Thursday, May 17, 2012

Rob's been cheating on me with some trick named Tina Tumblr.
If you see her, tell that ho I'm looking for her:

Monday, March 26, 2012

A Telegram to George Zimmerman from Mother Earth

if it were up to me,
I wouldn't bend you over my knee—
I’d express mail you an earthquake
to crack open the doors beneath your feet
and give you a tour of the hells the Black community often toils.
Rivers of blood boil. Tears sting as well.
Do the names Emmett Till, Oscar Grant or Sean, ring a Bell?

For 28 years, I taught you how to dress for the season,
but you wore too many layers of pride to change.
They gave you too many times to change
the battery in your neighbor/HOOD/watch.

It was sad to watch you move from Manassas to Sanford,
only to become a self-appointed anchor to the cops.
Forecast: mostly cloudy, chance of discrimination: 100%.

Even if my hurricanes erased race,
the squeaky-clean recordings don’t lie:
From the second you false-started,
after the dispatcher said stop following
you should’ve been disqualified.

I’m curious, George,
when Trayvon screamed “HELP!” “HELP!”
did the 9mm sway you to satisfy its sweet tooth?
When your finger licked the trigger,
did his flesh tear as easily as a bag of Skittles?
When only the red ones poured out, could you taste the rainbow?
Did the guilt ache like a cavity?
Did the pain grow?
When he died, did the criminal injustice on your tongue
taste like 23 ounces of Arizona?
Did your White-half wrap barbwire around your heart
and detain your Hispanic-half for crossing the border?

No, No, this ain’t no’ race thang;
people gotta stay civil, right?
Change the channel or play the game
Your father would say "Forget race,
this is more of an NBA thang:

And in this court, we cannot defend your offense;
you took a foul-shot at Trayvon with that Miami Heat
and rode the bench back to hide under your shell.
Quote: "These assholes always get away" End quote.
It's ironic, you did; stop talking about yourself.

You ought to be prayin’
You ought to be reading your King James,
You ought to join Dwayne and wade in the water--
Because the rock can’t hide you in its shade
if the Devil’s got your name in his order.
Son, you ought to be prayin’
‘cause Trayvon made it to heaven, met Nina Simone,
rewrote her song and started sangin’ together
“Oh, Zimmerman, where you ‘gon run to?”
And where ever you choose,
you can't escape my gravity,
so, we’ll always be in touch.

I told you to keep your hand to yourself!
but you stole Tracey and Sabrina’s son.
But the day will come
when Fathery Sky, pull out his loaded
sun and shoots light
to tear through the clouds
as easily as a bag of Skittles
only then would justice and righteousness
roll down like a mighty stream
of Arizona Iced tea.

a mother who gave you the ground to stand on
and loves you enough to take it back.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Kendrick Lamar: VCU Homecoming 2012

     So in late January, I found out that Kendrick Lamar was coming to perform at VCU for the Homecoming concert on Friday Feb 3rd. Though I was scheduled to be out of town for the weekend (Region 5 Poetry Slam Competition at VA Tech), I proposed to the Homecoming Committee that we have artwork waiting in his dressing room as a welcoming gift. They accepted. So as Rigamortis ricocheted off the walls of my studio, I created this piece, mounting Kendrick's head on a shield inspired by the Oakland Raiders logo. After I finished, my friends James Patterson and Christina Edwards put the legwork behind it to deliver the work and made it happen. Thus...


Sunday, October 16, 2011

Esperanza Spalding @ University of Richmond

I saw jazz-bassist Esperanza Spalding play at University of Richmond, Wednesday October 12th. It was truly a great show; the intimacy of the Jepson Theatre enhanced the sound and the lighting technicians were very effective at capturing the moods of each song.

Upon discovering her work in 2010, I was inspired to do a compilation of artworks and poems for her. So I compiled them into a chapbook along with a bio and mission statemnt, and brought it with me to the show. Since there was no meet-and-greet or album signing after the show, I reached out the Stage Production administration and gave them the booklet to deliver to her.

The lady I spoke with, said that she would deliver it to her management when she could and advised me to follow up with Ms. Spalding's management via email. I neither know if or when the work will reach her nor when I will be contacted, but I have hope that something will workout. In the meantime, I will push forward and keep creating as Esperanza has done and is doing with her art.

Here are some of the pieces I included in the booklet!


Wednesday, August 31, 2011


We are born naked. Over time, we crawl, learn to walk and then are taught to cover our bodies—out of fear that the next person will judge our nakedness. But in reality, under all the shit we wear, still—we are all naked. When I crawled into poetry, I learned to walk back to my natural nakedness, fully robed.


Friday, August 26, 2011


Run, Blackboy, Run!

When dads run
away, black boys run
crazy—before tying their shoes.

He trips to school in the rain
with an open back pack. His mama yells,
“You forgot your hat!” But Blackboy
doesn't look back. Blackboy runs
mad. Blackboy runs late.

Every classmate knows black boys show up mad late.

“Stop! No running in the hallway”,
Ms. Whitelady says in her head “Black
boys are mad, black boys are crazy.” She says,
to his mama at the parent-teacher conference
“Your boy—needs counseling” and mama
only wants the best so Blackboy goes. Crazy
counselor lady says “Stop—running.
What were you thinking? Use your head!”
Blackboy says “Okaaaay”
but does not understand.

Confused Blackboy goes out to play—
in the rain, he cries out to his boys
until his eyes go red but hears “Stop—
being a cry baby.” He says “I’m not!”
but they do not believe. He leaves. Not
in his right mind, Blackboy proves them

wrong. Blackboy walks to the end
of a rainbow and finds a colored girl
with lonely gold coins in her eyes.
He scares off the leprechauns
and promises to never leave. He lies
her down in a bed of four-leaf clovers.
Inside, she’s raining. But he forgot his hat.
she opens the door, he runs through her hallway
and makes her cry out “Baby” instead—
Her eyes roll back. He doesn’t look back. They make
a baby that cries out “ga-ga”s and “goo-goo”s;
counselor didn’t specify which head to use.

Blackboy needs a new place to live ‘cause
tough love is the only thing mama can afford to give.
He jumps fences with child support nipping at his knees,
Blackboy needs green. His boys say, “It don’t grow
on the trees, it grow on the streets” so black boy goes
out to play—when his baby cries rainstorms,
Blackboy runs mad. Blackboy runs crazy.
His colored girl baby mama gets moody
and sad, ‘cause black boy forgot his goals;
the toilet is the only pot he be filling

with gold. Blackboy rolls—like a big kid now,
but ain’t saving enough money to buy baby’s Huggies.
So Blackboy runs—late, he stops—showing up.
Blackboy doesn't look back. Blackboy runs

colored girl mad crazy. Herself, she pulls up
by the shoe laces, walks over pothole puddles
filled with rainbows that committed suicide.
She goes up to the storefront window, gives
her gloomy reflection one last silver smile,
and then pawns in her eyes—
for just enough gold coins to buy a month’s
worth of food for the leprechaun-sized baby
with a mouth like an open back pack
who grows up to cry out,

“Mama, where is my dad?”


Monday, July 18, 2011

Harlem Night Song - Langston Hughes

Harlem Night Song

Let us roam the night together

I love you.

The Harlem roof-tops
Moon is shining.

-Langston Hughes