Monday, November 23, 2009

remember her name : for GIRL X

Remember Her Name

Marks the spot of unforeseen, unexplained,
Frantic, fragile, feelings forced into frustration
Twelve years, each replaying voids misplaced by media
Americakkka stuck- Christmas frenzy, 1997, holiday happiness,
Led astray by heartbroken families
Missing, seen on milk cartons, found lifeless
Lastly suspecting parental ties until now.
Forensic science
JonBenet Ramsey, dead.

While across lands,
3 decades after Chicago race riots
Battling life,
Underground exposure,
2 weeks later: masked by innocence, discredited by race story stolen, untold
Defined by economist, expected to die, and survived.
Documented, like a slave
Changed name to cut past ownership
Last names claim tickets, price tags for freedom, identity.
X marks her spot in history

Belated Outrage.
February 24th,
46 days after
Found on floors of vacant rooms, 7 flights suspended in hell
Subscribed violence for the poor, aiming to see grandma, caught by the wolf of
Cabrini green, prison snap shot, cell block, tower gates, life in slow motion
North side, chi-town, high rise, low hopes, demise
Infested with assumptions, gang violence, damaged
Devils leaving doors open for escape, outlet
Sun doesn't shine through windows, barricaded with bars
When police, peace officers, are afraid to enter...

She was just 9
Should’ve been Riding pink huffy, having
Knocking on doors selling souls Delights
Yet she lied covered, bruised, purple embellished with hate.
5 years younger than Emmitt
And bombed inside
Could have been in Birmingham
Branded X, for all girls

Stripped, strapped, snatched, stranded,
Stranger stole her sanity, silently.
Child like, diminished to materials, chopping block from society
Silenced, ripped vocals to re define help, screaming for heaven
Tortured, captured, caged...
Biting, fighting, kicking, screaming
Strength weakened to useless
Klepto stole her, never her soul, trapped, morbid to reality
Angels watched her
Hijacked her purity, seized her legacy, never again received
Removed from normalcy, placed in purgatory, lost in mistreatment, blackout
Tested her covenant, pulled at her faith, lesson of hope. Never lost her soul.

Impulse, target, trigger, traitor, premeditated
Gun or knife neither used
Safety abused, slapped. Stuck between now and then
Fighting jeopardy, double the doubt.
Fear injections of instability, kicking pride with ego, shaking logic,
And changing ethics
Emotions seep through, everything slowly shattered, she was victimized.
Action embellished with disaster. Truth is facts act as facades to daydreaming.

No whip, no connection to the physical harm, she was helpless.
Face, fist, switch, stick
Her ribs-broken
Body defined by beauty within
Fragile, impact increased dimensions
Blood hungry, attach. Injury doesn't described caused, nor effects.
Closed mouth fed by t shirts, body rejects. Malnutrition. Poisoned
With pesticides. Foaming. Tracing life.
Pain, stress:
Unrelated to the tears inside seeking repair.
Blind, immobile. Left dead. For dust. Slipping. Now stuck.

Young girl, removed from child like Made woman
Emaciated innocence, robbed.
Abandoned to dwell in pools of forgiveness, sacrificial self love.
Hate, assaulted mentally. Stripped of preparation. Life hit head on.
Legacy dehumanized to nothing, scorn. But success not predetermined.
Place into adulthood
Against will and destiny, never complete.
Parts punctured golden treasure. Internally. Shredded to pieces.
Only to find life again. Soul harvest, harness strength and
Faith, complacent with grace, moving with depth, life gets no easier.
Spirit came soaring through. Sunshine.
Laughter meets smiles. Not programmed for existence. But is.

Soul gleaming through silence,
Wheelchair bound freedom guided.
Rose grew between cracks. Life. Death. Breathe.
Kidnapped, threatened, poisoned and raped.
He beat her. She still inhales. Her soul, relief.
Survival. Live, let go.
Girl X-
Shatoya Currie,
Remember her name...

