Sunday, November 25, 2012


Deep within the innermost part of me
dwells my spirit
who provides inklings, premonitions
there are those who say it is intuition

I call it my true self. The self who
knows what the physical can not discern.
My spirit tells me when something is amiss.
My spirit tells me that something is not


As the rain of life pelts you with
the hail stones composed of years of
being sold a dream.

You would have to understand the game
to understand the pain.
The circle of life goes round
and round.

Words filled with hopes and dreams.
Reality filled with schemes and things.


Dude comes around, 
knows a lot too much,
saying the right things
at the wrong times.
Knows what I do in staff meeting
Knows where I go 
Talks that talk but does nothing
Never there
too shady

Thursday, November 12, 2009

All I Know

All I know is that
I am still growing.
That God is my refuge
when life becomes hard
and pain is knocking
at the door.

All I know is that
I deserve what is right
what is good and
a chance.

All I know is that
what I have experienced
is not the total sum
of who or what I am.

All I know is that
whatever happens
that in the end
I will be fine.
God has me in
the palm of his

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Mind Games A Revelation

You can't play with my mind
Play with you own
figure out what up with you.
Why do you do what you do?

You didn't make me
can't break me
your game is weak
you can't fake me.

I am covered and protected
been played by professional
players even those international.
At times even been tried
by the devil.
Do you think you're on my level?

Hey you slick the one who
thinks from his hip
baby I'm no trick.
I won't get faded
see my heart was already

From those in the past
Ha, I thought you would

Tried to play me
tried to slay me
couldn't catch me
had to watch me.

As I maneuvered in and
out, never cried
but I did pout.
As I listened to the game you
would spout.

Words too slick for me
gaming is game but
your game is weak you

Baby I think it's time
you should learn
I am not that one you
could burn.

You can't catch me
won't pull me
no this will never be
Thought you would have me
climbing a tree.
I am to0 fly and I must be

Friday, October 23, 2009

The Road

The road was long
twisted gnarly with the
roots of trees overgrown.
Rocks and rubble in my
way. I dodge the flying
objects coming at me from
every direction. Things
trip me up at every
turn. Barriers in my way.
I struggle, I fight, I fall
I get up. I keep it moving
or I die.

Some of the Life

Always down for this and that and the other
hustlers hustling hustle us all
We hustle ourselves playing them
playing ourselves, hurting in the process
of the hustle.

Losing sense of self sacrificing
ethics character morals in the name of
game dollar dollar bill y'all.

Played myself lost myself as I immersed myself
in a world like myself.
Selling, stealing, slinging, robbing, hoeing, tricking, striping,
thugging, writing, boosting, shot players, drag makers,
razor blade eating con men out of Brimingham.
Original OGs trying to get rich quick.
None wanting to die trying.
Dying on overdoes, wilting away in a cell
snitching when they can't make bail.

Deceit and lies a way of life, pain and suffering
a life of strife. Gaming, game on, turn it off turn it on.
Gifts given freely the gift of gab, the gift of con,
the gifts given in a sting. The gift of being schooled
to the game.

Pimps selling smoke filled dreams,
telling lies while looking
you in the eye.
The gift of guerrillaism take it by
force, keep it by force, use it by force.
Hoes blinded by the glitter and the gold never told
what would happen when they are old.

Surviving the life
blinded by strife
Cold blooded game
Every day ain't the same
Someone dying
another trying
another hustle of
A day in the life.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Missing you

I miss that post
of thoughts
expressing words
to you
about whatever.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

A Noose Is No Prank

Modern Day Slavery

Strange Fruit

Twilight comes and the his body swings from the tree
blackened and ashen burnt a remnant a grotesque figure of who
he used to be.

The hooded men arrived torches burning bright
riding into darkness they ride only at night

Knocking loudly the door began to shake
jousting us all until we were awake.
Dragging this man from his woman
who stood hatefully moaning.

Wanting to kill and maim these murderous felons
the sheriffs’ voice it sounded just like him
the pastor from the church with a voice that sounded thin

The kerosene smell all throughout the house
on the man this liquid they started to douse.
He never cried, hate in his eyes
they just dragged him lynched him all in one try.

