Monday, November 30, 2009

"Still Another Day (Reprise)" - Neruda's poem

I start to think of Pablo Neruda's poem everytime it rains.

"We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores,
the stones, knowing they will go on,
inert or burning,
and I was discovering,
naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."

— Pablo Neruda (Still Another Day)

So I infused my own wonders of this quizzical feeling
and came up with this...
A reprise of sorts, adding a few elements of my own.

I think of the words of the Chilean
when mists massage heated Texas panes on my domecile
It sends me to sleep with the rain
I once read this poem on a bus stop, and fell in love with it.
That's what I like about poetry.
She likes to do what she wants, when she wants to...
but only with you.

She falls into your hands.
She comes through many vehicles traveling

Solano Trindade
Gwendowlyn Brooks
Langston Hughes
James Baldwin
and the Chilean

I would love to stick my tongue out in this precipitation
gather all of the words poured out by the angels
and swallow the divine spirit of it.
Spit out their truths,
their pain
their adventures amongst us in flesh covered souls
out in these streets to repeat her verses, like

John Lennon vs. The Christ phenomena

Jimi Hendrix and that "stuff"

Open the Doors to See My Family Stone
sitting high upon these hills I feel...
drenched in the thunder and lightning
I'm under their tears
the Orisas grant what we only ask in honesty
so I watch as Sango and Oya pull back the curtains
showering me with love and poetry
and midnight insomnia
and silent dripping
these are my candy coated dreams that won't go away
Speech! In all it's damn glory I am falling...
another day, still another, I am crawling to bed
Angry at sandmen that promised me temporary death
and torture me with impending prophetic breaths.

Why give me liberty late night
I long for her love, for she is worthy to be praised
Like a Lord magnified and raised
I imagine her smile and laugh at her downfall...
it is imminent to slide on the wayside
beside our backsides
I am waiting to kiss the surface of her brown terrain
that layer her spine and lumbar
I desire to smooth my hands inside of her
blend when these celestial bodies are in her grasp
and planets are aligned with my libido

I am stargazing
Needs want to make it to her
Wants then need to bid farewell soon

But comets shoot across skies
to continue to destinations of forever




She waits for me to call her on stage
I am of fright whilee she is away
It is written, she is scripted
on my heart, by the Chilean artist
He was just adoring nature
giving me a gift that keeps giving
for tomorrow

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Still Another Day" - Poem by Pablo Neruda
(all photos used are not used in slander, defamation, nor crude and explicit forms.)

Saturday, November 28, 2009

"The Experience (Are You Experienced?) "

Originally created in 2005, finished 04-27-2009, 12:05 PM. (slightly edited for reader)

The black. The space. The stars. The start. The land.
The nature. The animals. The people. The family. The nations.
The village. The regality. The salts. The secrets. The buildings.
The drums. The griots. The dances. The spirits.
The hunt. The rites. The festivals. The praises. The maturity.
The love. The look. The libation. The liberty. The protection.
The race. The trap. The trades. The traitors. The ignorant. The enslaved.
The chains. The karma. The kingdoms. The crumble.
The cries. The pains. The remains. The refusal. The struggle.
The MA'AFA. The sailing. The suicides. The murders. The profit.
The budget. The split-up. The spit-up. The shut-up. The fuck-over.
The fucked. The breeding. The pleading. The beatings. The preceding.
The preaching. The diminished. The finished. The beginning. The riots.
The heroes. The satisfied. The "House Negro". The "Field Negro". The life.
The rules. The release. The war. The hoods. The terror.
The revolts. The relocation. The lateness. The news. The holidays.
The "Cabin". The philosophies. The same-differences. The plans. The warnings.
The refusals. The voting. The education. The religious. The prestigious.
The sharecropping. The codes. The lynches. The enlistment. The eradication.
The blackface. The realization. The "Experiment". The "Airmen". The awareness.
The power. The monkey suit. The corporation. The naturalization. The payback.
The low-wage. The outrage. The demands. The groups. The organizations.
The liberations. The jeopardy. The overcoming. The resounding decision.
The blended color prism. The broken barriers. The hope. The fear.

The composition to come.

The land. The start. The stars. The space.

The Black Experience.

Are you experienced?

Ifeanyi N. Okoro II
Copyright © 2009

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

"A Better Life - (Dreams)"

This is actually a Tweet-turned-poem, originally posted Sunday, July 5, 2009 at 6:02 am.

