Inhale, Exhale

This I wrote for a buddy of mine's blog (Can be seen here http://proprpostur.blogspot.com/2010/10/breathe-me.html). Although it was a short piece I was really happy with how it turned out! Much love to Edwards Spencer!

Inhale, exhale the movement of a wind sail, wind fell from lungs that were in jail
Rib caged & in hell in need of intel of what to do when win fails just inhale
Catch it, hold it, & don’t ever lose it, use it when the world seems ruthless
It can leave you breathless like when the two kiss the connection of two lips
Tulips? Will do a dance brought on by the wind exhaled from Mother Nature’s lungs
When she gave her speech to the birds & the bees in her own cryptic native tongue
And if the flutter of a butterfly’s wings can bring about a tornado
Then exhaling together will bring about the winds of change that tore NATO
Drop a house on social injustice & we’ll quickly get used to the adjustments
Humans could be a race with substance in a Utopia where trust lives
But trust this; each breath we take is a definition of what our soul is
Cuz the day we stop breathing is the day we’re soulless hold this with a closed fist
Close to your heart & let it live in between those who won’t sleep & bros with gold teeth
And the one thing this poem and breathing both have in common is that they’re both deep
So inhale, exhale with enough force to power the movement of a windsail
And when win fails & you’re down on your luck & in hell remember just inhale

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Gold Mass

Couple of days ago, I had the pleasure to do an inclass session with some of the students at Fielding Drive Public School. I had a great time and the students were nothing short of amazing. One of the students, Haneen Alhassoun, wrote a poem! About me!! It's moments like this that make me happy doing what I do! Enjoy! PS. Thanks again Ms. Alhassoun!

Gold Mass

A poet visited our class, his words weigh gold mass.
Letter after letter cut through my heart like shattered glass.
Meanings flew around my mind like a song on a jazz band.
We weren't like a band, don't misunderstand, it was a meaningful class.
It was a linked circle of some lazy turtles that didn't move.
Hey! I’ve got some proof.
He's only twenty, he has experienced plenty.
His experiences are his topics.
From the arctic to the tropics.
He touched hate, he touched love, he touched joy, he touched heartbreaking, and he touched confusion.
Still it's not my conclusion.
He's a role model for every youth, it's not a compliment, and it’s just the truth.
We asked questions, we got some tips, we made some jokes.
He's Amazing folks!

-Haneen.

Dedicated to,
Khaleefa Hamdan A.K.A ApollotheChild.

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This is Not a Poem

This is not a poem. This is not poetry. To me this is life. Years of my life inked on paper and typed digitally!

This is not a poem, this is not a poem, see this? This is life

A life documented through words and paper from the words on paper
This is a person’s saviour with a purpose greater then a purse’s paper
This? This is a servant’s labour through a service caper being the serpent’s neighbour
See this is not a poem; this? This is a “moment in time” manifestation
Manifesto, manifesting a manifest of a man in frustration
A manifest of a man with breath in a candid test planed in depth
By persons unknown who planted death in a planet left marked by abandoned breaths
The planet left ‘cause they abandoned steps to Heaven leaving stranded guests
But the stranded guests had a pen in vests so they plan to invest
They plan to invest in a land that was never theirs to invest in
So this is the greed that spreads like interest or a viral infection
So I repeat this is not a poem, this is when I sit all alone
And I think I’m in a zone so I sink till I groan and in a fit throw my phone
This is it I’ll atone, I’ll atone, I’ll atone I will atone with the will of a stone
So this? This is the contents that fill a moan, the villains own villainous throne
Till he’s killed and dethroned, killed by his clone the one who swore he’d atone
With the will of a stone, one day, we’ll give a dog his bone and all come rolling home
But this is not a poem, see this? This is for all of those who’ll object so quietly
This is my list, my list of all that is wrong with modern society
Like haven’t you noticed the girls are half dressed, have breasts and show them freely
For beads? The boys have guns, have drugs, have bud & will go to jail still peewees
Little prostitutes and convicts bringing new meaning to the term “Pros and Cons”
This is for their innocence that was stole at dawn sold & gone their souls were pawned
But this is not a poem, see this? This is starting to get a little preachy
Don’t get me wrong, we all got our own demons and life is far from peachy
Life is full of brute traps so tighten your boot straps and don’t stop or move back
Get off that blue mat and do laps ‘cause the path to success is never a smooth path
Life is full of pressure and think of what it can do to us if it can bust through steel pipes
And although life can imitate art, art can never imitate real life
So this is not a poem, this is not a poem, see this? This is life

