Friday, August 28, 2009

The Loctician

My dreadlocks grow from small peas mad narrow
They sprang from tight rolled twisted nigga naps
clamped together and latched they grow with me attached
they swing and cling to my shoulders,
warm my ears in the winter
They hold memories of my child's birth
Conceived my lock's seed
in same calendar year as he
My dreadlocks toss fear in the hearts of onlookers
and catch the eyes of cops
They attract women to compliment and bald men to resent
They make me drip in the summer and cool my neck from the sun
My dreads collect raindrops and soft pillowy snowflakes
get me rejected and make people wonder
If I smoke weed, if I blaze trees
if I speak that rastafari with “irie dem help we”
They get me second looks and no looks
they make me friends and instant foes
you know my dreads make you wonder
if I'm a criminal or a dealer, or healer,
or if I'm hustling for the minimal
My dreadlocks get me searched, stopped, followed when I shop
So the militant in me steps up to my gangster bop
My dreadlocks grow from my brown skin
within the combination of the two often offend,
gets me glares and stares so sometimes
I act mad ghetto and put on a show
My boss asked me how long I'm gonna let them grow
I think I don't know but once my dreads go where my dreads go and I go
I'd like to see them grow to 2080 maybe
If you have to know, I'd like to see them grow like I've seen 'em,
they been with me when I was lonely, helped me hold my sanity
they were there in my despair when my marriage went beyond repair
I dread in my son's hair over here, this is my ex-lover's hair here,
and another lover over there, this dreads over here is kinda new
they grew as I grew since I made this stage move
My dreads are my night pillows
They sat with me and gave me comfort in a jail cell
Gave me comfort in that church hell
Some are braided, others sun faded it's been stated
Very long I waited for these locks to grow
they teach me patience and persistence
with kemi oil and sunshine they glisten
it's not a hairstyle
it's a life style after a while
waiting to dry for a day,
they hold life's moisture in its brown coils
my dreads stand for the lion inside of me
that can't be killed by society
The Nyabinghi Mansions, branches of Rastafari
came down from the hill to defeat Napoleon
The power of the African motherland
And now the white man's twisting dreads with his hands
just hope he understands when he does he's given praise to the Black man

visit my partner's blog
Joy's Poetry Blog

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Back in the day I had an Afro that extended out into the universe like Saturn’s rings

I’d walk up and down city streets

wrote and stickered many things - dreamt I would be a graffiti king

Back in the day I wore a Jeri curl and cornrows

played basketball and dodged swinging elbows

Back in the day I would drink underage

knocking back Absolute Cranberry Vodka to get very drunk

Back in the day I sported an Afro – I let it grow for many years

high and wide busting out from all sides

I tamed my Afro into braids

down my shoulders they cascaded

My fingers working to interweave that weave

Before my braid days I sported a high top fade

Fucked around with Jeri curls - used to wear waves

Slept with a silky black do rag skull cap

Sometimes it was hard to nap if it was too tight at night

Come morning time my forehead would have deep do rag line

I threw on that green hair food for that ultra shine around 89

I remember one time I insisted on getting twisted

used small colorful rubber bands grabbed up a couple of hair strands

and twisted with my hands.

Rubber bands held the twist in place but as soon as I washed my hair

they were no longer there disappeared into thin air

Another time I wanted dreads

I poured honey and lemon juice on my head

I didn’t wash my hair for a month the hair had quite a funk.

My hair began to lock

Then I cut it all off and put my whole world in shock, made everyone rock

Before cutting the dreads I washed them

found lemon seeds in my natty from my lemon juice spray

I was still crazy back in the day

Afterwards, for many years I kept it cut at a level one - my scalp exposed to the sun

One day I decided I wanted my dreads back so I brought two jars of beeswax

but low and behold the dreads wouldn’t hold

so I went to the beauty saloon to get my dread on.

They twisted me up - wished me good luck –

told me not to wash my hair for at least six weeks

my ex-wife started to complain that I reeked.

The dreads grew long after some time once again I cut my hair down real low

Thought I was gonna go work for a corporation so wanted to present myself professional