I will attempt to dream a better life.
I don't think I've ever felt this before.
You know, the effect of love gone awry.
Not of this magnitude.
Or latitude, longitude, or longevity.
Even readings show confusion
As I commenced to cast last night.
Give me strength to fight the weakness of the flesh.
The depths of my inept love still left, for her...
I'm not understanding why she's still in my dreams.
Why I'm trying so hard to move forward
And my heart will not get out of park.
Pulling over in three lanes wanting to lose control at the wheel
Letting go gets harder
Because of my grip on the thoughts of her.
So I grasp no concept of giving up so easily, yet, I'm
Asking ancestors to ease my grip & pain.
I feel they're granting me only one to deal
My dreams are becoming more depressing in a way,
But more informative.
More deforming to my inner child
Birthing angst and worry pushing and contracting
Cutting the cord to sever something I sought that sweet
I'm but a baby in this new found world of hatred of self
Trying to find someone to hold me in this time, I'm cold
In this time I am shivering in uncertainty
In this time her love may be grasped by another God
I'm praying to ignore this.
My hands clasped resemble hers of closed chances
I'm only walking, crawling, clawing, salivating, crying, trying to be
A man
Her man
But this man is not what a dream is supposed to be like
Cause in this life you must dream big to grow
I am stunting my chance to grow cause she's grown on me so much
I'm wrapped with her vines
I am sealed with seven curses of admiration
I am crazy with no form of dignity when dialing
Calling the good sweet ancestors for help
(Not divine anymore I will try to be tomorrow, mama)
When I don't wake up without my dirt
My casket of her thoughts of me
My suit, (mama, she had a suit for me, did you see it?)
My love suits no other for now cause heartache is
Too big of a size for anyone else
But a man can dream, can't he?
And a man can feel can't he?
So I feel this dream dresses funny, so it can't be here, no
Not at this point and time
And spacial tear
And cardiac wear on shoulders so narrow
I want to feel her in my sides as we blend
Shower with her skin to scrub my soul
Suck her tears from her cheeks and blow sandalwood kisses
Back to her heart
I'm not eager to live with continuous torture
I'm overanxious to see where can I die in her memories
To be resurrected from the lips of hers as she speaks of my name
To sleep forever as she marks my tombstone with
Eulogies and epiphanies
Sleep, to temporarily see God in the works
I am in the works or creating a mess of myself, fix me
I love her, but I don't want bad dreams or thoughts about her now.
I will attempt to dream a better life.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Aquarian Questions The Age

Originally posted from Facebook Notes page, Monday, July 27, 2009 at 2:51am.

*I added on a few things today.

Not in all of my 29+ years have I experienced so many variations and declarations of new relationships, marriages, divorces, moving, staying, murders, sudden deaths, births, financial turmoil, and social uprisings. Is the Age of Aquarius staring to show early signs? Is it that nothing surprises us anymore, or that everything will catch us off guard? What makes these snap turns and judgments happen? Why so much quick change? Big names and idols fall harder, as small countries are showing resolve and revolt. What are your opinions? What do you see as the turning point? Or is this just "life" (scapegoat answer)? Is it astronomy and numerology? Is it a system?

*Questions are popping up in my dream and appearing to me in my eyesight. What is it about this year that is spiraling down for this black man in relationships? Why am I still working for peanuts when I am more than the elephant's show? Where will I live next? Is my health in jeopardy? I can only explain the situation hat I've ended up in. Sharing a house, commuting to the job that's only for a short period of time (for meager pay), and being able to get myself together in a slow way. It still feels distant and detached. For now, I will let the ori lead the way. I should have in the beginning. I know now that egun and some helping hands cannot be a deterrent for my situation. The stars don't hold me back, nor does a decision from divination and casting. I am guided by my soul.

How about you? What are you guided by?

"Iya Yansa's Son of Solemn Transition"

This poem was written sometime late 2008. I was in a relationship at the time, and my poetry was strong, but maybe not my heart for some things. Hence, my poetry has fuel in a bad way.

When the zephyrs appear
so shall my tears
flying in formations with liquid wings
Destination: Home
I wish upon a Hollywood cemented sidewalk
for unmolested peace and
fresh new love to lace up and walk in
I've tasted sinful absolution and
indulged in holy atrocities
Egun awaits my test scores for this life
I think I scored high or something to get me buzzed
Some settle like pioneers I
rustle like autumn leaves from Maple
wanting to travel blue highway
rushing to fall asleep, or at least in
a pile of more like I
I've squandered my savings
I've saved records and memorabilia
I've recorded and memorized songs and poems
I've sung praises of others
I've used all of my energy

Ifeanyi Okoro © 2009

Sunday, November 22, 2009

I BeLOnG (2nd Edition)

So I was going over a situational conversation, of sorts, with my lady the other day, and she brought up something she said she saw in a movie, (Not sure what the movie was again, but I will correct this if found) called "The Test", that fit this predicament. A male named Johnny came across a female that he felt was very compatible for him. His friend, Honey, was overjoyed at his newfound love, but after a few conspicuous calls from his love to him, she warned him about a possible dishonest result in that relationship. Johnny denied it, and played it off, but (insert movie reference) it was noticeable that when he let her in the passenger's side of the car, like a gentleman, she stayed put, not opening the door for him when he cycled to his driver's side. I know what you're thinking..."What's the big deal?" I thought the same, but really that wasn't the doom for his relationship. Honey broke down the scenarios and wack-ass excuses she gave to him, and he still couldn't figure it out as quick...sometimes you gotta let them feel the pain, right?