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Don't Look

Another piece inspired by The Crow except this one was from reading the graphic novel. In the novel the crow would actually talk to Eric which was different from the movie. Also Eric was very self destructive in the novel so whenever he would reminisce about his former life the crow would say "don't look". So I applied that to real world issues.

Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look two percent of the world's population
Owns half the wealth & it's spent becoming nuclear rocket nations
God waited on us to work it out but got impatient, so he stopped his saving
It's like we locked with Satan, invading nations who fight back with rocks they slangin'
And fat cats think in power point & money so they invest in bullets & clips
And they pull it to clip the wings of the white dove, so dead bodies are fillin' the ditch
And mass graves like animals or better yet nuclear waste, no decency
Hell recently, we'll burn torches to look in Death's face to get a decent peek but
Don't look, don't look, don't look, they went to Afghanistan to pop some insurgents
Her pops was in service, got popped & it's hurtin', it's off to the surgeon
They're stopping their workin' to pop in his virgin, she's shocked & she's jerkin'
They swapin' & smerkin', she was a lone angel amongst the rotten & vermin
There was one of them, for every year that made up her age, ten war time crooks
And as they squeezed & forced themselves in she closed her eyes & thought "Don't look, don't look,
Don't look, don't look" is what he said to himself as he thought about what fame is
Payments made to the shameless tucked in the Caymans in laymen's that is famous
It left him dis-turbed how he's molding lives with words of kids who called him mis-ter
He'd write till his wrists hurt, looking at his inserts, it became sweet like a des-sert
So he grabbed his death maker, he used to keep the shells hidden in old books
He sat on his couch, closed his eyes put it in his mouth & thought "Don't look, don't look
Don't look, don't look" she was just your average daily teen using Maybelline
Trying to be a Cover Girl, she's made to dream of being a famous queen
So she's not happy with her body image, she no longer eats, starvin'
Like that's how every star been, star bent her stomach feels like two boxers sparrin'
In her mind, she's always ugly & she'll never realize just what her goal took
Anorexic, whenever she walks by the mirror she whispers "Don't look, don't look,
Don't look, don't look" he was a dull moth who spent late nights writing manuscripts
Thinking "Man, you sick!" tucked away in his room like a phantom's crypt
He was attracted to light made by this firefly, her face plagued his vision
See she's dating a pompous butterfly, so the moth would trace his incisions
Of every single heart break & past scar, he used to look up at the last star
He couldn't turn away like seeing the crashed cars; he was an ape with a glass heart
It baffled him how he came so far; he loved the bizarre words of James O'Barr
This love game is so hard, in order to cope, he made his lame old art in rain or stars
But the sound of their kiss is forever ingrained and burned in his memory
So he's up ripping all the pages out his notebook that were referencing
His truest love, it was never true, so now he sits lightless with his soul shook
Replaying the incident, remembering how the crow said "Don't look, don't look
Don't look, don't look" every night I speak to God through my pen's ink & notebook
Like Lord, this world is full of sin & murder but please, for our sake don't look
Don't look, don't look, don't look.... 

