all the lights & sounds & sleep only when my eyes weighed more than what my mind could hold. What it must’ve sounded like when Sonny Rollins would play deep into the night, practicing craft into the dark wind. Poetry & jazz cover my passions & hobby-grabs. Whether I write to a Coltrane ballad or to Dizzy shredding notes in blender-tempos, I’ll try to mirror what it is what I hear: rhythm inside emotions that could draw a picture with the hand of creativity.

you write like you are free.

"There’s something about being serenaded by Stan Getz, while dancing with that perfect shape, that’ll get her skin covered by me wanting to expand our vision to all-night sights of slow dance-embraces. "

genius.

peace.

I'm right there with you -- Hanging on for dear life! --chuckles--


This flow felt "Open & Free" -- Just downright Count Basic! -- ;^)


(((Luv'n It)))

You're a true talent and wonderful conveyor of emotions big bro- i've been priviledge to get some advance sneak at the pieces and they get better with each read. Don't ever drop the pen...

Lil Sis Kim

I need a vacation, can I sleep like Mr Van Winkle here?

You deserve it.....
Keep Flowin' yo......

haha, congrats fam!!!! this is a long time comin, you should have been one of the first to grace this but you here and im lovin it, enjoy it Prezo!!!!! peace

indeed, mad props prez....thing is, if you're aotm ya gotta show work worthy of the title and you have no prob w/that part....enjoy the recognitiion, you deserve it, and I look forward to reading your work---can't right now gotta go but I'll be back....much respect





We keep adding new songs from the forthcoming Geometry album, please check 'em-- ....http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/geometrymusic.htm

congrats man, you deserve it.

Yoo deserved this one.
And yoor drops on this post show that.
Good ish.

you are killing it. keep this up.

Congratulations Pres, you desreve it

They argued wildly. Blame-words
clawed at his face. Tongue
wielded thorn-yells

toward his back. As he walked away,
he raised his middle finger. The same
finger that use to

slip between pink lips
& drown inside walls that dripped
more wetness than

a humid sky. Heavy eyes stared & heaved
tears toward dirt-stained
concrete. Looked

toward the sky for comfort. Emotions
lamented, like when ‘Trane’s horn
cries “Alabama.” Saw

her reflection deep in a can
of trash. Empty like her starved
embraces. She tasted

waste in her thoughts. Regret too deep to surface,
nausea was the manifested pain. Spent night
debate doing on a park bench. Her

heart, numb from the hammer-rhythms
of break-up’s swing. Debate:
life in the aching

recollect or death in the quick
slice of suicide. Matter,
she didn’t think

she did. Eyes sore from knuckle-rubs. Off
the bench, ran like lightening strikes
back home. Timid

steps to a dirty kitchen. Sink housed
four plates, two glasses & yesterday’s
dinner knife. Still with

steak slivers on the edge, knife got met
to a bone-thin wrist, creating
a new image line.

Witnessed wine-colored blood
pour in a delicate way down
a boyfriend-bruised

forearm. Took a step back from standing. Now
sitting from the overwhelm. Eyes
begin to close

from the heavy reaction. Not long ago,
she on her mother’s lap
bouncing

happily. Now, only nineteen,
gone behind the closed
door of death.

"Took a step back from standing. Now
sitting from the overwhelm. Eyes
begin to close

from the heavy reaction. Not long ago,
she on her mother’s lap
bouncing

happily. Now, only nineteen,
gone behind the closed
door of death."

the way you build up to the closings are so viscious..

i read and only wish it were that easy for me..

thanks, gio. i try--with the endings--to leave the reader with something.

i appreciate your comments.

peace

I sang to you, with lips that love your name. I draw your shape in my mind when we are apart. With open wings you appear demure, modest in the beauty that blooms spring flowers. Fly to me, above price & out of reach of mere open arms. I need you, I breathe your scent on my sheets with remnants of your shadow painting beauty on my wall. Not a life like yours has held my blackened soul. You touch me fluently, I see your type on the brightest day, the one that sends night missing as my eyes need rest & time to be thankful of your reflection. Nights flame when we touch. Your naked belly, its voice calls to become attached to my hand. Circling it I feel creation birthing more emotions, more reason to never want to escape. I show your image as I sit on the beach’s end. You are the breaking wave, its contour rushing to slant onto the edge of the ocean’s face, splashing blue, echoing your voice within the white foam. You have never grabbed my thread, pulling until my existence unweaves inside your hand. You enhance me. I thank you because I need you to realize my sense of touch.

