word wind-down, building up, taking stock

We've made it, the 29th of April 2020. Celebrate this day, 
remember this day. Know there is history, know you did 
great things on this day~~even if it was only getting out of bed. 
For writers and readers and people, things could be worse. 
Adjusting is hard, it is change, but try to embrace it. 
Read some poetry and be confused....love, cb

 ____________________________

4/29, four twenty-nine, 429, 4.29….all day, I’ve been looking at the date all day and 

trying to figure out 

why this date is sticking out.

About 9:39 mountain time, I took a moment and googled the date. As the processes processed 

all those one’s 1’s and zero’s 0’s my mind finally remembered.

The Verdict.

Rooodddneeyyy Kiiinnnng, Rodney King!! They would, we would, I would, the whole young black hip hoppin’ community would, yell, scream, throw bricks, and watch shit burn.

4-4-68 a date my Mom could relate to. If she were here.  If Dr. King was here. If justice lived here.  If April wasn’t so bad.  April burns.

Irony of writing this in a milieu, at night, when our psyche patients struggle the most.  Trauma.  Some say flashbacks, like me flashin’ back to my youth.

Black, still reality; behind the 8 ball, still around; still down but never out, we shout, but never be free. Throw them hands and try to make it 18.

Be blessed to say we be at least 2 times that

Flash-backs, burn, like that whip crack

28 years past that...but where the justice at?

__________________________________

pandemic,

not as much pandemonium as i’d 

imagined.

but who really imagines 

a fuckin’ pandemic?

i mean, i guess some slick 

hollywood bitches did 

and got paid and 

shit, but damn

shit’s on cnn

damn

damn

shits on cnn

shit, but damn

and got paid and

hollywood bitches did

i mean, i guess some slick

it’s that pandemic curve 

that cnn be quotin

and florida can’t flatten

while california re-opens--

hope it don’t be no 

grand-closin’ for second times

get ya’ mask and 

wear that shit homie, 

i mean

wear! that! bitch!

but what use is screamin’ 

in a country that keeps 

talkin’ bout dreamin’

while one of tv’s most 

useless reality stars

took the wheel,

like big wheels with 

a cracked front tire 

or toddler bikes 

with no training wheels

we just feel the fuck off.

learn to deal with your choices

but in the mean-time 

try that new country-time 

lemonade that so many love so much--

it’s got a splash of bleach! 

and comes with a set of PPE,

as yo’ white privilege turns to dust

____________________________________________

off time, almost

done with doin’ the most

but matter improved

or at least effort did

description of deep 

lung expansion, crazy hair 

scratchin’ neck roll heavy

with that of life

a beautiful wonderful life

clarence the angel ain’t needed

because sometimes dollar signs 

don’t stretch in directions 

that’s desired, but they stretch

existence is more than economics

(of course~duh)

and living be more than existence

but what is 

    more than connection?

honest type, pickin’ up where you 

left off type

more than textin’ or typin’ in a chat 

box

or some bot sendin’ emoji love

plugged in listenin’ love

evaluate this time

though it may be hard

dig deep give thanks for 

you are still here

almost done

    with the most

but connection occurred

    more than concrete walks

time is more than worrying about 

that which you have little to no

    control over

3+1 4 the 27 (some of this poetry gon' make yo' head hurt)

Long ass title for a blog post...absolutely!  But it's where I am, where I be.  I hope you be at peace, as I be on my ebonics...great, glad the auto-correct caught that. And in honor of that, if you come across a typo, let it go, and give thanks you got new shit to read.  In any case,  real ass in the moment poetry is here on display.  Some of this made it to the notebook...some of it, made it straight to the google doc...but as Ceely said all 'dem years ago...But I'm here though, I'm here!!  Enjoy.

Maybe, 

I’m not a poet

Maybe

this, is not a gift

Maybe 

experiences I’ve had 

that uplifted some,

was false.

But like some boss

I rise everyday 

for history and family

to stay--

2 bedroom town-home

owner of all this.

Etch on my headstone

provider before father 

for no pandemic,

lyrics of this life 

we live

I want to work

and keep paying the bills

On time, my time

fatherhood a bitch

But relentless I am 

in my quest 

against the i am that i am,

am i, so competitive.

Poet without profit

Prophet without trees

It ain’t easy to find 

stability in this 

20/20 reality.

See, is was already 

fucked,

before 19 hit, 

45 had the country divided 

like a playground 

full of kids.

So this be my offering

for challenge of 30/30,

from cornfields 

to the dirty, to 

clean mountain air; 

in the mirror I stare

& ponder…

maybe I’m not

a poet.

____________________________

Gonna place this 

spoken word piece, 

but slightly scared to 

let voices ring,

ain’t been in rings 

where voices fly free,

no one ever told me

how lock down

would level up 

that level of 

difficulty.

Or how social distancing 

from that stage would be 

so detrimental,

got my mental so mutilated

my dad box 

is hated by the reflection 

I see.

Oh, I see

says Dad’s ghost,

wish he were here to guide me

help me, 

give some kind of 

Z

words of advice, 

I’m out here naked

trying to do what’s right.

And it ain’t easy,

like Pac said,

but now I’m Dad

trying to keep a peace

mentality.

Smoke too much 

arguin’ too, 

hey yo’ pops, 

is this just a part of journey 

du’(de)

Wanna step away, but 

don’t trust this lady too much,

was this the way 

you was feelin’

when you and mom’s situation

hit the dust?

I’m curious, I’m open

done with that reefer tokin’ 

I’m just tryin’ to understand…

what kind of hell did you went through

to become 

such a hell of a man? 

__________________________________

Say we,

all goin through it,

that covid-19,

where dreams of 2020

fucked up the seam.

Re-stitch, ain’t that 

a bitch,

tear it up, throw out the thread

everyone’s fixin’s 

a new lick.

New hustle, new side-piece,

new under the sun

everything.

But some is stable, 

just batten down the 

hatches 

ensure animal safety

be key,

for others it’s being ‘bout them 

veggies.

Cause that’s the next step right,

meat packin’ plants 

shuttin’ down, 

because sanitation efforts 

is light.

No one’s right, we all 

dead ass wrong,

no one’s been down this road

we all singin’ different songs.

Well this one here,

it’s for the soul,

locked out in the cold

in lay-off lines, 100 years untold,

if you don’t dig;

kids wiggin’ out online, 

stressin’ out, not givin’ time to 

studies,

smokin’ wit’ they buddies--

shit, we all just tryin’ to 

get through this.

If you feelin’ pissed,

please,

take a breath deep

whether mama or daddy

auntie or uncle,

we ten toes deep,

in some shit we ain’t neva 

been through.

So give yourself 

a muthafuckin’ break.

________________________

If it’s 3 for the 27, 

it’s nine times dope 

deain’ with division

and multiplication for some 

real ass hope.

But for four, there’s more 

because 28 is in store and 

this one might be the one 

left over.

But tomorrow is like rover 

on the dig for his, 

so may not be no post, on the poetry

on the biz

On the most Apr got 30

for your dome,

almost home--

lost count sometime around 

night before last,

that’s two times if you countin’ 

so this pen ink,

I’m hopin’ gon’ last.

For it’s 2 days left,

27 ain’t counted,

we ain’t roundin’

like corners, but if we were,

it be 90 degrees

like  20 year histories 

we thought we’d be 

better;

thought the weather would be 

nice,

more than tryin’ to figure the 

math life at 11:16 at night

remindin’ us of that tru love,

two behind the future’s past,

one minute later...nigga like me

just wanna laugh…

so go ‘head, and fuck with

that math.