One thing about this disturbed me on two fronts:
1: Are women and men STILL grading each other on tests, as if many have failed an exam on love or some shit? And,
2: Do men and women care about what women really think when it comes to emotional bonding?

The femmes are on this like, "Duh, this is a no-brainer! The first 15 minutes will decide if..."
Yeah, you got it. You're like a Rorshach or Litmus design now, cat! They might even put you in a bar graph. What's the purpose of gauging EVERYTHING, ladies? I've heard it from all sides whenever men and women get together about what women like or decide. I wouldn't blame anyone if it wasn't so much silly goals and/or "traits" needed. Wallet, house, and shaft size are the most popular choices amongst the trife women I've noticed. The more serious women minds and education, subtle, but firm emotions, and laughter. Sex is kind of a buffer, considering so many males have truly screwed this dynamic up (no pun intended).

The fellas here are like, "What's the purpose? They're unlimited amounts of..." Yeah, you guessed it. He sees you like you're a resource, or fish. What's the purpose of trying to collect numbers and addresses just to release your seed every now and then? I'm all for sex, but really, it's just stupid how I see the misuse of words and physical stimulation with women and their worth for a fleshtastic experience.

There was a column that tested us back when I was at The University of Houston (Go Coogs!) that mainly asked if we all got jobs, cars, money, homes, maintenance of our bodies and education, just for the "ill nana"? (Not in those words, exactly.) Surprisingly, the males on campus overwhelmingly agreed and didn't give a fuck. So much for uniformity in common sense. Women are not commodities, nor are they trinkets and towel wipes for your seed. So why so much rush to get the golden good when you cannot seem to be satisfied emotionally, you ask? Bragging rights. Like A college football game of sex. Who gets to the red zone and dominates? Who scores frequently? Who's number one?

Just imagine our ancestors screaming to be let go, while their oppressors raped them in bunches. Breed you with some random African woman. Put that into your mind. Where's your luxury tax now, brotha? In fact, all of this may even spur the white man's question of "Who's your daddy?" in so many terrible ways...chattel ways, even. After all, sexual deviance came from their mistreatment of us. Their scores weren't tallied by "how many" but "how often".

Women, masculinity used to be sexy when men used it used properly. Don't tear him down because of his failures...especially in front of the others. Build and find out how to resolve these issues. Remember, Sally Sue is willing to put up with his dirty boxers if you don't correct his stance. Nurture the emotions, but don't neuter his dreams. men, do NOT mistake your black woman for a run-over, neither a master. She's there to deal with out petty shit when we complain. Think about what the hell she's experienced since the inception of women! Don't compromise so easily and continuously, but be able to compromise when needed.

Not many men are gonna sit back and be honest about their sexual and amorous experiences and how they've truly messed over the femmes. Women, on the other hand, will spill beans to express their anger. The new thought now days are those of the women who consider themselves "not feminine" about it (misogynist terms - "bitching about it" or being emotional). The mentality some have to say. "I don't care, I was trying to get mine," is so dead. It's become a thing of novelty to discuss being a "cougar" and such, seeing that the men of the past were heralded as champions of the fairer sex, if they were elderly, unappealing, downtrodden, plump or rotund, nerdy, and downright promiscuous. Ladies all know too well the terms given to the opposites by the males (fat, ugly, man-hating, whore, slut, freak, and fuckable). Nothing desirable. Either you have light-skin complexion, or your "assets" are huge. Other than that, silly-ass fellas are looking for that good 'head' game, or if you will at least let him and his 'patnas' run through you like a football team does a cheerleader banner. That there is a test of true emotional compatibility. Do you like her nose hair? You mind his bad jokes? You want to smell her breath in the morning? Does you need to sport that lace front? (Sasha Fierce jab) Give men some credit. The good ones, of course. They will watch your children and cook you food if you give them the time of day, which isn't spent in the sheets. Trust, I have done so, (plus, I can cook)!

Jozen Cummings, (also known to his peers as "Jock-itch Jo" or "Jozie, the Two-Dollar Ho" -
@jozenc on Twitter) if you choose to divulge in his shit), actually was interviewed for his ways on misusing women and how easy it was for him to do so. he's not the only one, and before you say "It takes two to tango.", one may manipulate the dance floor, music, sometimes the libation in any situation. Furthermore, it's a form of rape when you do it to devalue and abuse the rights of the woman in any way. Mentally, AND physically (said here, first). Karrine Steffans catapulted the outing of men (particularly rappers) in her book, expressing how men were in the bed, and what their characteristics were sex-wise. As if being a video vixen isn't demoralizing enough, she content in her path to becoming well known throughout the U.S. as "Superhead", not discouraging younger women from these perils. Then again, the book speaks for itself on her character. This African now? We're on that?