I started to cry tears running down my face
feeling so alone forsaken in this hell of a place.

The photographers came the next day
just before we took his body away
The picture they put in a paper up north
but never did it cease as the riders went forth.

Lady Day wrote a song about the strange fruit hung from trees
in summer
until this day if you listen you can hear the trees mummer
about the murderous way their trunks were desecrated
by the unspeakable atrocities the nightriders created.

Saturday, March 03, 2007


The texture is fluffy soft to touch
sometimes coarse and stiff.

The field is wide and endless
covering miles and miles.
City block after city block
Burlaps sacks are gone
The cotton is harvested
in cars with blue lights on top

Bales are no longer used for measurement
Instead the bails are money
not often had.

The barn has been
replaced with bars and keys
electronic gates.

The texture is fluffy soft to touch
sometimes coarse and stiff.
Only this cotton is alive
and this cotton is black
brown and carmel
this cotton is we/me.

We are the new cotton
held in the prison industrial complex.
And the birds up in the sky I know
how you feel.

Thursday, March 01, 2007


No I don't like u why should I pretend
that my jailer is also a friend?
Why should like those that oppress
kill and steal and bring all the stress?

u never gave me or mine a chance
u just took exploited without a 2nd glance.

u killed Martin and Malcolm - heroes to me
u probably financed the killing of Tupac and Biggie
Locked up Mumia, Move and Pelliter
not even caring about their family and their tears.

To me u r big brother watching us all
tripping us up when we don't fall.
Asking our neighbors to give u a tip
through a program u call CHIP.

My Mama and Granny told me about u
through their eyes I saw what u do.
U r the nightriders, and the klan,
the ones who came in the night to lynch a man.

I don't like u never did
threw molatov cocktails
when I was a kid.

With fortune 500 u made a pact
Now u're hiding behind the Patriots Act
Preying on fear u helped create
no I can't lie and I can't b fake.
Exploiting the losses of 911
with mis-educatin and mis-information
u carry out atrocities and say in God u trust
coming from u that sounds like a cuss.

The lynching, murders and lies u've told
the lives u've ruined in ur pursuit of gold.
Now ur in killing mode over time
looking for a man u can't find.

Sneaking & peeking in all the worng places
locking up every body with unwhite faces.
One day u'll learn one day u'll see
there is a Gods and he looks like me.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


Writing about truth justice and the unamerikan way
inspires me excites me and focuses me on the priority.
speaking truth to power.

I respect those in the struggle to survive
who stand for something
who fight for something
the warriors who have stood
so strong like Assata, like my
grandmother, like the sistuh who
struggles with a bill a baby or a relationship.

I respect that woman who slept on
the sidewalk last night because that could
be me, because there are so
many who are all one match, one paycheck
one eviction notice, one condo conversion
away from that homeless woman's reality.

I respect those who expose the truth
about a system that has excluded
marginalized, compromised disenfranchised
experimented on and are now researching
people of color, ex-prisoners,
who are mostly people of color

I resent the fact that some in our
society are repaid for their pain and suffering
and us the seeds of slaves are held in contempt for
bringing up reparations.

I totally dislike the bratz dolls
what is the purpose, and what do those lips

I don't like barbie being massed marketed to
my children and having to drive miles to find a
black doll.

I am totally freaked out about how our men,
our sons have been demonized for wearing
hoodies and the prison industrial complex
grows bigger and bigger.

And so I write.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Oppression Is Worse Than The Grave

Blessed are those who struggle to survive
Oppression is worse than the grave.
Better to die for a noble cause
than to live and die a slave - Last Poets

Oppression=attempted surpression of thought
diminishing the quality of life
battle fatigue and PTSD end results
of the daily grind and the continous struggle
of life under siege
Defining the quality of life while a foot is
on your neck sometimes is hard.

Death can be an attractive alternative
to a depressive existence
then the oppressors will win
or will they?

