Wednesday, April 29, 2020

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

Monday, April 27, 2020

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.