Got a heart like a battery

In place of your decrepit heart
Have me instead
Put me where your life blood coursed in rush
Where love played tambourine

The birth place of your joys laughter

Yesterday,
I heard you cry
And I asked God for a second chance
And he remade me in the image of your heart

Won’t you have me?

I promise never to break when my limits are bent
Never to shake no matter the quake
All I want is to give you what was once lost

A heartbeat to call yours

A thump you can feel silently crashing in your ears
Like the rain on your window
Sea water on a boats slimy bottom
Like tears of sadness slapping the ground

Love Child (Draft)

I really like this one, twas very easy to write and soooooo unforced! Enjoy if you dare :)

I’ve been….I’ve been trying
Trying not to write about us
Too frightened to give our love a word or more to survive on
Scared
Troubled
Doubtful that it
I mean she
Doubtful that she can exist outside of me if I let her out too early
My heart is a womb, an incubator for our love,
For her, she can grow as much as she wants here
No one can make fun of how big she gets
How long her arms spread, how hot she makes the hair on my arms get
She loves it here, made a home out of my heart,
Where she can be kept safely tucked away in her bassinet
No eyes are needed to watch over her
No cameras, or ADT, I’m all the home security she needs from them
THEM: jealous haters, skeptics and pessimists
Agnostics of our seedling love who make comments like
“Why do you love her, she’s too little for you”
“Why not me I came first and wanted you more”
“Albi, don’t you know I love you…”
No I don’t know how much you love me
I never asked if you loved me, nor do I care!
See, Its ironic babe, causeI hate them as much as they claim to love me
But how could they understand
That adjusting to thought of “us” wasn’t a problem I wanted to solve
Adjusted so much
That I can write poems with words that have “us” in them
Like I spent 8 lifetime mastering the act
You dazzling aquarius
Your voice is a musical orchestra to my every synapse
Bodacious boisterous
Amusingly complex how it plays a one woman percussionist band in my ear
Dexterously twirling like a drum stick in between two fingers
Creating the illusion of a discus
Moving like a fictitious saucer, tickling my ears like dust,
I’m focused solely on the fusion that laboriously fused our paths together with love’s luster
Cause I was exhausted
Damn near sick from looking and not finding,
I began to mistrust my balance, so when I fell for you
I made it a profitable business to make you happy
Each laugh you let repeatedly echo around the cave in your chest is a bonus
I insist that you never stop laughing
Let your laugh pave the roadway to our infinity
And If the world becomes too much for us
And we find ourselves settling for lesser
Becoming devoid of that olympic sun tanned spark we feel inside
Then, will set sail for the bemuda triangle
And see if discovering the unknown brings enough danger to relight our love flame
I am your poet, be my poem my muse
My weed, my liquor, inspirational crack my pen and paper my reason to write with my left hand
While I try to right my wrongs, be my first and only songs
They say when you love something let it go
Well those people must be very lonely people
Cause when our love grows old
I’ll remember how she lived in my heart,
Our baby girl not yet ready for the world
But waiting in youthful excitement

Miss me with that poet shit

Stop.....

What are you doing here?

Why you are here?

You have not a clue

That you mosey across holy ground

But that is not an excuse…..

Mistakes, Pain, Dreams and nightmares

Fattened words

All are keys used to open this gate



But you,

You…do not belong here

This place

Exists not for you or others like you



You are blind;

So take my eyes and see what you are



You play your part well

But you are not deaf,

Hear me impostor

As I call your true name out loud

You traitor!

You liar!

Take the mic out your throat and

Give me back your voice

You deserve to speak only when spoken to



How ignorant can one be, in their blasphemy,

to try to bury their casket here?

Great men have left their echoes and shadows dancing

Lingering, underneath the catacombs

Even in death they planned to be always heard



I’ve seen angels bloom and die here

Seen men tilt their heads back and drink

Cracked words,

broken women slant down their throats

Letting it baste on their tongues

Savoring the taste, learning to love hate



I’ve seen tears be nomadic,

as they claw their way out inflamed eyes

Trying to redefine what it means to be emotional

I hope, that as they travel further south,

They fashion wings from sand

So when they land on the ground

It won’t seem so out of place hanging around



Your mind is too simple to form a thought of your own….