"You are the breaking wave, its contour rushing to slant onto the edge of the ocean’s face, splashing blue, echoing your voice within the white foam"


My lips are drawn into a *smile* -- A permanent smile -- That curls on the ends with heartfelt laughter!


(((Thank You)))

Because dark is what evil
is, & light is when angels
touch life,

I sit on the in-between—
atop a heated ledge, below
a golden door. &

because faith is stronger
when I see, & sleep holds
me underwater,

I dream of living atop life—
but my purpose is sometimes
blurry.

***

There is much to see here. I find
myself looking at mirrors
that reflect trees

& clouds that move slowly
like making love-rhythms.
I watch my life

watching others & wonder if they
see what I do. At times
I run like a child,

excited. Because innocence moves
smoother than adulthood—
why not run without

a care other than growing old? When
I become old, I hope to still be able
to run like I once did.

***

I love listening to jazz on a rainy
day. Pull back the blinds,
open the window

& listen to the sameness of a Blakey
solo & the boom of a thunder-scream. The
constant slant-tempos,

the crescendo of speed hitting splintered
sidewalks. Sweet like “Mademoiselle
Mabry” getting shaped

by Miles’ horn. I listen because
without substance, life will be empty,
without texture, light-less.

This brought my readings to closure so nicely -- *sigh*

>I dream of living atop life—
>but my purpose is sometimes
>blurry. ------ (DON'T FEEL LIKE THE LONE RANGER -- I can relate!)


(((Pensive Thought & Beauty In Da Mixxx)))

i'm so happy for you!!
i can't wait to read everything...i'm sure this is gonna spark my writing :-D


§§.~¤'¨'¤~.§§.~•'¨'•~.§§.~¤'¨'¤~.§§.~•'¨'•~.§§

¥¥

¥¥

§§¨'•~.~•'¨§¨'¤~.~¤'¨§¨'•~.~•'¨§§¨'¤~.~¤'¨§§

thank you. and when you write something, i'd love to see it.

congrats bruv.

"when a man aims at nothing, he seldom misses the target"

"absence of occupation, is not rest"

"write it down. the worst ink survives the best memory"

WHOOOOO HAAAAA WHHOOOO WHWWOWHWHAHAHHAHA

YEA! deserve it.. !!!!

much lovE!

You are a blessing to this board boo -- With the intricate and unique pCe's that you write -- Stirring minds & hearts & imaginations! -- ;^)

Congratulations on your victory -- And I'll be cruising thru your work as time allows!


All this month -- (((Shine On))) -- And keep shining -- On & Off the Net!



P*E*A*C*E

—for my mother



I remember when you
had cancer. It struck
me odd that

strength could have a flaw. I was broken.
As your lips explained, painting
my ears with fear,

I wished for a pain & shadow trade;
you could instead see clear,
& your disease could

become my new reflection. That day
never ended: I still think
of & dream shifting

pictures of the breath that exhaled our
reality differently. I recall
my prayers were a hybrid

of anger & faith. Living
on knees beside my
bed, praying

that a heal could slip inside your skin. Sleep
absented me. My eyes, red
like the blood

that would spill if you left: specific:
cut my name from existence’s
breath. Your are

the life that birthed my world. Five
years, in August. You made
survival the color

of your new eyes. I see you now
& I smile that softly
you stand with more

beauty than a landscape of bloom. The circle
of your being, like the ring
dad adorned

your finger with. Now I realize strength
can be imperfect. Yet in that
grasp, I am thankful

for your continuous steps. Pain avoided me like
your death. I am allowed now to embrace
what is perfect: your smile.

*sigh*

I hope your mom had a chance to see this -- Or even have you READ it to her! -- ;^)


You're a good son Charlie Brown! -- *smiles*

—about the couple I saw arguing

Words ran down the tongue
with cleats on. The
verbal continuum

of cuss words & impugn-breaths
galloped strongly through
the eyes

& ears. Arms flailing,
with pointed fingers
screaming louder

than any lip-roar. Neither could
prove a point sharp enough. Back
turns equaled

quick slaps to the face. Five
minute escapades of “it’s your
fault” & “I hate you”

became the stone that
shattered the circle. I saw passion
spelled across

their faces. Not ardent. Finally,
it ended. Each on a separate direction,
they left the other, weightless & alone.

>Each on a separate direction,
>they left the other, weightless & alone.

I could see the weight~less~ness resulting from unloading a whole buncha shit (in their argument) that's been on each other's minds & hearts for a long time!