As I bring this to a close, I started to go back in my past to analyze how (or if) I have done this to any women in my past. As far as I can remember, I think I am in the clear. Depending on the mutual feelings and the time it happened, I cannot say I've been that way. Or should I? What matters is this, tests are not relegated to paper and/or evaluations on a visual scale. The true tests come when you are laying beside your loved one in the morning and say, "Wipe the damn crust out ya eyes! Oh yeah...Good morning, sweetheart!"

Unlock the door to your partners, side of the relationship.
More to come.


"Against Forfeited Feelings"

I'm gonna try something new here...inspired by two people, actually.

Regina Agu, and a blogtastic woman who's Twitter alias is '@slim_goodie'.

I am going to simply empty what comes to mind, within ten minutes or so, everyday. Oh yeah, I will not always follow the English?APA/MLA writing sue me. I'm looking to do this to jog the memory a bit. This might continue past the new years...who knows? I do wanna thank '@nubianwriter' for tweeting about poetry!

the face shows anguish that I cannot see
cannot hear unless it's in my dreams.
It's synonymous with dreary attitudes and
un-heartfelt kisses to the back of the neck
as if it's just a fuck

painting pictures of despair
pays enough for bus fare
a penny for your thoughts on canvas and
spray-tagged walls
graffiti on the bridge if not for spaghetti string dresses with
cling-on pasts and Teflon cares
they snag it from the air

Why sister gotta get no-good
Why sistas gotta bet on no-better?
Weather is whether you like to make it rain
fists and arguments
the affections of the soul and flesh
separated by church and statements of
Jesus working it out
after ya mans wore it out
test of faith
after ya moms bore you out of second class citizenship love
on the backburner of freedom expressed

by constant depression and distress

I confess,
even my female orisa got me twisted
Changing my mind after i see my queens give brothers brain
then explain the game to the shame he once called (denied)
his son...sometimes daughter...
sum of all things times double the trouble
equals mass hysteria
History repeats, wash, rinse, repeats, spin
doctors trying to work on your self-image without
really examinin' the in.
So pills now become a sin

you pray on Christian Brothers to bring you back again
Come again?
take time to dust off the seat, and not the seated
conceit is only leaving you defeated
i'll be damned if one hasn't sunk to new lows
and old heights of bullshit just to seek closure
or one more screw turn
shades of life isn't skin, or skins, or sags in skinnies
or bling and swag-brag
she can't date your car, nor brand name tag apparel

Man, brothers should be looking to the stars to earn
like astronomers
reaching for the sky without the blunt smoke stack train
off track, but you blow my high for the same damn thing?
what's your point? love/all
stop the racket trying to ball with no court in sight
net gain to maintain our light, right?

ladies, stop trying to pull men's chain about
him pushin' a band on ya finger
marriage is in the mental.
put a ring around that
not a pole on it, for it
fuck it
nor forget it

this here...this shit right here???
so how about that shot of happiness and laughter?
it's an open bar to be raised.
a toast to intoxicated bliss
cheers to no lingering jeers.
Hold on to hands.
on deck
of cards played...two of hearts

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2009

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Stuffing (What I Think and Feel)

I like an extent.
I hate not liking cerain things about me.
I dislike the smack during a kiss, as if you're unscrewing a metal cap off of a bottle.
I like college football MORE than the NFL.
I love the underdogs, upset-minded teams, and overlooked people.
I hate prejudice.
I love music that doesn't get overhyped.
I despise bourgeois Pro-Blackness.
I like harmony.
I love those who love my mind.
I hate indecisiveness.
I abhor self-loathing.
I question using labels and historical references according to half-assed research (i.e. "Nubian God", "Hotep"...) Know what you're using.
I hate "I am" people. You ain't shit. Stay off the narcissist tip.
I adore old school hip hop moves!!
I hate haters. Should I hate myself? Nah, I'm not a hater.
I hate 0-60 mood swings.
I get crazy over video games that aren't geared towards stupidity.
Love basketball. PERIOD. Well, I dislike the standard slave mentality they add to it.
I DESPISE these words: Swagger, money, guap, stunt, jump-off (in terms of describing a woman), beastie, monster (last two words used to describe how a person is in a magnanimous way)...and there are more, but I'm quite perturbed by these.
I will never say Fuck My Life. Fuck your own.
If you think I made your life worse or didn't try yourself. I don't like that.
I like my family...but I do not like their mentality towards each other. Africans abroad and displaced Africans here in America need to unite.
I hate incorrect assumptions.
I must admit...I love honey buns!
I love the family gatherings and the feelings of unity and love during the holidays. I hate the meanings behind these shiesty-ass holydays that were given by the oppressors.
I hate those who won't do shit to stop oppression. Therefore, I love Harriet Tubman-minded people.
I hate the University of Texas, and the fact that the archives of our black history is locked up there in the state capital city's university.
I don't care for funny-sounding black sports announcers. Maybe only Ian Eagle...and that man that calls The Road To The Final Four games (not any Gumbels).
I hate being the only one to make a difference and getting to be the only one to not get thanked for it. Fuck you. I put in work!
I like poetry. I LOVE dope poetry. I wanna MARRY words that are so intrinsic and beautifully placed, I have a honeymoon spot planned already in my tablet.
I hate wackness.
I don't know about those who claim they are not shallow and picky...but I do know about those who don't brag and love to give anyone a try. Love that. Respect it.
I respect elders that aren't stuck up and heavily critical of the youth.
I respect the youth that give credit where credit is do.
I will not hld on to the stanky legg, I will not jerk, I will not rack daddy...
...but if the children dance, I will dance with them, cause I love the children (As long as the dances aren't filthy).
...I love dirty dancing!
I love creativity. I love Aquarius thoughts! I love Leo adoration!
I can't STAND haters up and down the Zodiac. Get a fucking life.
I ove who I love, but despise who doesn't think it. Even if it is the one I love.
I love to hate and hate to love certain things.
Stuffing. My mind is full.

