Satish Verma, 16 february 2014
Hollyhocks will not let me go;
hold my hands.
Shying away
they were turning to ashes.
In the night, wisteria
emanates a hungry cry.
Though wind had announced
sun has not kept the promise.
I gasp for the body silver
like ancient lust,
pure and paranoid –
asking for the head of a spider.
This non-violent resistance
seeks more space to pasteurize
the beautiful milk in gold containers.
A passion flower was going to melt.
Satish Verma
jimmymac, 15 february 2014
we wuz celebratin
40 years of Hip Hop
at 5 Pointz
dashing tags
reclaiming the
lost land
speaking for a
community of peeps
routed from their
last stand
making statements
about remembering
tellin stories
about ourselves
giving the drab
dead industrial
sarcophagi a
a face lift
freeing the
entombed
mummies
to let em
walk with
the living
again
seein things
in a new light
reciting our
biographies
writing an epic
autobiography
splashed across
3D murals
spoken in the
lexicon of
gobsmack
multicolored
neon graffiti
testifying to
the ages with
our urban
hieroglyphs
the symbols of
life in the hood
may history be our
witness to aromas
rising from cracked
pavements teaming
with bodegas,
public projects and
store front fantasies
played out in all its
grueling detail
on the corner of
walk don’t walk
them snaps
real down home
expressions
of real people
until some
capitalist
douchebag
his pockets filled
with low interest
money
whitewashed
it away
he thinks he
owns the
5 Pointz
he thinks
he can
erase our
memories
with a gallon of
Sherwin Williams
he thinks
he owns our
perdido
graffito
and is well
in his rights
to launder our
epiphanies over
with the bland
tag of privilege
he thinks his
dollar bills
can buy
we raised this
place from
the dead
that old warehouse
where men and women
once earned a paycheck
was murdered by
Michael Milken
and his posse of well
heeled predators
busy leveraging
livelihoods by
offshoring them
to Third World
plantations
transforming
the natives into
wage slaves
tagging this
strange alchemy
progress
now this
latest incarnation of
Morley’s Ghost stalking
Bloomberg’s Metropolis
haunts the neighborhoods
with a wrecking ball
of entitlement
razing our hood
to build soulless
high rises where
they'll warehouse
dead people
ginned up
on pilates,
chai tea and
elevating
themselves
through life
scoring the
latest fab
yoga gear
on the
urban outfitters
website
the frackers
are gobbling
the land
strip miners are
gnashing away
at the mountains
now the predators
are eating our art
always famished
never satiated
the beast gnaws
away at its
kill scattering
the bones of
of the living
but this
half assed
midnight
whitewash
will never stand
already images
of the holy ghosts
scrawled onto
the Wailing Walls
of 5 Pointz are
bleeding through
the veneer of a
landlords greed
and as the
future tenants
of the proposed
highrise columbarium
snooze away the night
dreaming of leading roles
in star studded schemes
we’ll be taggin
the streets
reciting our
righteous presence
until our last dying
aerosol breath
escapes our
paint stained
hands
Public Enemy:
Fight the Power
Oakland
11/20/13
jbm
http://nypost.com/2013/11/20/5-pointz-fans-try-to-retag-legendary-graffiti-building/
jimmymac, 15 february 2014
it is said that
a prophet finds no honor
in his own country
hard truths
boldly spoken
are received as a
wretched cacophony
threatening to melt
the caked wax
blocking the closed
intolerant ears of
intransigence
Madiba
once found no
personhood
in his homeland
his people driven
from their land
by Voortrekkers
snortling Boers
gobbling the land
uprooting native
people from villages
they had occupied
since the dawn
of time
spilling Zulu blood
into roiling rivers
of conquest
meeting peaceful
petitions of the
aggrieved with
Sharpsville bullets
splattering
the blood of
innocents onto
hardscrabble roads
redressing crimes
against the victims
by corralling them into
denuded Bantustans
where rivers do not
flow, grass never grows,
game cannot graze;
only the dust doth blow
riddling the captives
with torments of
Transvaal Apartheid,
mocking the speakers
of mother tongues with
the fained eloquence
of bastardized Afrikaans
the dominion of the
oppressors, sanctioned
and affirmed by exiling
a people from their land,
outlawing their language,
dividing the nations into
a fallacy of separate
destinies where a forgetful
history blessed with amnesia
will anoint the conquerors
with the spoils of abundance
stolen from the vanquished
Madiba spoke of these things
and was awarded a prison
cell for twenty seven years
but the hostages of
a conquerors justice
remained destined
to be freed by the arrival
of an accepted truth
set free by the very words
prophetically spoken
prisons cannot contain truth
steel bars cannot imprison
the idea of divine justice
it slips through the smallest openings
like a wafting fragrance of the first day of spring
it saws away at the rust strewn steel bars
like the surest movement of a master carpenter’s arm
it melts the thickest links of iron chains
in the fiery forges that burn in the hearts
of all freedom loving people
the truth of justice
is born and takes flight
on the wings of history
covering the globes
cardinal ordinates
nesting in the most
humble villages
and mean estates
on God’s good earth
truth and reconciliation
can never be separated
planted together to grow
healthy nations and
communities of
trust and restoration
Madiba, you always
found honor with
the salt of the earth
the children of light
who seek to dispel
the darkness of
acrimony and
domination
we continue to
walk your way
guided by your
prophetic visions
we take the first steps
asking liberators to join
with oppressors, pairing
in a magnanimous walk
along wholesome pathways
perceiving the buena vistas
of reconciled communities
firmly established
on foundations
of peace, equality
and justice for all citizens
I caught a fleeting glimpse of Madiba
as he rolled by in the Canyon of Heros
showered under a June blizzard of confetti
and a resounding acclimation of love.
