I ain't spit in a long time (poetry/video)

Becuz, We Did That

We sit back,

backs pressed to chair-backs,

wondering,

what happened back then?

Back when free was

more than a four-letter word,

and air was more than

exhaling during a day,

filled with more drama

than dance.

What did we do…when we could

(really) do it?

Carefree doesn’t come close to the

feeling of:

fuck it, we got this—

in the face of insurmountable odds.

When we dared the Grand Canyon

to stay put,

just so we could attempt to jump it.

Unwise, the world told us,

as we responded:

we are brave warriors,

when did you find cowardice

so comforting?

There were no limits to

what imagination held;

as those holdings became goals,

because our favorite English teacher

told us: “Goals are better than dreams—“

So we used that term instead,

and called ourselves,

smart, brave, and goal driven.

When running was

the only way to get to the destination,

and the race was constantly on;

as plastic, Payless shoes melted

on hot cracked concrete. 

Walking is for suckas and old folks,

ya’ll know nothing of young sweat!

(too youthful to stink—or so we thought)

(we had not yet begun to “smell ourselves”)

We played basketball in summer’s sunshine,

at the neighbor’s house, or up the block

at the rec center.  We fought, and cussed,

said fuck you bitch to the rec worker, just before

getting our passes revoked, and being banned

for at least a week.

At older siblings’ apartment we,

jacked the pizza man, because we was broke,  

young, roguish, and hon-gree.

Cars became a new freedom

as the strip and lake on Sundays

became havens for adult activities,

(we ain’t had no business even attempting)—

but we did that shit in style.

Glistening rims on freshly washed

candy apple, painted cars,

we was ridin’, rat-packin’, fo’ deep’

with fo-deeze under tha' seat,

because we was creepin’ from 5-0.

And then we graduated; faded and fucked up,

we hit ‘em up,

as we pranced across the stage;

eyes red, and a “J” just under our

card-board, diamond-shaped, grad-brim.

We partied as the bass slammed eardrums,

we were young, didn’t care about decibel levels,

hell we passed science with a

solid, muthafuckin’ C—

“hurry hurry, time is passing”…

I remember those wise words of the science teacher

who definitely taught us more than just the

periodic table, and elements of nature.

She taught us the elements of life

as we sauntered to sixth period…

“hurry, hurry, time is passing”…

yea it is, yea it is.

it is only now, how much we realize

just how much…

We sit back,

backs pressed to chair-backs,

wondering,

what happened back then?

….hurry, hurry,

            time is passing.

Unintentionally intimidated…

Initiated into

open stages where

differing points

could be heard like

conversations at the corner store

or parking lots after

poetry sessions

smokin’ good green,

puttin’ green puffs high,

into the atmosphere.

Felt the same vibe

would happen on

nights where musicians gathered;

would feel warm,

would feel welcomed,

would get that

excited feeling of

walking into your homie’s basement

ready to record

your dopest thoughts…

but it didn’t happen,

 

Unintentionally intimidated.

Where the inner-child

jumped up in awe,

yelled hell naw

I ain’t following that—

not as good as that cat—

let me pack,

take a last puff off your square,

I ain’t goin up there,

but let me take that last listen

to that bad ass high hat,

grab my little sax….

and split,

shit I ain’t as good as that cat

Unintentionally intimidated

When something inside of me

snapped and broke,

causing a crash and burn

effect on the inner workings

of all things that made me, me

Was like,

I became Rip Van Wink

when ever I got close to the ink;

even penning poetry

became a chore,

attending open mics, a bore

I could no longer stand my reflection,

had no idea what my psyche

had in store,

I had become unintentionally intimidated

Until one night,

gathered my nerve like I used to do;

grabbed up my back-pack, notebooks

and went completely old school—

grey hairs perking up

as my head’s hair follicles

of the conscience nation

began tearing at the

unintentional intimidation

elevating my self-esteem information,

so by the time I reached the place,

I was ready to go

face to face with all the faces facing the stage…

Truth is,

I had to man up, or poet up, or musician up

Had to remind myself that

I am the greatest, I am, that I am.