I BeLOnG II (5 Day Edition)

So blah blah blah, meeting on Monday. The drummer came in, no Sarah. She is a professional dancer, you know. From Uganda, no less! The South African dance teacher came to replace her, no big. It went well. It's good to see Africans reconnect. However, the young boys are playing a bit too much, while the girls are getting serious. Where have we heard this before? yeah, I understand there is a such thing as a childhood, but really, when you have a Sunday like we did previously (hearing about last Friday's runaway from Blackshear Elementary School, a school already mired in controversy over an apparent attempted suicide by an 8 year-old, and a young student sexually assaulted by three trifling-ass men in a tinted car right near our block) this seems to be small. Seems. There is nothing that guarantees these young men will make it here. Everyone's a damn 'doughboy' (thanks to Jeezy and Gucci and Wayne, etc.). Makes no damn sense that we blame hip-hop. Really, blame those who utilize hip-hop for the sexually explicit and derogatory comments that I hear sung by these young boys coming into my classroom.
But I digress. Tuesday, I got a taste of Project Row Houses' "competition". These MacGregor Elementary children are extra special, yet their demeanor leaves one to think that music keeps them calm and at bay, for they are SUPER hyper! I thought my group was amped. Emaniah Shinar (some African man in extravagant clothing and equally extravagant behavior) has molded both of these youth groups into a steel drumming machine. They have learned at least four, if not five songs. Simply ridiculous. MacGregor showed out.The announcement for the performance dates were given, and needless to say, I hope we can improve before the 23rd of April (commercial promo at MacGregor) ...we will be there Saturday and Sunday at IFEST (Houston International Festival) throwing down. Shinar has done wonderful things that I have backed him for since he touched base in 3rd Ward (or since I've seen him). He's also put me in a position to re-evaluate everything I choose. At a point in my life where I suffered a huge blow to my confidence and relationship, he shed light onto an appearance of a certain "sista" that always shows up towards the end of my relationships. Of course, he even tried to pair us together, but that history with her goes back, and respectfully, I think she is here for guidance and a shoulder to lean on.
Again, let's skip this and move on to Wednesday. Art and writing with two instructors with an Indian background. I was thinking Ms. Keya (Mitra) was actually indigenous and of this land (what some would consider "Indian" as compared to Cherokee), however "Mitra" should have been some sort of giveaway. She is so mild-mannered. Maybe too mild-mannered. She looks like a movie star that could play a teacher. But she always gets the children crunk enough to jot some lyrics or bars. You heard right. I have never been so amped to see my group scribble some rap lyrics and poetry. Summer and Amaya always put in the silliest and most creative. I love it when the parents come to hear their children rhyme. Keya must have caught my old-school hip-hop vibe/poetry aura, because she's giving them Nikki Giovanni and Sugar Hill Gang!! Or is she just "ill"... hmmm.
On to Thursday and Friday. Thursday, we discussed Lemonade Day (May 2nd) with the children, and, oh yes, they are stoked (totally, dude)! I'm hoping it will be better than last year's, seeing that a young sista outside of the ASP sold the unique lemonade we offered like it was life insurance, while our smartest and straight-forward sistas in the program bickered, and almost threw down. *SMH* Everyone has great ideas, and we (Jesse Lott, Sara, Corisha, Daja and I) taste-tested lemonade varieties, built and painted the stand, and stayed late night to celebrate our project culmination, which was later discovered to be thrown away this year. This group I have is ready to tackle the great job ahead, and not scared to go at it, "feet first". One parent offered her services in managing the crew, (part-time event and catering planner), but I cajoled her into just putting in work as they've always done, no more, no less. Sorry, I love my group like you love your children, parents, but, yeah...they are mine when it's project time. ONLY. *laughing*
Friday - Good God Almighty on the throne of everlasting truth and power...I witnessed a beatdown (not physical, per se) of epic proportions: My 2nd-4th grade girls smoked the daylights out of the boys. Nothing new, right? What about these same girls beating 7th and 8th graders?!? Seriously, I remember when it was cool to find an uspet here or there. Now, it's rampant! It's becoming a trend to upend! Zipporah, the smallest of my 2nd grade girls, was fast enough to beat some of my second grade boys by at least a few yards. Artizia, 4th grader, only passed up a checkpoint before losing to Dujuan, another 4th grader, and the only boy to stay on course to win the title "Project Row Houses' fastest kid." Then I lost the door key (how Esu is that?!?) I had to explain to Ms. Lee about how the key got lost. I mean up and disappeared. I know that's gonna be more fire from the church about that. But I think they can cover a 5 dollar expense as such, seeing the big flat screen TV in the reception center must have been a much needed prayer tool. *rolls eyes* Anyway, the children went home, and I was building with my homie, T. He's still young, but able to make some room when he can focus. After that, I was dropped off at the train station going to Downtown Houston for one of the greatest nights I had. Sort of.
I won four Aqua Teen Hunger Force (LIVE) tickets off of Twitter (See? It is useful!) and scored some Houston Luau Party reservations for seven people three days before. Since I have such great friends that wanted to join along, (Grand total = 0) I made the stop at Hard Rock. Only it wasn't AT Hard Rock, because I thought House of Blues was located in that same area!!! Well, I regrouped, and I started on to HOB.
Never been there.
Will be going back.
God Bless Houston, Texas.
I've heard about this supposed bowling alley and whatnot here, but I thought they mean either in the City Hall area or somewhere just a bit past the way. There's a freaking BOWLING ALLEY DOWNTOWN. It's like the Sims exploded here! I saw ladies in bikinis and grass skirts (sadly some pudgy white fellas as well *shudders*) and others dressed up to the letter. Obviously, BOTH events were going on. I didn't check the time beforehand when it said, "Luau starts @ 7 pm and ends @ 2 am". Conflict. ATHF started at...8 pm. and I was missing about 15 minutes of it already trying to locate the damn place. No matter, ATHF first...
These cats that created this show:
A: Did a "Show us your Meatwad" contest
B: Acted out the characters with large hand puppets and dummies
C: Cussed like sailors on weekend leave
D: Also created Squidbillies
E: Got an audience member to participate with an aquatic puppet making sexual advances on him.
F: All of the above.
I would tell you more, but let's just say the Luau got me too crunk. That is another blog in itself.