Now, once more I wanted my dreads back

broke out that old jar of beeswax

sat and twisted this time I commanded them grow and grow

So finally now from high top fades braids and Afros I have come full circle

Back to my dream I think I’ll let my dreads grow to 2080 maybe

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

More Pics

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I want that tattoo sleeve

I want artwork dripping down from the top of my shoulders to my wrist
This doesn’t exist yet but if I insist on one thing on my to do list
I want Rodin the thinking man sitting on a rock covered in dreadlocks
A constellation of stars twinkling in a colorful nebula
Graffiti tags mixed with elegant pieces
Rolling trains in flames and flying eagles
My pockets cannot support my ambitions to commission the rendition
So I scribble on my brown skin with ink pens not near the equivalent of my intent
My money is so quickly spent
On child support and rent
My girlfriend says a sleeve will be $7,000
She knows a guy in PA and one day when I can pay $100 an hour
I can get shit started maybe get the outline design
Daily I evaluate tattoos I see on city summer streets
As the pressing heat reveals multicolored skins inked in
spider webs on elbows
Yellow and red flames on forearms
Scripted names on necks
Depicted crosses
Skulls and devil heads
Baby feet for young dead
Hearts and picturesque landscapes
Tribal black lines in twisted designs
Winding dragons with flashing swords
Piano keys with noted chords
Salamanders and trees
Butterflies stars and Celtic swirls
Pictures of naked sexy girls
Motorcycles castles and loved ones’ faces
Lasts a lifetime never erases

Jumping tigers and flying fairies it’s all so enticing
Flower arrangements with abstract impressions
Tattoos cover lower backs buttocks and bellies
Calves breast and chest
Half sides of faces
all types of places
I dream about my tattoos
Wonder if it will scare or bruise me
How much pain it will inflict
With thousand of tiny nicks
My girlfriend tells me about the pain
The back and forth over the skin in the same spot
You want the guy to stop be he will not
If you want the style and color to be hot
She tells me a lot of people get shit on their arms
That has no charm
Ugly tattoos that look unprofessional
People stop her every where she goes when she lets her tat show
Sometime soon I hope to go to Pennsylvania
When I get my tax return
Grit my teeth for that needle burn
Soon it will be my turn

Monday, August 10, 2009

My thoughts run wild

like fire
ideas burn quick
like candle wicks
I switch on the switch
and carry on
my thoughts run wild like a cheetah
or a lion chasing a fleeing zebra
wild like a dog pack
my thoughts melt in your mind like an ice pack
my thoughts run wild in New York City’s naked streets
I roar my words like a tiger
my thoughts run wild like a fire
they burn through paper
they torment my brain
leaving me only partially sane
or completely deranged
but never the same
my thoughts run wild
like a nervous web surfer
a channel flipper
an exotic stripper
Sinking and sinking
I keep thinking and thinking
My mind is on rapid fire
More thoughts are required
More of them transpire
I get inspired
A poetic crier
Drowning in thoughts till I expire
My thoughts misfire and peak
They go so deep sometimes I can’t speak
My thoughts run wild
they escape me
Too many lost memories
It’s a travesty
My brain becomes a graveyard
Recalling things are simply too hard
I try to capture my thoughts in a net
So I won’t forget
They run like a bullet from a handgun
I get spun
Don’t know where they all come from
Like an on going chess game in my brain
Sweet thoughts like sugar cane

Depressing thoughts like suicide
Makes me wish I could hide from life
Next instant I’m riding high
Feel like the whole world’s on my side
My thoughts run wild - they need to be tamed
Instead my head is inflamed
My thoughts run wild like a fire
Medication is my water hose
It shuts off the word rain
I wish I could shut off my brain
Just when I thought the thought fire was out again it rose
My thoughts run wild like a neglected foster child
Beguiled by life lied and reviled
Thrown from reality locked out of society wishing for sobriety
The voices inside grow louder and louder as I’m ripped of my sanity

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Monday, August 3, 2009

My words are armed and dangerous

I wage a war of words
My words are my missiles
When I get hot they sizzle
My daggers
My arrows
My nuclear bombs
My words are my bullets my hand grenades
My Jimi Hendrix machine gun rain
My words are Star Wars storm troopers and Jedi Nights
My soldiers
My bayonet
My razor blades
A noose around your neck
My words wage war against war
Against discrimination
Against racist nation
My words attack social norms
They make anger thunder
Electrify the sky when I brain storm
My words fight against lies
Against evictions
Against this system
My words explode on impact
Burn with the fire of a 5-alarm blowback
My words and I march into combat
I am my words my words are I
We wage an image war and win over society

Sunday, August 2, 2009


People still talk about WWII
Hitler killing Jews, the holocaust
the high cost of war accosts
Americans get squeamish when it comes to talking about slavery
25 million killed in the middle passage
America longs to forget 500 years
Shows no regret no reparation checks
Accepts no responsibility to repay the slavery debt
That happened long ago
Yet they keep talking about The Founding Fathers
They were freedom robbers
Stop talking about Christopher Columbus
His ships were filled with us
Just the word slavery makes Americans turn their heads
Please slavery is dead they say
Oh really? I say
The psych ward, the street corner
And the prison is where they put us instead
America made its riches off the backs of blacks
Yet they get very squeamish when you mention this fact
The souls of my Ancestors haunt generations of whites
For a time will come when they shall be slaves for life

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