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