Black Poetry : ...in lyric Minor

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by mensahpoetic, Jun 9, 2003.

  1. mensahpoetic

    mensahpoetic Active Member MEMBER

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    I bought the vinyl of “What’s Going On?” a few days
    Before 9/11…prophetic?…foreshadowing?…maybe…
    …the blending of his voice and the looped plays of the
    towers’ tumble made my ex cry…I sat silent…questioning my
    patriotism…and the remorse in my spirit…wondering if
    it was original…or an illegal sample from America’s
    sad song…I still don’t know.

    I meant to e-mail John before the last Wednesday, January 2000…
    The snows were coming…my trip in Boston was splendid
    …got over a recent break-up…and the spring semester was full
    of promise…he sent me a message in August, hyped about
    Seton Hall…and teaching…and getting back to visit friends, myself
    Included…and, my normal nonchalance allowed me to forget
    Hitting him back with a response…and now, every poem I write
    …and whisper…is in hopes that these words…will replace the ones
    I forgot to scribe for him.

    My father and I are estranged…his selfishness in my blood collides with
    The romance inside of the genetics my mother donated to me…and see,
    We always war…can’t stand his wayward methods…worked as a father
    Part-time, thinking the money was enough…but minimum wage is what it is and
    …I couldn’t learn to live on it…now, we don’t talk much anymore…any
    good feelings expressed are genuine, yet feigned…ya know?…I stopped wishing for
    a superman…and just wanted him to be a better man…but now, my manhood is
    extremely demanding…and his demons are his demons…apart from my desires to slay them.

    I often think back to my high school days…wishing that things could’ve been different
    …pregnancy/miscarriage…friends/enemies…words that needed to be said/words that need to be taken back…I became pro-black in my senior year and, accordingly, I became harsh…
    but 1999 was tight, I must admit…and my adulthood was on the rise…I said, my adulthood was on the rise…giving pounds to the sun…waiting to get the future in its tilt, late night, hoping to copulate aspirations…the future’s name was Elayne…and it took me a while to find her…drinks and dinners with a female cornerstone of the milky way…but 1999 to now wasn’t blissful…just required for my growth.

    Society became my fear…I lost the directions to easy feelings when in public…now, I sweat when Wal-Mart gets too crowded…I pant when strangers graze in my personal space…always shy, but since that day when I began feeling anxious…I stay in the house too much…summer heat can’t get its hands on me…and, sadly, I know that I’m a shrink’s couch and a prescription away from normalizing the scratchy sounds of my soul’s vocals.

    Carelessness goes hand in hand with youth…and my youth came pre-assembled with naïve thoughts, so…she whispered “take the gear off, mensah”…for two years, I did just that…can’t front in this poem, she gave me ample warning about what was in her nervous system, but I was 18…19…20…on the cusp of 21, her lifelong curse…giving to her by a foolish husband…became evident on my soil…foul commemorations, annual memorials of our now dead relationship pops up with the discomfort of shame…she apologized, but I ain’t mad at her…I said, I ain’t mad Miss Holiday…I acted grown and I guess I got what I deserved, since I did you wrong and never held up my end of the bargain…if karma lives by its definition, then the cells in the nerves of my lower back are appropriate…anyway…

    Self taught…different books, listener of those who are 7 steps ahead of me, trying to warn me of the traps that are near…intelligent thinker, never saying much…do all my talking in writing…recollect all of my prose in poems…cultural humanist, black nationalist, believer in equality…my hands mold the syntax of the times and add punctuation…now our lives is just one long jail sentence…chase the paper…chase the p*ssy…jealous over what next man got…hating because next girl got the man you…think…you want…I am a poet, gotta tell you all about the bad sh*t…but maybe…poets need to rotate together and rewrite the manifesto so it can say… “all poets must now speak on the positives of our world”…like, how black people survived slavery…and white people are slowly recognizing their guilt…and AIDS is no longer a death sentence…and that the sun still shines and the babies still laugh and couples still make love and men aren’t all dogs and women aren’t all gold diggers and “n*gga” can change, like all people, from a hateful thing into a being of endearment…and the most positive act of all…we still wake up each morning…

    This is mensah in lyric Minor…
     
  2. MORE

    MORE Banned MEMBER

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    :toast: :toast: good work!

    leaving what was
    coming into the new
    opening the eyes
    for a better view....
     
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    indeed i feel ya here
    tyte scribe
     
  4. Legacy21

    Legacy21 Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    ***APPLAUDS*** Mensah what can I say....your gift for words are timeless. Keep elevating your conscious through your pen and you will go so far. I was definitely feeling this joint...like I do all your others. The truth of soul is difficult to tell sometimes, but you were brave and the light from within will always shine. Peace.
     
  5. 1poetsought

    1poetsought Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    A compelling read. I marvel at the soul of this poet!
     
  6. Jyntlbreez

    Jyntlbreez Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    I sit moved, as my soul stirs to the purposeful rhythm of this "track"
    thanks for sharing!
     
  7. cherryblossom

    cherryblossom Banned MEMBER

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    This was RIVETING! :toast:

    And now 7 years later, you're writing in "Sharp," I pray.


    :birthday:
     
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