Ifeanyi Okoro II

I BeLOnG (Grand Edition)

Usually, I would write my feelings (no matter how horrible or high-spirited) in a poem form. Right now, I am just going to let this go.

Warning: The following briefing may unnerve the reader or readers of this blog. If so, oh the fuck well. This is an informative blog, not a "watch your feelings" blog.

***The nerve of some people...MOST have a skewed view of my life, when NO ONE HERE has lived a perfect life. The strikes against me are starting to mount out. The naysayers and speculators are having at it on my happening's behalf. Let's see the next move. I am sick of it. I know my Iwapele isn't perfect, however, I am not a fucking imbecile. I'm not proud of my past, but I can damn sure place it above a lot of folks who have the flip-top nerve to judge me and my moves. I would love to write this down on paper, better yet, say it to everybody's face. some of the people I want to put back in their car seats are not available. The people are stacking up in my head count. I'm loving the force. I'm revelling in the process of elimination I am about to level upon these people. Fuck embracing change . I am the change. Embrace me, and I will shake your foundation. I'm going to blog the inner thoughts in the form of how I haven't done so during my poems. That is very unfortunate that I have to do so, seeing that I would be comfortable with just being me. Some people aren't. This blog then, is for you.

Let's first start of with social networking.

I'd like to say that I like the Facebook and Twitter networks that utilized information and the world events for both social and political landscapes. MySpace did so for an entertainment aspect. However, like most sites that sprout with the latest...thy shall fall by the wayside with fatal flaws. It appears to be fun for the novice, yet, destructive for the old hands. Overall, it's becoming seriously played out. Porn spam, ignorant-ass computer worms and viruses, bickering, overt pride without personal opinions, standout narcissism, and fantasies are rampant in the following sites I have encountered (past and present) : BlackPlanet, MySpace, MrBlunt, Facebook, Twitter, and "Yahoo!" Chat Rooms/Groups. Really, life should take a break from the surreal and focus on the real. I have had relationships from both landscapes take good and bad turns. I am now realizing I don't need a "revitalization" or "awakening" every damn three days, just to go back into a funk. If I'm in it, I should know the proper steps to get the fuck out of it. That's it. Why are we obsessed with help on and offline? What is it about this Age of Aquarius that people don't get about changing or staying steadfast in their own opinions, and not of someone else's? I am part of this group, for the simple fact that I was once usurped in the lore of online entertainment. I don't blame anyone but myself. Some of you should do that as well. BLAME yourself.