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Be Happy

I am a big Crow fan! James O'Barr is a genius! Also, any artist can tell you that they find inspiration everywhere, I got mine after watching The Crow. I always tell people that if my poetry was a movie it'd be the first Crow movie. However, this poem was inspired more by the film and show and not the graphic novel (that is a another poem :P). Everytime you see a * that is a line quoted directly from The Crow film or the television series as both were equally awesome. Won't lie though I was a little depressed when I wrote this. Lastly, the word "happy" and its derivatives were used 48 times and no whales were harmed in the making of this poem. Enjoy!

 

Be happy, I’ll be happy to tell you to be happy, so he’ll be happy
So she’s happy and they’ll be happy to be happy to feel happy
You need happy to heal fastly whenever you feel ghastly or real crappy
If I was under the gun, God forbid but my last words will be “Be happy”
Be happy, I tell myself to be happy because it can’t rain all the time*
I’m only happy as words fall in line and blend only then are they called rhymes
Be happy to be happy ‘cause time heals all wounds and it seems God will call soon
To help me forget that we went as well together as whales and harpoons
Be happy even amongst the hateful; be happy even when life’s painful
But keep in mind, at the end of the day, the angel of death is still an angel
Be happy because even crows can be beautiful to be beautiful
Don’t put on airs, be you and chill, only then will you see truth revealed
Be happy to be happy ‘cause as it’s told, Eric Draven died for your sins
Hiding my grin till I’m finding my win but happiness is found lying within
In fact, be happy to be happy was the punch line of the hanged man’s joke
“Be happy to be happy”, it sprang from his throat and it rang as he choked
“Be happy” she tells me, “Why do you always have to be so angsty?”
‘Cause frankly, I’ve been used many times and I’m still waiting on them to thank me
But still I’ll stay happy because fire will burn clean the evil in men’s hearts*
The feeble get cleansed hard, people amend arts ‘cause it’s lethal when pen’s spark
I’ll be happy even as a victim because victims aren’t we all?*
I’ll stay happy even as the sickness spreads and symptoms evolve
Be happy even when it’s senseless like lethal injection being “humane”
Senseless like killing people who kill people in order to avenge who’s slain
But let’s all stay happy so abashed the Devil will stand as he feels*
How awful goodness is* and in due time, true awful goodness will be revealed
To make sure we’re all right, I’ll hold the sun in my hands to reveal all sight
In fact, if I was ever a police man, they’d call me Officer Albrecht (all bright)
Be happy when it comes to little things, see I used to think they were trivial*
Trust me, nothing is trivial*, so I’ll surround myself with love like full stereo
I’ll be happy after this ‘cause I got something for you, I don’t want it*
I don’t want it thirty lines of pain all at once all for you* in one sonnet
“Be happy” my dad used to say “every man has a devil and you can’t rest*
Till you find him*” I guess it’s my assignment, not breathing till reading the fine print
“Be happy” my momma used to say “mother is the name of God on the lips*
And hearts of all children*”, so I’m happy to be happy to write it in scripts
Be happy, I’ll be happy to tell you to be happy, so he’ll be happy
So she’s happy and they’ll be happy to be happy to feel happy
You need happy to heal fastly whenever you feel ghastly or real crappy
If I was under the gun, God forbid but my last words will be happy

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Short Sleeves

This one I wrote for a number of reasons. On the surface it's a reflection of my oh so horrible love life. However it's more than that...so much more. I really like this girl right? So this poem was my way of laying my cards on the table.   

 