I was a plebe inhabiting a lower floor
Broadway office, yet my station blessedly
brought me closer to Madiba. As he passed
I was moved by his miraculous smile and felt
the colossal reverberations of his waving arm
triumphantly hailing the sweet freedom of
liberation all hostages of feigned justice
exude in the vindication of divine justice
enraptured in the joy of affirmed truth.
Dearest Madiba
we are enriched
and blessed for
the time you walked
among us.
You fought
the good fight
my brother.
Rest easy
for we shall resume
the climb to
the next mountaintop.
Well done Madiba
Godspeed
Rolihlahla “Nelson” Mandela
7/18/18 - 12/5/13
Ladysmith Black Mombazo
How Long
Oakland
12/6/13
jbm
jimmymac, 15 february 2014
reveling in the unity of contradiction
the omnipresence of disjunction
the opaqueness of transparency
the anarchy of governance
the unknowableness of the zeitgeist
the banality of chiqueness
the slavery of fashion
kinda like being a hipster in Brooklyn
with no conscience of consciousness
or is it no consciousness of conscience?
one is a statement the other a dumb question
seeking an intelligent answer
truly the tragedy of comedy
or is it the comedy of tragedy?
enough of these silly questions....
why don't it just fall apart?
how does it stay together?
accessorize smartly
tight ensem
put together
right
Music Selection:
Jimi Hendrix
ifasixwas9
Oakland
6/21/13
jbm
Len Gesinski, 15 february 2014
bez światła(no light)----for T.I.
words and language
without sentiment
the raging
of internal fires
Oh, to hear the echoes
of just how dark emptiness…actually sounds
desperately reaching
only to always
fall just short…
attempting to
fill the void
left from/by
damaged yesterdays
interrupted dreams
warped reality
hurtful memories
hurt, where only love once should….
…could
might…
have been
damning realization
cutting into now…of this moment
I
see the darkness
far deep
beyond your eyes
I
sense the void
where your heart….
once was
and
all is explained
bez światła©Leonard.C. Gesinski All Rights Reserved(10/24/2013)
http://leng64.wordpress.com
Len Gesinski, 15 february 2014
Moonbeams
For "Shifted By the Moon" Theme
dancing the dance
harlequin strut it just might appear to be
the keener eye
noticing the finer details, it’s all in the repetitions
simplicity in rhythms
eventually resting in the confluence
casting thine spell
reducing our human inhibitions
dancing and twirling
blinded and deafened in our spellbound glory
antipathy all vanquished
nakedness finally revealing
nomads
we all really are
one and the same
under the moonlight
Moonbeamsalternate©Leonard.C. Gesinski All Rights Reserved(01/29/2014)
http://leng64.wordpress.com/2014/01/29/moonbeams/
Satish Verma, 15 february 2014
In a school of murder a hub of
terror survives.
An acid attack on face
captures the contradictions of first nervous countdown.
Step aside my truth, my tears
are under siege. The schizophrenic
will draw a landscape
of falling earth.
Tonight a visual poem will come alive
on a dirty screen of life.
Words were written like mercy
on the hands.
Why the face wears no smile?
Hard core pornography of blueberries survives
amidst the shooting and explosions.
The nymphs were waiting in the heaven!
Satish Verma
Greg, 14 february 2014
As the world passes slowly on by
Trapped in the red tape
Of a telltale disguise
Abiding the rapture
To hang to the moment
That life comes undone
Unscripted and free
So basically
The light has left the tunnel
Shadows have come to claim their home
In the halls of philosophical greatness
Hopefully with no hope to share
For the worst thing to give a man too scared to eat
Is knowledge that there’s no poison there
Then life turns inside out
Relentless like the pouring rain
And sunshine will beam down
But I’ll look again for the rain
Until I have an excuse to huddle up
Underneath a cold shadow box
Gray and shared with the bugs and the worms
Convinced that my shit is glittering gold
But oh no I will never save my soul
From the rampant rummaging of the deep dark hole
Because if another is to be reluctant to go
I shall tell him
Child
Friend
Lover
Fellow Human
Sentient Being
Sentience
You have nothing to fear
Greater than the soul-deadening knowledge
That you cowered away
And set yourself a trap
Too comfortable for you and the others involved
To move yourself out from
To wiggle without causing so much pain
That it will not be worth the love of God
And more importantly and perhaps the same
The love of yourself
St Antoine de la VUADI, 14 february 2014
I love you more than so much,
I love your mistakes and your smiles;
I’d like the love that I give to you to be
Your joy and your destination.
Your love is my beloved love;
My beloved in all is you.
I don’t know how to call
This piece of peace
That you serve to my life.
My eyes, when I look at your face,
Is really and again really blind.
Darling Master of Art,
Now I conclude that
You have studied for many hours
And your specialty is:
The culture of Love.
St Antoine de la Vuadi
St Antoine de la VUADI, 14 february 2014
Dear Lord,
Could you protect my baby
I have given my heart to him
And I don’t want to lose him
Because it will destroy my life.
You are the maker of hearts
You know the future
If he will deceive me
Please, change his mind.
I can’t live without him
And you see it in my voice
He is the angel that you’ve sent
To give me joy and peace.
Let him be invisible
To other non serious women
So that he will be concentrated
Only to the love that we have built.
This was my prayer
In the name of Christ
Who is your Unique Son
Amen!
St Antoine de la Vuadi
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