Sunday, November 22, 2009

kwansaba's for him

enrichment,kwansaba- 7 lines, 7 words, 7 letters or less

ego tippin

tripping on shoe laces from owns foot
intent spun of spider webs of irony
walking mighty on water that greed drank
keepin self on mntain atop city sheeps
the inner being praised but ignored
scales tippin self drippin vision lost
soul lost soul lost self never xcepted

the hustle

math the matic brain storm quick reflex
jumping to numbers testing storm life skills fast
never was this good with adding always
until money hungry hopes drove long days
still frozen on greed,guilt, and ambition
dreams drilled into cell block corners forever
too long ago were hopes beleived acheived


bystander lost

peace written strong willed black man walks
life driven off impulse distract greed lust
stagnte under pass fredom train de railed
passer by lost in cause and possible
justice renamed him turned wrong after right
core hungry with pain from ambush past
soul lost casue, life left him starving


jan 16th

red summer has be came winter
long days of despair linger closer
lynched men in mental slavery prison now
last chances to str8 line life over
routed by GOD to do other work
for gotten laws of trust,loyalty, worth
lost- love needed. missed. wanted. now. ALWAYS!

love's rejection

saddle bags full of emotion pull me
trashed memory leave my soul empty
reject every bodies' worst enemy temptin me
thought love wasnt suposed to feel sensles
mystery chills left scratchs on my soul
pain addict xtracts purity but still falls
cold cement never felt so familiar after

homecomming - happy earth day ESSO

everytime i go to visit home memories and stories flash by, as if i havent been there in years,yet its only been months. so many things have changed, but yet so much has stayed the same. today is my older brother's birthday...and we havent talked since july..a little after i wrote this piece..

Anxious for recapturing feelings so pure. And indescribable.
Turning in my sleep seeing images of their faces
Remembering my mothers embrace
And hearing new borns cry so gracious
Recollection of memories stamped too late for now, but never too soon to be found
I wonder how home will feel
Displaced are the family values
And family
Misplaced is my brother's connection
And love for attention
Finding ego on forefront
And now cell block
Twice fold of mistakes made broken and repeated
Causing strife and struggle between the family woven by bond
Middle birth child of only boys I see beauty In my ties to them
Yet slowly slipping is everything invested
And I wonder how home will feel
And I wonder how I will feel home
Will it be the same place that nurtured my pride
Stroked my knowledge and drive
Kept me motivated to create and disappear from nothing, to help provide
I wonder how things will feel
If lost is now because things have changed
Or if change is lost in the actions of yesterday
And the consequences of now
Leaving me with voids and arms open
Waiting for love from hugs missed
And phone calls to little sis
I wonder if the city misses him too....?
Or is it just me!?

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

overwhelmed overachiever

the overwhelmed overachiever... my mind just keeps running and running. the weirdest questions for people and life seem to just always spin. at times i wish i could catalog my thoughts. program them silently to re organize themselves, based on priority, efficiency, and purpose. then things would all align. and instead i write notes. verbally and visually placing value where necessary. and placing other things to the side when needed. the overachiever that sees hope in all children.. whether broken,new, fresh, fixed, healed, torn, or disruptive. yet realistic. i dont need every child, but every child needs me. balance. there is comfort in balance. when we practice success, what does it look like? when we practice 'happy' love what does it feel like? when we practice healthy expression how does it look? balance. life is balance. every day that i have that disrupts my routine... i have 5 that keep me balanced. and focused on my purpose. and the passions that keep me going.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Patrica Smith's : "Her Other Name"