I am only in competition

with myself—

And with that realization

the only unintentional intimidation,

is with that gorgeous reflection I see,

so I’m learning to leave the pressure behind and  

embrace the beauty

Flipbook--"The Poetry Project"

A poem for students who Marched in March

 We seek sanity,
in insane times.
We want security,
in unsafe situations.
We want justice,
from politician who just
don't know the meaning.

Leaning is urged,
shoulder to shoulder
so souls will be comforted,
and these bitter times will not
be so cold.

Students flooding streets
because their school
is a crime site;
bullet holes in chem class,
blood on the stage.

And on the hill they sit,
elected, and fat,
looking for shadows because
bank statements show
three lettered supporters--

Rhymes with
'how many kids
did you kill today'

Things I Don't Normally Do

I don't usually do things like this, it's just not my nature.  But we sacrifice and compromise for things we care about, and most definitely for people we care about.  So here goes.

Just about a year ago, I became a father for the 1st time--dope right?  Well my baby is a lot like her mother and myself, she lacks patience.  I like to joke like that because her arrival has been the roughest road I've ever traveled.  

Makenzie was born about 2 and 1/2 month early, making her a very preemie baby.  She was just over a pound at birth, doctors had to place all kind of different tubes and needles in her very delicate skin, and to top things off, me and her mother weren't able to hold her for several weeks. 

I tip my hat to anyone who has to go through the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).  We ended up spending  65 days there before getting released.  


So I agreed to help raise money for The March of Dimes, The March for Babies.  They are a great organization who helps families and of course babies.  

Being a parent for the first time and wondering if your baby is going to make it through the night is a hell of a thing, it's the kind of thing I will fight and walk for, to ensure they are few and far between. 

So my lady has set up Makenzie's page so you can walk with us on April 21st 2018, or you can donate a tax-deductible donation.  Here is the link that you can go to and donate.

https://www.marchforbabies.org/Makenzie2017

I titled this post, Things I Don't Normally Do, because I don't usually involve myself in fundraising and things.  You may be the same way, you may be the type who doesn't get involved.  However, for the new year,  you may have resolved to do some things different.  This is a great opportunity to do that.  So come out on the 21st or donate--it can be as little as $5!

Remember, nothing is more important more precious than a new born life.  Thanks for reading, and thanks for donating! 

https://www.marchforbabies.org/Makenzie2017

Clarence & Makenzie

Last Days Ain't Last Days #365Black

For the heroes and sheroes
in history's path--
For those who ruled, then slaved,
then worked, and marched,
and were gunned down by
protectors of peace--
We salute you!

Overstand 365 black,

our celebration is not about

what we lack; loving ourselves

should not be some monkey

on your back--

Fact.

If you have not seen or
heard these lines,
in a while,
let me show you now.

I love you,
You are beautiful,
You matter,
I love you,
You are beautiful
You matter.

There is power in
standing, and
sitting, and
protesting, and
supporting, and
history, and herstory, and
future moments,
and blind children
with magnificent voices.

Please listen, or
watch, or
sit, or
support, or
do what needs to be
done, until the
idea of walls
they want to build
crumble like they did
in Jerico.

For Black Heroes and Sheroes
who slaved, marched, and
gave their life--
You matter,
We love you,
We miss you
We celebrate you
You are beautiful.

#blackhistorymonth
#celebrateblacknessforever
#thereisonlyus
#blackisbeautiful
#celebrateyourskin
#LastDaysAintLast Days

The Device of Fear

Fear. It's a real verifiable, definable, and measurable thing.  For people fear of failure usually tops the list.  However, fear of success hits an invisible higher plane.

• Oh my goodness, what if this project takes off and really goes where I want it to go
• What if they actually call me for an interview, hell--what if I get the job
• How can I be a good parent if I don't know what good parenting looks like
• What if I do finish the book, and the marketing plan works?