Mend my broken heart with your soft kisses and silver duct tape
Mend my heart with the kind of kind kindness that only love makes
My attraction to you is more fatal than Glenn Close or Michael Douglas
So I’ll walk around love loveless in need of a hug miss till the day you plug this
Black hole that’s hidden in my chest, fitted in my breath, get it in your blessed breast
I’m breathless and impressed, at the same time, obsessed and oppressed, I’ll confess
Last night, I found my self sleep walking to your place ‘cause I was chasing my dreams
A mistake and it seems I’ll take in the scenes but I’ll greatly mislead
‘Cause I never could relate to actors and the world’s on my shoulders like Atlas
And if love was a skill, then I’ll need practice to gain a method to my madness
In fact, that’s what I told my shrink but it ain’t like that, it’s actually just George
My imaginary friend that tends to keep me company whenever I’m bored
But anyways, I’ll discuss fidelities with dudes that worship Cusack
And it’s true that my heart beat quickens when you’re around like boom bap
This doomed sap, plays the role of the travelling salesman who’s endorsin’
Endorphins to orphans and morphin’ their torment, informin’ my foreman
Of my sales while greedily filling my pockets with nothing but handfuls of love
The kind she’d toss in a landfill or dump, honey, aren’t I handsome enough?
If my love was a train, than these veins would play the role of my life’s railroad
And if we never hold hands than this train will derail so I’ll sail cold with failed souls
On the River of Styx and stones on mountains of broken bones past broken homes
I felt unwanted like a loaf of bread’s end pieces, so I wrote these poems
I want to spread my love for you around the world like jam or a bad rumour
But when I look in the mirror all I see is god’s sick sense of humour
Lying in his creation of this love poet who can never find romance
So I’ll write poems of how we’ll hold hands and slow dance in cold lands
And it’s so grand but I realize I miss you; I miss you like the dead miss breath
Or the living miss rest or Clinton miss breast or George Bush Jr. miss death
Or the dead miss breath and so the cycle continues as we come full circle
Love IS a battlefield and I’ve been wounded, turning my red heart to purple
But I like my method of attack like I like my brand of prophylactics
Roll up in wooden horses like a Trojan when I show my tactics
But my element of surprise is useless like stopping a sinking ship
With a band aid or sneezing with your eyes open, still I’ll try to sync our lips
Embraced in a long slow kiss, hot enough to make a kettle on a stove hiss
So this? This is dedicated to the soulless attempting to find solace
Your eyes are like the sunrise and your smile the sunset, while I’m like the moon
Overshadowed like a back up singer vocalizing his last tune
I can’t play the field; I’m a benchwarmer begging to be let out the sport please
My momma always did warn me about wearing my heart on short sleeves

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The Skeleton in Your Closet

This is a piece I wrote to kinda deal with a very, very bad rejection. The girl I was crushing on flat out told me to go kill myself and that I was never going to get anywhere with my music or writing. She also called me a monster amongst other things so I decided to write this.

I am a monster, a monster with split personalities and a hurt ego
And together, we'll be alert when we go in the dirt, amigos?
I tell them to forget me and let me rot, just let my body ruin
Please use no embalming fluid cuz when I'm on it I'm bombin’ druids
And all the fallen angels who were made to label people fables are the naval
I'm unable to hold it together like a damn staple, understand,
I'm far from stable, so watch, watch as my pride soaks the oak the table it ran thick,
Thick like maple the wound was fatal so I sit and wait till heavens gates will
Open and when it comes I can stop, stop being the clown in your circus
And she'll smile on the surface in an attempt to hide her frowns surplus
Cuz she is lost, lost till she finds purpose, lost to her own kind nervous,
Lost and in need of service, Lost till she becomes one with the serpents
And join in, whenever they all hisssssssss like defective leaky gas pipes
That’s when me and my many psyches will dance like flames, exploding in the night
Understand, I’m from the Fight Club of life where your first brawl is your last fight
So when she tells me that dark is my humour, I chuckle and tell her "That’s life"
The life of the monster under your bed who'd spend many nights with no sleep
Watching old sheep go leap, till one by one you lost them all my Little Bo Peep
The life of the monster that’d spend many days with no food slowly losing weight
Till he became the living corpse writing you love letters and cursing fate
And I’d write you poems basically begging you to be my Farrah Fawcett
But I decided to scrap and toss it cuz you see my sanity? I lost it
Your cold heart has me frost bit, I’ll still beg you to be my Farrah Fawcett
Hang me, so you can brag about having a skeleton in your closet
You said you liked a man with hair, so I grew mine like Chia pets or Sea men
See ma’am these hands made weak plans so now you’re bored of me like watching C-SPAN
Like meals of Ronald McDonald, this jester was happy and spread it ‘round
Till you perverted him and turned him into your very own It the Clown
I am the monster that chills with Cenobites that men will fight with metal pipes
But like Carrie my mental strikes like metal spikes and then I’ll spite the men alright?
But I just want to live life simple like the Mennonites, so I spend my nights
Sendin’ light to sinnin’ knights, spillin’ plights of the spinnin’ knife that’s skinnin’ fright
Now honey, I’m no Dracula, so why do you stab my chest with wooden stakes?
I would mistake you for Buffy, but I’ve seen you in the woods with snakes
My little Nosferatu on a hunt for blood but lost her path to
Amass some bad dudes and it cost her wrath too so she got the cross as tattoos
Now look at me, look at the monster you created Ms. Dr. Frankenstein
You’re heartless, I guess that’s why you’re takin’ mine don’t take your time while you break what’s mine
Yes, I am a monster then again so are you, in fact, I find you inspirin’
So when she calls me a monster, I say “I’m a product of my environment”