Empathy and insight for the millions who have
given up given in when the
burdens became too much to bear
like slaves on the ship
when the weight of life is greater
than the desire to live.
But you don't hear me

Priviledge and access
have declared that the elephant in the room
is invisible and will not be discussed.

Fairy dust powder supplemented with empowerment granules
trickle down to the masses from the executive
offices of war mongers and slavers all, corporate,
and nonprofit priateers, salaries paid by
misery and tears of the poor who are reduced
to monthly statistics.
Pitting poor against, poor, black against
latino, and us all against the others.
Then say they to the funders and investors
"what a good job we have done!"

Tenacity, holy boldness and faith
surprise and leave them in awe
the inner strength of
slaves who were named
happy dancing darkies,
jeffin and fronting for the man
2006 the dances are different but the chains are the same.
slavery has evolved the overseers have not
the master is the same
the uprisings are fought with words and thoughts
rebelling against the unjust system of hypocrisy
Oppression=a failed attempt at suppression of thought.

Friday, March 03, 2006

The Kings Wife is Dead

Mrs.Coretta Scott King dead
she certainly knew a lot about
wire tapes and covert surveillance
she knew that conspiracy theories
was terminology created by the
system to create an atmosphere of

dick cheney shot someone
Where I live that is called a drive by
possibly gang related
since they all had on the same color
neon orange jacket.
what if that were me or you or any one else
charges would be brought
time would be served?

Ms. Corretta knew a lot about
forgiving your man, and she did it
with grace.
They/them wanted the legacy to
die with the man.
But they forgot about Mrs. Corretta Scot King.
Long Live the King!

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Cointelpro Now

Do you know what it's like to be under surveilance by the man?
Have your every move watched by people looking like the Klan.
Follwing you around you're not supposed to know they're there
but like mice and roaches they leave bits and pieces everywhere.
Did you know that modern day slavery still exists today
monitoring your words listening to what you say.

Did you know the patriots act wasn't only for the terroist you see
this law was made to include poor people it's for you and me
GPS in your car
no matter where you go there they are.
Nike sport on the ipod, don't be a fool
just another monitoring tool.
I need to add one more thing
Ipods are ripe for hacking.

Do you know what it's like to be black and poor
with po-po coming in and out your front door
hacking your computer, tapping your phone
paid voyeurs who will not to leave you alone.
Cameras in the street lights in every ghetto area
jails filled with black and latin faces is that fair?

They put us in studies, like they do mice in a maze.
are you aware, in a daze or just not fazed?
Did you know that some drug dealers work for the feds?
Those people who got busted got out snitched instead.
they didn't want to do the time, or face deportation
so they get a license to commit crime and give up information

They will set up their mother, their father, their friends or foes
Po-po is the pimp and the snitches are the hoes.
they will set you up If they can't get you leaglly
didn't you know that freedom ain't free.

Did you know there are no coco plants growing in the hood
If you didn't know before now you should.
And what about the guns, blacks killing black
the biggest form of genoicide next to crack.
Everyone is watching whats happening in Iraq
what they should be doing is watching their backs.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Life In A Ocean
by Tina Williams
Rippling waves of water
are like the rippling waves of life
up and down
never steady
always moving and fluid
sometimes calm,
glistening and shimmering with
the rays of the warm sun
or glowing and frigid lit by only the moon
sometimes my ocean is turbulent and wild
and I ride on waves grasping at branches for miles and miles

what is it really all about
with dreams and things
choices and the consequences they bring
my life has been like the water
fluid and always in motion
waves a rippling like the ocean
tossing me to and bringing me fro
shore to shore
up and down
in and out
over and under
saturating every part of me
my nose my mouth each breath I take
when there is no laughter I won't fake
a smile or a word no effort will I make

always moving on no matter how hard the blow
sometimes I sink
but rise again
arms a flailing
legs a kicking
gasping for air

inhaling deeply
awaiting another storm or surge
but when I listen
and still my mind
I go with the flow of a different calm
swim or float the choices are few
when the tide is up
we do what we do
I always swim no matter what
the survivor in me says never give up.