~A combination of empty~ness & weight~less~ness~

That may not be how U meant it -- But that's the way I felt it!

The whole flow was felt -- Like *Prickly Heat* -- ;^)

>Words ran down the tongue
>with cleats on. The
>verbal continuum

I love that line. Nice work yo. This was felt.

Keep Flowin'......

loved the observation in this entire peice " Neither could
prove a point sharp enough. "damn, that was class

"when a man aims at nothing, he seldom misses the target"

"absence of occupation, is not rest"

"write it down. the worst ink survives the best memory"

I haven’t become tomorrow, yet. Today’s sun is still within seize, my fingertips still partially melted from grasping as much light as possible. Dawn just left me, dew-topped grass, the sign that night’s cold was recently here. Inhaling the scents of life is adhering that sense to the spillage of creation. I love color. Flowers interest me: the aroma, each body different, each color, its own sense of recognition. Outside my home, I reach down & extend my flaming fingers, gripping a handful of sunflowers, roses, amaranths. None I enjoy more than the next. Together: a formation to hand to my mother: a gift to warm her home: a memory of my gesture when I return to my own place of rest. Gifts are everywhere: children laughing, sunlight dipping to color the concrete warm, seeing an old couple embrace after life has given them togetherness as a lifelong companion. I observe all that sees my eyes move with their shapes. When tomorrow does come, I’ll have more knowledge of how to enjoy its blessings—how to become enthralled even if the gifts are sparser, hiding within cracked shadows.

my oh my, I loved this...




We keep adding new songs from the forthcoming Geometry album, please check 'em-- ....http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/geometrymusic.htm

this made me feel good yo

When I tell you certain
things, my tongue
is forming

paths. “I love you” is the concrete
foundation. “I need you”
is the softer

matter that pads the steps
within my voice. When
my words

reach you, the path is complete. My
hand then reaches to you,
& I spin with you

into one reflection. My embrace
can tell you more—listen against
my chest.

every time i read any of ya post, they always seduce my eyes with surreal thoughts, and this one did the same- i was spinning into that reflection....

"when a man aims at nothing, he seldom misses the target"

"absence of occupation, is not rest"

"write it down. the worst ink survives the best memory"

This one touches -- The heart -- The soul -- The mind with feather~soft tenderness! -- *smiles*

I'll be off the boards for the summer -- So I had to take one last peek atcha before I bounce! --sigh--


I'll be missing your work prez -- But I'm glad we had a chance to do our collabo before I left -- ;^)


(((Much Love)))

Keep wowing em' boo!

COngratz!


BATTLE RECORD Wins:1 Losses:0

i now have motive to speak:

poetry.

congratulations Prez

Sorry I took so long to congratulate you (I don't know where my mind is at sometimes). I think you have so much skill and you really deserved this honor. Enjoy the rest of June as artist of the month.

GOOD stuff.

—from the father’s view, losing his daughter to marriage


I heard her mood whisper softer
until sadness was
her voice. Eyes

held mine still, as if looking
at her froze me. I did
not know what

thoughts made her this way; I
did not ask. She approached,
hugging

my neck as strongly as I’ve
ever been embraced. As
a man, we’re taught

not to cry, but I missed that
day’s lesson. My eyes became
the mountains in which

waterfalls exist. My face, red
& becoming excessively
warm. She looked

& explained that it was “time.” I looked
at the calendar, wishing this day
would instead be

a different one. I ran my eyes across
hers again. Remembering. My
little girl,

grown and going. We said goodbye
with crying tongues. “Hurry, before
my hands never let you go.”

As she turned, yesterdays became quickness
across my eyes. & her steps forward began all
of how tomorrow will raise her.

—for my father

When I was a little
boy, I wished we were
twins. & when

you would leave, I wanted
to follow. The wind outside
or the television or

my toys always convinced
me to stay. At times,
I am still

that little boy. The one that
told my friends about
you. Reverence.

& still, when I lie down at night,
the same wind that made
me stay home

years ago still convinces me to stay
here. I want to go, but what if
you aren’t there? I used

to worry that we drifted further
apart than a phone call could
mend. Or a hug. Now,

as I look at you inside my own
mirror, I see that we are twins.
Not identical in face

& breath, but the sameness of our
eyes & emotions make others
not even ask, anymore. You

aren’t my age, nor shaped
like me; you are
my father.

& now that we are closer
in strength, I no longer wish for
things other than togetherness.