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Doodles

Doodles, Oh how I love this piece! I've always kinda wished I had the ability and talent to draw or paint but alas I'm not artistic in that way. However, I can write so I wrote this poem using a girl I liked as inspiration. The concept behind this is if I can't draw her with ink then I'll draw her with my words!

“If only…if only I could draw” was the first thought my brain clung to
When this dame run through, I’m in shame my tongue grew insane and sung you
Songs as lame as young dudes who claim they done you, I’ll train the young to
How to pray and love you and how you gained the sun too
And how just to touch you, the rain drops would dunk you and even clung too
And see them run through your hair and drop like a pair of shunned dudes
You’d be the main focus in a self portrait, dressed in blue and gold
You’d be the new and old and few are told how you slew your foes
Using only inks and pastels, by pink the last fell now think of past hell
My minx passed fail, now she drinks out vast wells not sinks she blast shells
Aimed at my heart’s canvas, can this be apart of god’s plan miss?
Damn this you’re always on my mind and my friends can’t stand this, stand pissed
Shoot, I don’t mind but if I was a graf artist you’d be my spray can
Used to save man cuz we gave them murals birthed from PHASE 2’s hands
But wait she’s not just eye candy, she’s opinionated like Banksy
Can’t we get together frankly I’m going crazy ape like Mankey
And having dreams that are silly, of me and you going all city
With burners, bombers, stencils, markers, throw ups, tags in a hood that’s gritty
And I could finally Cope 2, hope you are far from cynic
If not then give me enough rope to show you how I hang all up in it
Honey, let’s just mix like two colours in a painter’s palette
So I could rid myself of this pain and malice and gain my balance
Cuz your beauty has me tripping like running with untied shoe laces
My feelings for you only grows stronger with each moon phases
And I’m hoping I could be the Jim Halpert to her Pam Beesly
If she needs me sweet pea knows where to seek me when she’s weepy
Unless its winter cuz the cold makes me sleepy, don’t leave me
Hanging, treat me of my wounds tell me you’re happy to meet me
Or I’ll go insane like Van Gogh; do you get my point like an elbow?
Friends say “Man go!” hope you tell those men no, you’d date them if hell froze
Be mine like a Valentines card cuz we’re just mates who can’t pick our souls
Cuz destiny is abstract like Picasso, let’s stick our goals
In ancient texts and paintings and call it the DaVinci code
And hide it in between the sin we hold and the kin we told
Don’t rekindle old flames, honey, just give them the finger, finger paint
Ethiopian art like my man Kal Assefa but wait
I just realized I can barley manage to draw stick figures
And that alone has me feeling the depression like big fissures
I can’t draw but I can doodle a heart in the middle of my chest
And in that, doodle my name and yours and the phrase “Love you til my last breath”

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