So what if people constantly have something to say about what you say. Fuck em, right? Well, let's analyze this. Many of the people online are in a trance, constantly relying on these networks to give them instant escapism form their own lives. In turn, they add their lives to it, looking for the sympathetic few to comfort and/or participate in getting their lives straight. Get over it. I, again, add my own body into that pool, making sure to put an asterisk beside this year. Look, if you haven't had the first experience of being a self-fuck, give it time. I don't constantly say silly shit like "NAGL" (not a good look), ""fail", "failure", "FML" (fuck my life), "GTFOH" (get the fuck outta here), and all the now-cool ass shit that is overrunning the once-creative ways of showing your reactions, like "lol" and "smh". If I do, more oft than not, I am being derisive, or may have used it for the first time. Either way, emotions are now totally computerized.
The following are some major ways to get you caught up:

*Make sure you stay to one alias, or one ID. It's always best to be yourself (from experience, putting up one of your favorite band's name as a screen ID will attract some wanted and unwanted attention, even if you also did it for a spin on your personality).

*Make a choice. Be serious or lighthearted most of the time, or both with a nice balance and handle on yourself. Don't fake either one.

*Avoid drama queens/kings, firestarters, and filthy net personalities.

*Speak mostly from your own perspective, but also be open to others.

*Stop fucking quoting and posting pics 90% of the time. Do it with discretion

*If you're gonna hound somebody about something, keep your goal safe. Make sure YOU have clean sheet. It's best you DON'T hound anyone, frankly.

*Leave your beliefs/feelings at the door if you don't want to be offended or emotionally torn to pieces easily. This is a different beast.

*Don't spy. Yes, it's JUST like stalking (unless it's your admirer or love interest being unfaithful and you have right reason). Even then, make sure you have good reason and facts.

* Be weary of aggressive texting and/or questionable activity that may affect you and whom you deal with. (See Craigslist Killer and the the girl on MySpace that committed suicide)

*Get the fuck off of the Internet!!! Unless your job requires that you use the Internet, no more than 14 hours a week online, seriously. Trust me, I have been a victim of the bullshit that I got sucked into for being on it for more than four hours in one day. Go outside and do something,!

This reads like an instructional book, however, some of you bastards out there desperately need this. For those who have a grip on reality and the superinformation highway...congrats!

The irony? How many will ignore this to continue on to the fuckery that is "social networking ruination"? If you got this far, post your opinions. Or not.

I. Okoro II

Thursday, November 12, 2009

"Miss Communication"

I am sick of Miss Communication
Driving me wild without a permit
Feeling comfortable ruining my day
Miss Communication
I cannot understand her convo
Constantly complaining
Inaudibly explaining to me about
Much ado
Nothing new
Just static in static situations
(When will my lover enter the damn conversation?)
She will change suits to boot the old clothes
Chew your arguments up and spit out bones
Without mail, computers, or cell phones
Alone, the talk is cheap
The meeting together is pricey
A high one to pay
But that is Miss Communication's way
I hate Miss Communication
She hangs around Miss Fortune
Miss Leading
Miss Deeds
Miss Construed
I'd like to dismiss the all Misses
Without really being rude
She needs to leave
So me and my love can connect easily.

- Ifeanyi Okoro II

Monday, November 9, 2009

"Star-gazing In Her Eyes"

I can only
wish upon plotted Dogon stars for you
In my dreams

Unwrap your sultry moans in my ears as a present
Feel you when your voice vibrates upon my soul
Touch you with my poetics
Massage you with my visual holds
Bandage you with my caring soul
I run through rainfall to get close to your climax
Meditate amongst nine scented candles and sandalwood to smell you
Taste tamarind to remember your flavor
Take pictures of roses and sunflowers concealing your spirit
You make me sick, and I like it...
I shall skip work
Stay in bed and be well rested
With you in my system
What can't I be happy about?
You leave a lasting impression on me
Running through my mind
Footsteps on the thought process
Vegan to my appetite
I wanna eat you raw
And be healthy in doing it well past a diet
Play Niagara Falls with lightning bolts
making a joyful noise upon an altar for you
Sacrifice and divine for the (ase) in your embrace
I wish upon Dogon stars plotted
And spiritual time allotted
To fold myself around your coronary muscle
Keeping you warm
All inside

But if these are dreams,
Isn't it a facet of real life?

Ifeanyi Okoro
Coppersoul © 2009

Sunday, November 8, 2009

"Upon Sleep" - (Inspiration)

She that knows the certain type of knock upon the window
Rain is familiar
Visits her when it comes
Pouring in with greetings
Meeting her beside the moon and cloudy skies
She wants the wind to be still so
Rain won't be so scattered when it's talking to her
Tapping on the scales of the upside down floor above
She sleeps with Rain
The one thing that gets her wet with excitement...
Matches her color of blue and grey
Like war with her wiles isn't civil enough
Rain comes and goes...she doesn't mind...
Consistent in dry spells
She sometimes doesn't know how to come alone, so when
Rain comes, she doesn't mind
Strumming to the rhythmic drops drumming the panes
Get her flowing like the streams are down the street
And she moans so like the wind
When it isn't still
She is tilting like so many stars illuminating the black canvas
Rain isn't gonna stop.
Why should it?
She likes to stick her tongue out and taste Rain
it isn't a sin...but a savory tease.
Rain doesn't judge, just leaves a track of love via mud
It seems she doesn't know if Rain and Wind would ever budge
From her space.