It’s no wonder you have no idea

Of what it means to be a poet



And you won’t have one

Until you’ve seen

A poet spit a poems

as if she knew Hiroshima was tomorrow

and each poem a minute of her live she had yet to live

You have no idea what it means to be a poet

Until you’ve seen

Him, poetic prophet,

prophesy of an earthquake his skin never shook from

Haiti, is a woman,

who made love to his spirit

and left her future floundering in his womb





This mic was not made to stroke your ego;

it was made to be stroked

You dishonor these veteran speakers

I hate the tenor in which you sing your arrogance

This ground is fertile, but not for you to plant your skeleton seeds

Hoping it springs into phone numbers and Facebook friend requests

The only clout you get here,

is earned when your lungs fall into your stomach

because it’s become too heavy to hang in your chest



Here, is the only place

where you are master and slave

This stage is a spoken word cage

where only you have the master key to set your life free

….poetry

#11/30 The Thrill

I've had this poem for a while but didn't put it out for a reason, I hope you understand why it took me so long, I really wanted to get this one right...enjoy



The thrill is gone,
The sky is crying and she is an afterglow,
That reminds me of saddest blues songs on Wednesday evenings
She’s an Amazonian woman lost in time and she wants me, to break her back out,
To envision her heart and pretzel her body in the same twisted fashion,
Forget about love she begs
Forget about mind fucking like grangran once told us too,
Forget why God picked us above other animals albert,
Because love
Love is a white washed truth I never knew,
A faded background somewhere,
Were Romeo and Juliet sleep like homeless people under nights covered in failed aspirations’ like plaster
Let the smallest, hottest, parts of our bodies merge and just fuck in friction
She says….
For I am nothing but a broken rainbow dirtying the sky
See, no matter how you look at me, whether upside or down,
Flipped over easy on my axis or laid gently on my side
My outward look is uglier than the beauty enveloping me
You’ll see that I’m as ruined as a shattered figurine

I wish I could tell you her name,
But names are like poetry in the raw, they are untranslatable
And hers is an unassailable fence,
A claw nicking at what’s left of her essence
She's already brain dead, why else would she ask that I fuck her brains out?
It’s so she can bury it, in hopes that it sprouts when spring comes again

She does not call her vigina what it was meant to be; a stairway to heaven
Neither does she read her bible,
But when life becomes too much to blame on her parents, she discovers that eve does exist in a chapter titled Leviticus or was it genesis? Confused woman
Shrouded in the worst parts of women’s history,
The only thing that insulates your cold heart from the world is hate for tomorrow
I tell her that tomorrows are like children, they laugh not caring about circumstances
She tells me that tomorrows are like children, a birthed mistake she would gladly abort
I tell her she’s a black woman, not a fucking queen but a sun goddess dethroned from her Aztec temple
It’s depressing, that most women I’ve met in my short time on earth think this way
Your attitudes and behavior have cause my brain to reboot in alzheimer’s mode
What my mother used to call you has slowly ebbed out of my brain
With years smothering the flame of my eyes I have begun to forget what you look like
But I know that you are not useless pellets,
But a dangling comet that has paused itself in the sky, waiting for the right moment to kill us all
If you just Crawl back into your cocoon and try again, there wouldn’t be a need for a different you in a parallel universe
You are woman! Remember to nurture, remember to protect like a queen on a chess board
Light your fire flag again! Let us breathed your clawed essence like burned incense
Inside all of you, there is a spirit on a journey like sojourner with the voice of monet
Asking that you remember the ground your roots stabbed when God planted you
Remember when you were younger than training wheels
Open your heart, and find your way back, can you see when you tried to make history your story?
And when history wasn’t tied to histories he left on your sheets in blood and sperm
Stop trying to unbuckle my jeans for one second, and hold onto me as if my words can transfigure matter to a time machine, waiting for you to hit the rewind button,
Forcing impossible to happen…

All I want, is to take you back in time so you can try things out differently…if only
You would stop trying to unbutton my shirt and unclasp your knees from its knelling position
Stand,
I am your mirror; look at me with those binoculars you call eyes that once defied physics
See your cheekbones and fall in love with them again
See the crooked nose that held men up when they were ready to let go and lips that twice wrote gravity into the realm of the universe
And realize that I will not fuck you tonight or ever
But rip my tongue from my mouth, and use it to repaint you in the colors, that God once told me to

#10/30 A Woman's heart in me

I plan to...
When its no longer needed...
I plan to cut my heart by her roots
Burn her down like the tree she was carved from
And let her ashes float,
Put her on a free falling path on an eastern wind behind my home headed for the sea
and watch her find a new man to torment


Maybe she'll meet someone who she finally deserves
someone nothing like me, with a ribcage she can call home
and a mind she can peacefully use as a blanket when she's cold

I hope she'll be green again
touched by the love of his mid day sun
she'll grow strangling vines, perfect for your throat

yea man, I could have told you that

my heart...well...your heart, our heart
can choke from the inside out

#9/30 Cough in a house of Phlegm

A cough lives in a house
Suburban house made of marrow nailed ribs plastered with fresh flesh
The cough is wondering how to make a chest homely
He thinks to himself
how nice it would be to paint these red walls phlegm
carry out breath and replace the couch with chairs carved out of heaves
He remembers being an orphan
being oppressed
fighting for survival in the human system
He hates the whooping but loves the wheezing

There's a dusty box filled with pictures of her
and childhood friends
These pictures, black and white, sepia and color memories
are his only tresures
He wonders how sneezes is doing and if he and itch ever got past that hump
separately they were deadly but together they were impossible
he'll hang all their kodak moments togehter later
right after he dusts for cells

# 8/30 Sex God and Rain

Sometimes 

before the rain,

When it grays,

Just before those few sprays touch your face. 