For Girl X, Chicago

The first thing we took away was your name.
We erased the bleak shame from each syllable,
blurred the image of your tiny body broken into
network sound bytes, snippets of videotape
with a swollen face Xed out.
as in she is no longer a good girl.
as in two simple lines crossing
where a beating heart should be.
You were little, like we don’t want to remember.
You were stutter-folded, you were beaten liquid
on those lonely stairs, your skin was slashed,
you were raped with a fist and sticks, insecticide
sprayed into your seeing and down the tunnel of
your throat. He must have held your mouth open,
stretching the circle, leaving moons in your lip.
The violation left you blind and without tongue,
wrecked the new clock of you. You were jumprope
doubletime and pigeon-toed, navy blue Keds with
round toes and soles like paper, jelly sandwiches
and grape smash fingers, you, ashy-kneed rose,
missing rib, splintered and flinching through a
death sleep. In which direction do we pray?
To recreate you, they relied on ritual. Weeping
nurses gently parted your hair, the teeth of the
comb tipped in rubber, and dried blood showered
from your scalp like chips of paint. They rubbed
warm oil through the unraveling braids, threaded
ribbon through to the ends. We will give you back
your life by pretending you are still alive. Lowering
your X into a tub of warm water, they scrubbed
you with stinging soap, sang songs filled with light
and lyric, then dabbed you dry with those brutal
sickbed towels, avoiding the left nipple, smashed
before it began. They wrapped you in the stiff garb
of virgins and told you that you were healed, there
in that stark room of beeping machines and blood
vials and sterilized silver, they built you a child’s
body and coaxed your battered heart back inside.
X. The violation left. X
you blind and X voiceless
And they braided your hair every day, gently, the
ritual insane, strands over, under, through, over,
under, through, fingers locked in languid weave,
until the same of it all brought your voice back.
The nurses cheered, told you they’d found a cure
for history, that the unreal would refuse to be real.
Soon you’ll be able to see again, they whispered.
I know you never meant to be ungrateful, my rib,
when you rose up half and growled this grace:
OK you
can keep

stop the violence series

i am currently working on reshaping my thoughts. breaking a writer's block that has appeared at different levels of inspiration and motivation that i can not even begin to express. the off the wall things that formulate are not necessarily given the proper space to be nurtured. but anyways...

my current project consist of this #stoptheviolence series.. in light of the last few African American youth that have been lost.. and countless murders that go unmentioned especially where i am from (Rochester,NY)...its the fuel to my fire..

i just dropped the first installment.. TASER While Black.. make sure you read that..
next up is the Story of GIRL X from 97'. If you are not familiar with her, no reason to kick yourself. There is always a reason for the lack of media coverage and exposure. This reason: Jean Benot Ramsey slain two weeks prior to the story of GIRL X. So of course... White Woman Syndrome hit hard. cabrini green and chicago have become numb to such incidents...

and hopefully my forthcoming piece will highlight her story.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Taser While Black

Taser While Black:2009

Suddenly seen as escape goats
Sparsely filled rags
Full life size
Imitation of life like
With Eyes on the prize type
Tom moved swift
New invention
Shooting flesh
Without leaving holes
Volts replaced bullets
Animals clothed
January 9th
Derrick Jones
Martinsville Virginia

Hunters hunting game
Seeking salute
Collecting priceless ivory
Tally mark
One death per week this year
February 13th
37 years in
Rudolph Byrd

As “Peace officers”
Show off their new pieces
Target practice
On the backs of blacks
Trying to get the highest score
Of torture and execute the harmless
Not responding quickly
Marcus d. Moore, forty,
Freeport Illinois
March 26th

Facts of creation
’69 to aim shots
Since 1974, they practiced
Hit miss
Below centre mass
Stimulating sensory nerve s
Palpating hearts
Seeking brains the wiz never gave
Sweet sixteen
Robert Mitchell
Hit Detroit streets
April 10th

Thomas A. Swift electric rifle
Split seconds erupts currents
Incapacitating muscles and strength
They blamed faulty batteries on Rodney king
Riots produced
It took 5 seconds past minutes
To Spark hate
Disposable camera’s recycled
Captured deaths on voltage
Another slain
Salem Oregon
Gregory Rold
May 23rd

It’s the
21st century lynching
Slaying 3 headed monsters
Lose limbs left lifeless
Scarecrow like
Without reload
Highly praised
Without price
How much does it cost?
Only all civil liberties
June 13, Dwight Madison, 48, Maryland
July 2nd, Roy McKenzie, 25, Cali
August 14th Hakim Jackson, 31, Philly
Either one could have been me
Without reload.

And so as Tom aims to hunt elephants
In the mother land
He inspires
Jack Cover,
NASA researcher to probe deaths into formulation
Another slain not by gunfire
Left uncounted
Yuceff W. Young
Age 21
Brooklyn Ohio
September 19th.

All at the hands
Tom A. Swift’s electric rifle.