But she still felt as if she slept alone.

She doesn't recognize this knock on the window...
On the door
unknown to her usual views of those appearing to be trife
He flashes upon her presence like lightning
Sprinkling compliments and adoration
Swift mind and stronger passion than gale force
Takes hold of her in his nimble, nimbus soft hands
Caresses her like the black canvas sky does the planets
Blanketing the universe
Making sure that he's warming her first
She likes his colors...brown and black
As if he and she weren't proud enough of their flesh
Verbose and humorous
His shadow encases the tiles of the upside-down roof of the house
She was afraid she'd lose herself in the maze like gazes
She doesn't want to sleep with him.
She knows not where he may chance
He reassures his arrival is not a
not a rain check romance
The embrace was electric
The kiss was static
The mood was thunderous
His hypnosis: emphatic
She didn't want him to come...
Not yet...until she came
With reasons to make Rain
Scatter again.
But Rain accompanied their heartbeats with a pounding of its own
With gusts following behind to match their sighs and love tones
Surrounding the house with harmonious fall
And what she thought she would never experience inside
Rushed in storm front fashion out
So now, there is no drought in her soul
Rain was here for a part of a season or so
And he was here for the whole
Upon her slumber

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)

"At Midnight"

At midnight showering
there are winds found
tickling your ears

blowing through your locs
kissing your cheek
rolling up in our hues, so billowy
my lips smoke the passion upon yours
at midnight

At midnight dark
there is a howl at the moon...
a breeze or coyote
a high like peyote
this here is a feeling of jazz
an emotion of nocturnal emissions
by sleepy eyes that dream and
REM-like streams across the reverie's scope
impregnating creativity
Giving me hope
at midnight

At midnight blue
we sing in sheets satin and purple by notes
lick and saturate
stick together...push and pull apart like gears
greased for years of work ahead
like tightening a relationship
or a hold of arms around your soul
beaming at the brightest of the dark's cracks
electric violets light our backs
we wrestle with flesh
to control our desires
at midnight

At midnight moon
dancing is but a glimmer away
dawn's steps in patterned ripples
painted alongside ocean waters
showing an escalating path to tomorrow
or the next island
where palm trees pencil in love on sandy beach paper
a yearning for nothing but you
the whole 'you'
and nothing but you
so help me God
I judge my spirit guilty of assault
with a deadly weapon
I raised my hand to your heart
and struck gold
I am not remorselful
at midnight

At midnight hope
someone will be reading this poem and
or laugh uncontrollably
better yet
critique its meaning
and for those very reasons
I will bury this under the clouds
so the angels could
capture the capsule memories
of our blending
at midnight
Ifeanyi Okoro II
Coppersoul © 2009

Sunday, November 1, 2009


I rarely talk about my dreams. When I do, they are either premonitions, or something day/night altering. My dreams are becoming more stranger, yet they correspond with what I may experience the next few days.

Just today, I had a multiple amount of dreams. I cannot remember the order, but one was about messing up somebody's art creation that was solely dedicated to African people and our displaced Africans here. He resembled a friend of mine named Marc Furi. I had a khaki cloth with one adhesive side on it, and I was admiring the piece created, while flipping the large, cloth cover. It had a black, green, and blue stripe formation horizontally, with slang written in golden. The overall message was lightly written in the middle withe the words saying something like, "We are all brothers" across the painting. My friend, Regina, was also digging the art. As I flipped the cover cloth over it, I realized the sticky part clung to the piece fast, and another brother tried to help me take it off. It began to peel some of the paint off, but it wasn't the same part that was was an "F"
in white and red colors that peeled up like a washable tattoo. We left it alone and awaited Marc to come back. He looked in disbelief, as I explained to him the situation and apologized, profusely. Then it became evident that he wasn't too upset, and was a bit receptive to my apology and token for forgiveness. He asked for some that I have never heard of, but seemingly everyone else had. As I approached the outside, several guys in suits, walking with a caucasian-looking man passed me, laughing when I asked what type of beer is "Bouyoux" (even as he responded, I visually couldn't spell it, so this is the closest I could get it) and he asked if I could get him one also. Of course, I ignored THAT request.

The other dreams were short. One involved a drive where my cousin previously left a store that she got snacks from. Something that looked like Cheetos, but lighter in color. I drove up there with someone I didn't recognize and started into the store. A passersby tried to offer me the same bag of chips my cousin described. I passed on it.

I cannot fully remember the third dream, however ALL dreams took place away from an area I couldn't recognize. Furthermore, I only anticipate what is coming in this reality, due to my recent dream of my goddaughter and godsons that led me to see them and our reactions to each other.

If I recall, the last dream occurred with me and an ex driving along with her children, and asking for something to eat, and we stopped to get something to eat, but we were arguing the whole way. Something along the lines of that.

(Previously created 11-1-09, around the time of the dream)

Ifeanyi Okoro II