I think, 

That God must be a child ready for tears. 

Ushering from his cloudy lips are thunder 

or better yet ungentle grunts as he back peddles,

one foot clasp in whimsical hands,

and sausage fingers 

picking out lightenling needles 

and... pins....

other times I think,

this,

must be, 

what 

sex 

feels like....

#7/30 Birth Salon

Cobweb glued,
I find myself back where I almost started, a turn close to the beginning but a tad bit late.
Calling this, the place of my birth is as wrong as let's say Adam discovering after all these millennia that eve was actually here first and he, rib given life

Yea that wrong, but listen,
I'm in a hair dryer at a salon in Memphis for the second time in my life,

-a blizzard left a nigerian chilled winter in this salon 2 years ago, he's so used to frostbite now,he barely notices-

Deja vu walks in, memories in her purse, a used cherry chapstick melting its last
Remembrance, trailing her heels, a broken hearted dog longing for the joints of its dead owner. Sad.
She eyes me before sitting in my lap, finger nails map hidden trails to half healed scars,
Peeling back inadvertently forgotten memories

-there was once a poem like a beast let loose here it spawned a poetic demigod -

-a boy once forsook being a man and decided to be poet right where that barbers chair sits, legendary boy-
blackest keloids ache for her kiss, a kiss that fucks more than sex does on long end of ctober nights,.

My hair begins to stiffen but ca a memory be orgasmic?
Can it pull fireflies from a fluttering croller oaster stomach, rumbling freighter that it is
Can it cause you to stumble as you king Kong your way through the dark hole limbo of your mind, searching for the source of its existence

-every line from his mouth has w fish hook mentality, every poem he spits is raw and flushed, he had to have garguled his words, how else did he make souls erupt,

Or can it be simple?
can memories hold you cob webbed trapped, caught in the fragrance of gel the color of crude oil, basking ant, under a sauna dryer that has 30 more minutes of geyser heat to live...to give?

-he was shaved iceberg frost with a volcanic delivery, at a barbershop in Memphis called steppin up he stepped up, he sits under sauna dryer blowing hot air like a geyser, drying his hair in lock patterns-

:( Computer Virus

I'm sorry I haven't been able to post lately, My laptop has a virus and its affecting everything! Again i'm sorry and I can't wait till I can continue blogging again....later

#6/30 For Aaliyah

Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but

I sometimes don't remember you,

Your face, isn't a safely kept image in my memory safe

I hate to admit it but I've failed to feel your impact......

Aaliyah

You were a spiraling kamikaze

A starburst lost, headed for the Milky Way

It’s no wonder; the world felt you when you died

Millions cried when your death was announced

But not I

Not because I didn’t want to,

But I had no tears to share

It’s like skin; you can’t shed what you can’t peel away

I have wronged your memory

So this is my apology to you….

I’m sorry….

I’m sorry for not knowing who you were

For not sun-taning under the heat filled passion of your music

For not finding my place in the note cracks of your voice

For not knowing your middle name was Dana and that your last was Haughton

I saw romeo must die tonight

It was on B.E.T, edited, I’ve never seen it completely and B.E.T was already an hour into the movie

I’m sorry for trying to get a glimpse of your body when the scenes cut

It’s the devil man in me, asking why I should care about a dead star
This poem is an uppercut to the him, Aaliyah
Let him feel, your rage, and anger
Tell him that ghostly punches can land harder than real ones

Can you ever forgive me and him too?

For knowing only 1 line of 2 of your songs

“That boy is mine” and for the other I can’t remember at the moment

If I ever make it to heaven will you be able to look at me?

On June 15th I heard drakes’ “unforgettable”

And didn’t realize that was a sample of you

Till Jamie mentioned it

They say your vocals where the good kind of sickening

And that you could dance a tsunami onto its toes

I never saw and barely heard

But if you're floating by dreams tonight

Please, stop by for a bit

Break me of a speck of your angelic halo,

Let it become my new soul

And maybe that way

Just maybe

I'll give you the tears you deserve for your death

#5/30 Iffy Death

When my heart stops pumping tomorrow

Open up my chest and take out my heart,
Cut a clean laceration through the middle
Whatever you find there, is yours forever
Memorandums are thumps you can always touch

When my soul blows as a light bulb

Smash the glass that kept my light burning to pieces
Break the pieces to bits,
Pulverize the pieces to particles, particles to powder
Then swallow it, for it’s the only way to keep my memories close