"Oh shit!" is usually what comes to mind.  Oh shit, I got the job, or oh shit, the marketing for the book took off, and I have people calling me for statements, and has questions about my next project, oh shit, oh shit oh shit!  Everything's going to voicemail till I figure it out!

You know your project, or your business, or how to get things done; but when someones questions you on specifics, you freeze, because of different reasons.  Sometimes you freeze because you have a trial and fail kind of method, and they may think that's not a good strategy.  Or you freeze because you don't well with direct confrontation.

Whatever the case, whatever situation, whatever the fear, I say

GO FOR IT !!!

What do you have to lose?  Now granted I may be preaching to the choir or some may think I'm a hypocrite because I'm not a independent business owner.  However, I am a risk taker, I have published two books, and working on a third.  I spend my day working two jobs to support a family I made on a 'surprise we're pregnant' move, and went for it.

So again I say to hell with fear, hit publish on Createspace, or hit submit on that application, or continue to write that book even though dozens of publishers have passed on it.

Don't stop, Don't quit, Don't give into fear....

Don't quit, on your dream!

 

Last Week (wk of 1/14/18)

It’s my week to piss off the world.  If you want it, you got it; this old grey haired bastard is ready.

Sunday fun-day, and the fire crackles to my feet. The household’s tilted, smiles stay crooked, baby eyes gleam, and the dream gets deferred.  We let red and grey, jagged eyed demons in the kitchen.  Turned us to green eyed bandits from Baltimore, and you over-stand just how filthy that city is.

Somehow making it to midnight, with ID required liquid percentages, rolling and swishing around in our bellies.  

I signed up for crazy.  For bat-shit, fecal matter being used for make-up kind of crazy. Like auditory hallucinations that, talk to old friends who ain’t nowhere around, kind of crazy. Like drooling midgets jump from beds to door, slam it, then jump back on bed yelling, “give me your keys” in a Russian accent, kind of crazy.

Didn’t sign up for girl drama past 30, when we’re all supposed to be professionals. Yet some can’t communicate with others, so the, incredible shrinking supervisor needs to monitor meetings like refs at a high stakes sporting event.  

Didn’t sign up to be the only consistent floor lieutenant, swash-buckling nightly with nutty and buddies.

Wasn’t prepped to work with no account lazy ass PA’s with MA’s who feel they’re “too good” to empty trash at the end of the night.  Guess maybe I work too hard for all that.

And Wednesday I was called a nigger at work.

And Wednesday I was called a nigger at work by one of the patients

And Wednesday I was called a nigger at work by one of the crazy ass patients.

I signed up for crazy, not disrespect.  Even if it was motivated by crazy.

Finally it’s Friday, more like fried-day, because attitude can’t adjust to any more angles of blatant disregard, disrespect, or denial. Done.

Good luck kiddos, your teacher’s pissed, his mean mug is real, stay off his bad side, or you will surely get the wrath.

‘Bout 8:15am, student comes in late.  He gets on the computer like he’s supposed to. Two minutes goes by, he has out his phone, I go by and tell him, ‘please put your phone away’.  He does. Two more minutes goes by, and he has his phone out again.  I go by a second time, ‘please give me your phone, it’s a rule not to have it out.’  He blurts out ‘Chill!!’--like I’m one of his peers.  No.  ‘Sir you can go see the dean’ I reply calmly.  He gets up, hotter than a Juneteenth celebration in Pulaski, TN.  He marches angrily toward the door, then trips over the chair.  As I turn around to watch him, pick himself up off the floor, he yells ‘Fuck you!!’

I’m not paid enough, I ain’t carin’ that much; bitch, I been in a mood all week. This ain’t the cherry, it’s the whole damn dessert--on Friday.  These kids done lost they damn mind.  Know the rule, break the rule, confronted on the rule, and then throws a fit when consequences happen?!

I’m good, fuck that crazy, fuck them kids, and fuck this week. I radically accept the fact that I’m not good. This week I pissed off a lot of people, and I’m ok with that. Life is hard sometimes, but I refuse to quit. I will continue, not because I must, but because I am able.