Today, my family left. One week
was not enough. This day,
the one that

approached with rapidness,
will end, soon. My eyes
will close. Nails

of desire will keep them shut. Dreams,
maybe of them will birth light
in the blackness. This

feeling is broad. When bodies
that belong together aren’t,
shallowness becomes

life. No valleys or forests or mountains
to climb, exist. Coldness becomes.
& at this moment, I’m

surrounded by a light. Lit
only to write this poem. Lit long
enough to bridge

my thoughts to theirs. When I close
the page, the memories of our
time together

will be the next opening. Tomorrow’s
poem will be different: I’ll rejoice
because of the blessing of time.

sounds like the voice of the cat with "the habit"...




We keep adding new songs from the forthcoming Geometry album, please check 'em-- ....http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/geometrymusic.htm

She’ll be coming soon. Past family
friend. Brown skin, soft
on the touch from

lotion-rubs. She’s always been what
pretty is. Stylish. She was riveting,
just her walk

made eyes last a stare long enough
to forget a thought. I’ve never
forgotten. She used to

let me sip from her drink. I, my
tongue unaware of how lucky
it was. Didn’t matter then,

‘cause now, I understand. If she never
aged, I’d want to do wrong. Brush
my hand across certain

areas, this time, purposely. When
I was ten, she’d watch me. Sit
on her lap

watching TV-shapes I shouldn’t have. Was
cool like a breeze-breath on the
hot porch. She’ll be here

& I’ll have questions. Now, I can’t
sit still. Legs, shuddering like
grass-blades outside. It’s been

a while since my heart beat like this. My tongue
can’t exit from dryness. Only been
ten years,

but the bridge seems too long to reconnect
the foundation. I bet her smile
is still that new

coin in my raggedy pocket. This tumult
is damning. I could wash my feet
from the sweat

gathered in my socks. & my face
is merlot, now. Car, enters. There she is,
draped softly in a full-length

vintage-piece. Her face has changed, but nothing
else. Enters the space, still with the scent that
when I think of it, fills my nostalgia fix.

The embrace, just like I thought. The rest of this night,
remembering. I’ll play her voice until
memories can play it for me.

...diggin it, this is priceless:

>>I bet her smile
is still that new

coin in my raggedy pocket<<...shit like that is what makes a poet special...just someting like that is all it takes to get my attention...




We have a new tune up from the album that's gonna be done in July called "Balance"- ....http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/geometrymusic.htm

You know, I'm not sure I've ever read your work before *might have* but this stuff is wonderful! You are very talented, I enjoyed reading all of these pieces. Congratulations! You deserve it.


______________________________
http://okpanthology.netfirms.com/index.html
http://www.carolsdaughter.com
http://www.ubiqueros.com
http://www.fillifoundation.com
http://www.saulwilliams.com
http://www.astrology.com
_________Promotions_________
Need some amazing eye candy? Need to get your work noticed, or just want one for your own personal pleasure? THEE best website designs EVER! Come in and take a look, you wont be sorry http://www.ubiqueros.com/freelancer

_______closing remarks______

"If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be."
--Marquis De Sade

"It has, moreover, been proven that horror, nastiness, and the frightful are what give pleasure when one fornicates. Beauty is a simple thing; ugliness is the exceptional thing. And firey imaginations, no doubt, always prefer the extraordinary thing to the simple thing."
--Marquis De Sade



"Show me an artist who is not insane, and I will show you a fraud"---Me

"Love is anterior to life
posterior to death
Initial of creation, and
the exponent of breath"--Emily Dickenson

"And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation"--Kahlil Gibran(...and *Z* seems to have learned this the hard way, which it seems is the only way to learn...)

"I am ashamed
to call this love human
and afraid of God
to call it divine"--Rumi (real name Jalal ad-Din Mohammed Balkhi)

"May I be, forward? Before word, is, intent"--Saul Williams

Mystic: One who experiences mystical union, or direct communion with God or Ulitmate reality.

Elixir: A substance held capable of prolonging life indefinitely (also panacea) a sweetened, alcoholic, medicinal solution... I am

Their feet are glue-sticks
adhered to paper cells. Inside,
they breathe

faster than what lips can exhale. The
heart, darkened by crimes
committed. What

is done is what got them there. A thief,
murderer, rapist—
they combine

to live the rest of their days inside
of filth & neglect. Lives have
a monotonous rhythm:

awaken to the sound of wood to metal,
shower, eat, work, sleep. They
are forgotten

pieces of skin, tattooed on each other’s
souls. To make them move,
force is needed. They

slither in line, shackled, looked at with
an impassioned hate. No sun
is bright enough

to birth a smile. It is a constant
rain that clouds the coming
moments. & soon, they

will die. Concrete graves of mistakes
lying atop each other: the only
closeness before disposing.