When my spirit simmers to cloud

Let it go, that’s me still searching for a silver lining
That’s me still looking for a home, a place to call my own
If you ever miss me, find you a patch of grass and watch me float by
And if your loneliness becomes too much, ill touch you once more…rain

When my brain is the color gray

Rejoice for me, gray is the median, the middle point
Combination of good and evil, black and white, ying and yang
My brain was never happy pink but would love being gray
For it would mean that my internal struggles are over

When my body breathes it last call

Raise your glasses and get your backs off the wall

Understand the meaning of what’s occurred

I’ve started another journey where the simple things aren’t needed

Where breath, does not mean life

#4/30 Robotic Haiku

We breathe robots life




Using A.I like street whores




They'll take over soon

# 3/30 Far From Forlong...But

I will die an unhappy man, 

a dream unachieved 

still clutched in fist, 

a lust pang still thumping after death, 

an abstract act never seen so never understood...

I will die a dethroned god, 

powerless, 

a conversation too scared to be had or heard,

But, yea

my veins will live forever, 

a memento of my wasted life

# 2/30 Interrial dance floor

Last night,
was the call I had been waiting for
The call I would answer
without looking at your collar or callers I.D

The beckoning of your hips sang
just the way jimi’s guitar did when strummed
Tuned channel, you were live
and abstract
and gorgeous as tainted sunsets rocketing across a Nigerian sky
right before the moon in lust
takes off her night studded small clothes
pealing her skin back,
cynical beauty so ugly

We can see her stars,
the moon,
you remind me of her
the moon
She nicknames her scars “stars”
to hide her imperfection
but imperfections,
are what makes me undeserving
and you
Beautiful

You smile joy
Hands weaving tighter coils around my spine
as we color the dance floor “us”
with help from wande coal
and d’banj, sunny ade and kuti
A pioneer in a room full of strangers
You are awkward in your dance stance
But unbalanced grace has never looked so luscious

Tell me
What becomes of shyness
when you let loose
on a galleries dance floor on front street Memphis?
Does it drown sinking?
A fetid black hole
tied down by the very ball and chain of its construction
Does the sinking becoming a womb delivering your freedom?

Dance with me to the music of my birth
Hold me closer, alcoholism has seized my legs
So when I stumble 
Searching for a bathroom, go with me
When I sit on an old armchair begging to caress my body
sit with me
But on my lap,
I am a jealous lover and won’t allow the armchair to share you

Tell me you love me
Share a kiss with me
Then go
Go back to the dancehall of your freedom
And let your scar/stars blind
Be free to grove, love
Fly free love twig stuck in lips of a dove
As you dance the dance
of songs
you know nothing off

# 1/30 Old and Fresh

The days are colored sweaty hot and damp

with a mixture of heavy humidity too hot for sneakers
not even ray bans can keep the sun at bay


But it’s the night life that catches these eyes
Where the aura of neon lights
shines bright on history's lost ideas


Urban city Memphis,
where beale is spelt with “ale”
not “ill”


So ill,
we be tight packed bodies,
slanging dreams you feel


They say the sounds of symphonies are beautiful,
they must have not heard the melodies of these youthful people,


Its bone chilling these southern songs our bodies compose
Yea, it’s grimy out here,
its rot out here
Guess that’s why we can grind anywhere,
jaun


Known for having more stories on first 48 than any other city,
We die every day,
to bring family time to your dinner tables
and flat tv screens
And it seems,
the sun simmers like bbq coals,
turning darker toned folks charred black


It’s not a lack of money that’s got my city suffering,
It’s a lack of leadership,
of fresh ideas,
of people willing to become the box they think in
so they can break out the box,
there’s a key to every lock,
and one day will find ours


See, I know what makes jazz so soulful,
What makes the river look gray during the day


It’s the people;
it’s this city,


its
Memphis

Poetic Workout

Discovering what poetry is suppose to be is pretty much impossible, and so is defining what a poet is suppose to be, but Auden says "A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language, Yevtushenko says "A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote." Therefore, a poet must learn the language of poetry to enable him/her to write his/her autobiography, he/she must learn the art to paint his/her footsteps permanently into any surface. With that being said I want to start a journey I noticed a lot of poets go through, a "30 poems in 30 days" journey, It's going to be hard considering that inspiration doesn't just hit you in the face, you must find it. With school, a beautiful relation, life, and defending my slam championship and etc its going to be hard but i'm going to try my hardest starting with poem 1, tomorrow


"Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something.” Frederick Smith

Welcome

This! is not going to be one of those blogs, were I ramble about my daily life, or where I post random "cool" things from the internet. This blog is simply for poetry, the advancement of a much needed cultural movement and also for my growth and what i'm doing around the city and personally as far as poetry....Thank Me Now