Belly full. A mother’s bellybutton
protruding in beauty. In two
months, birth. A room,
shaded with paint, new furnishings. The
crib, colored with the softest bedding,
the place where
I will sleep, dream, suck my thumb. I’ve
become a face, hybrid in features,
mother’s nose,
father’s eyes, they’ve become me
& I am left to grow. They’ve picked
blue, the color of a boy,
the shade in which identity is named,
masculine. At night, while being fed,
my mother whispers me secrets,
things not even my father knows. She takes
my deep breathing as understanding
of her words. Such intimacy
between two should be what starts life
correctly. We rock slowly, both
nearly falling asleep inside
the rocking chair’s trance. Now, I am
terribly two. The age that shocks
in behavior, but where
I have started showing & becoming
& introducing what my behavior
shall be. I can run & dance,
identify clouds & name everything that flies
“birds.” I hear things like “timeouts”
& “no, no, no!”—
daily. Now, becoming five. Kindergarten,
surrounding of other children &
obeying another adult. We
color & nap & play outside. I wonder
if the rest of my life will be this way? For
show-&-tell, I bring
a favorite picture. My parents laughing brightly
with ocean waves playing behind them. This
is the picture that will always
be with me. The one that when I remember as an
adult, will bring me to the same classroom
where I’ll wish I were again.

congrats fam :)

thank you, very much.

peace

Your work is always uplifting and inspiring
but all the more... transcending...

you always take us "somewhere over there"
and it feels like home...

nice touch of the word-brush fam... be easy
and congrats.

~MUSE

40 cents will get you a “that’s it?” look.
Eyes don’t see from the back
& a beggar will
scope you out from snipers’ range.
That tin-rust can will stain your eyes.
He’s been seen
with 5’clock shadows covering
the lean side of a hungry-look.
It’s been a year today on 33rd & 6th.
Broken pockets
unhealed from empty hands
sag below the waistline
of poverty’s son. He’s danced
alone beneath a stop sign. Found
speech’s freedom
spit across the face of downtown facades.
He lives removed. Broken-record asks
of “Excuse me sir” & “Can you spare a”
receives back turns
& rock-throw looks of "spare me."
His gathering spot is old newsprint & ads
for things today won’t know
by tomorrow. He was born in ’55.
The year Bird laughed
then tripped to death. The year
Clifford Brown became another dead jazz musician.
He’s a nostalgia addict,
walking on cracked wishes of past-living
& holding onto the hand that
never knew his touch. Old love, voice-whispers
& perfume scents invade
the mind with pains’ quickness.
Blame it on love, man. Always blame it on love—
he knows that. & means it.
She was a terrific memory.
But memories only feed
past wants, & stomach-quakes
scream louder than a whistle
on a cop’s lip. He strolls off,
awaiting the wait. Another death-black
crowd of night dwindles down.
Sun’s akin to light, but it never
slides between iron-heavy
hands covering a dented face.

I like being thankful. For the touch
that heals my wounds
before a scar

becomes an eye. For the mother that
had death before my coming. Her
strength, an inheritance

richer than monetary blunders. For
the father that taught strength
through eye-stares,

strong enough to speak through silence. For
the brother that taught what greatness
was, & for

his intelligence being inspirational. For
the God that judges my actions. For His
forgiveness when

I become what I shouldn’t, when I pray
& He listens. For the wind that sings
to me when a voice

isn’t near. For shadows that flicker-dance
atop my walls, flying shape in circular
motions. For jazz music. For

the rhythms of its passion, guiding my writing
to become its reflection. For poetry
& its many forms. For

finding me when depression wouldn’t let
me find creativity. For my place of rest
& its many stories

that I will recite when tomorrow seems too
dark to exist. For anyone reading these
words, learning of my gratitude.

i wanted to say thank you again for giving me this honor. i truly appreciate it. thanks for reading and responding as well.

peace and respect

I forgot your energy graces this site.. How ya been holdin up my brother ? I'm going to the east coast in August on a quest and would like to manifest a union of frequencies. In other words we gotz ta chill. I owe a great deal to you for helping me find me. Email at foundation_waf@yahoo.com