"Confessions of an Aquarian" - Part I

I couldn't pronounce "Fuddruckers" without switching the f and the first r around .



I had innumerable nicknames that I've given myself.



I lied to protect someone telling the truth, facing a devastating penalty.

Guess what happened next?



I loved Prairie View A&M University, before I found out it was part of the Texas A&M University System...in which, became my favorite college.

I attended the University of Houston.



I used to eat paper.



I sniffed Elmer's school glue just to see what the result was.

I'm fine.



Oral sex is bothersome at times.

It doesn't mean I don't like it.



My dreams involve every type of human being and their lifestyles...

and whatever I dream is just a version



I flirt with danger, trouble, and bankruptcy, but...

women are purely innocent and not on purpose.



Suicide was a choice after my mother passed...

and when I break up with women...

and when I breathe.



Tears For Fears and Depeche Mode are some of my favorite bands.



My longest love for someone was also my crush.

Turns out the one thing we had in common was barely seeing each other.

We never dated.



I am a night owl, more than an early bird...but I'm still both.



I love kissing more than sex.

Sometimes it's a tie...a tongue tie.



I prayed for older women to take notice of me when I was in my teens.

Since then, I have only dated two younger than me, and the rest were at least three or more years older.



I'm a Toys 'R' Us kid that worked at his favorite dream job...

and...

was accused of video game theft.



I have had a gun pointed at me since 1998 at least 3 times. Some would say, unless I'm in a gang, or a police officer, maybe even in the service...

That's too much.



I've never been shot at. I have been threatened....

by my father...

I still wonder if it really was a glock or a BB gun.



My mother and father didn't tell me much about sex.

I saw it everywhere. Late night...

On accident

When you're bored and you walk in to your parent's/aunt's room unannounced...

In Disney films...



In all seriousness, I thought girls had penises when I was young.



I purposely tried to talk deep, ruining my singing voice, so I could talk like the "cool boys" in church. Turns out, puberty punished me.



I have done sexual acts that only trail rape as a unpopular decision to go through.



I have written final notes and poems to people that have totally bamboozled me, emotionally, in relationships...

One person gave it back with the flowers I sent...

In the things of mine she shoved out.



Virgos are HIGHLY magnetized to me. If you're a Virgo, well...

It may have something to do with my Astrology chart having Virgo in it, heavily.

Every class that I've entered at least had 8 Virgo children enrolled.

I have a love/hate relationship with Virgos.

My cousin (rest in peace), my uncle, the school-children, poets, Posdnous...



Even after a woman has exclaimed sex with me was excellent or great...

I don't believe them much. I'm not confident unless they are tapped out. Pun may or may not be intended.



I've used and loved Totally Tulip.



I like more female high-spirited songs than so called R&B songs.



My dad was a great DJ.



I was the last to know about my father's affairs with other women until I came back home from college.



I don't give a fuck about the English language.
That's why I hope to learn Igbo and other African languages.



I don't trust elder bald men.



Was crazy enough to bury my ex-'s underwear in the ground near my old apartment because I wanted her to stay.
Some months after the eviction, I received calls from her to hang out.



Cruelty, as I got into a bitter argument with an ex, and even got to the point where when things got out of hand, asked for the toys I bought for the children back.



I am downright eccentric.



I'm a "breast" man.



I quit my higher paying job to work back in the 'hood.



I adore black women...sometimes I compliment them.



I ate three large boxes of pizza from Pizza Hut.
Even took the tip off of he table and gave it back to my parents, thinking they left it on accident.

I'd originally wanted this to be a poem.


Ifeanyi Okoro II

Speculation or Spot-On? (Part One)

I know that a lot of people will be looking at me crazy if I ask about this, but...
Did anyone question the source of the earthquake(s) near impoverished countries, much less the countries that were once under European rule? It's just too type-casted to be like biblical scripture, ESPECIALLY since these words have been heavily altered.

Disease and pestilence - The famine and bio-chemical warfare that takes place in Africa and The Americas has been prevalent. This is no surprise, seeing that this government pretty much controls the strings of the UN in determining who gets what aid, or how fast it gets there. These "oldie, but goody" diseases are popping up and are rampant. Ebola, Bird Flu, and H1N1. Panic is getting out of hand and it seems as if the CDC "magically" had an answer for it. Inoculate EVERYONE...or pay a fine, or go to jail. Even the soldiers MUST take something before training and battle. Ain't that a bitch?

Political turmoil and civil unrest - Seriously, I voted for President Barack Obama, but it seems like our own people are quick to turn on possibilities (and I admit I was heavily skeptical, and somewhat still remain so) of a quick economic turnaround. As talks with countries continue, one must wonder what is it for. The greater good of America? The greater good of the world? Or fatter pockets. It's almost a Catch-22. You root out the 8 year dictatorship that soiled a lot of relationships between great and small countries, and when you dismiss him for something new and maybe better, you pass that burden on with a 5-second delayed start behind the gun to a man who was ready to take off from the jump. Add to the fact that the questioning of remembering his heritage has been against him from day one (as all of our has since the beginning of human inception on Earth) there has been NO breathing room. I do think that his neglect for scolding and scorning the European dominance in this world has been a hamper on his judgment as well as negotiations with certain up and coming powers. They don't know whether he's taking off from where Bush ended, or beginning to dishevel the foundation of indigenous societies by meshing everyone together...through a European perspective. In that case, it serves NO ONE, and starts resentment of the man that once captured the world's attention for 3 years WITHOUT being a president at that time! Wouldn't that worry you as well? A man who defied a long legacy of Caucasian rule (some with a bit of black blood in 'em and those before that were leading during the Articles of Confederation) that acknowledges his predecessors as being great for anarchy, then ruling as their "oppressors" once did them. It's like the red-headed stepchild and the stepmother separating from each other, and sorting out their comics collections...but still, the comics collections won't be returned back to the store they STOLE it from.

I have plenty more to speak on, not rant, because I believe that ranting is something you'd do without thinking of others to follow, but to condemn.

To Be Continued...

I.O.II

"At The Hour"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)

Here's #9 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx


So we give thanks to those who wear
The coldest apparel with the general flair
Soldiers with those black boots
Lead by the orisa with that royal red suit
White trim, wielding the ax like he was wired on Grey Goose
Nights afire when lightning bolts get loose
This ain't Santa, it's Sango
Dark like the Congo
Called by the bataa songs sung like the bongo
Tapped and relaxed on the throne like bones
Chaperoned to the ocean floor with revenge to be honed
Left alone to be hung and return like Redeemer
Seen as a crafty one, some say the schemer
Scheduling the scene to be torched to the crisp
Blowing Osun a kiss, but it's Oya he misses
Others think he was born on just December 25th
Misnomered, honored by people frontin' folks with gifts
No wonder the try to confine his entry through the chimney
Simply cause they smoked the history of African memories
Entry to the logs of computerization
Numbered and blogged to synchronization
I'm hatin' not even our own wanna give him praise
Then wanna cry to Christ when all hell gets raised?
This nation did a good job, adorning the door knob
With the "Do Not Disturb" sign near the fresh floor mopped
Of ya past, trashing your ancestors with imagery
Of a pasty male, impaled on a fucking tree
Lucky me, I awake eyes open to mockery
Stopping the utter recycling of hypocrisy
And not to be outdone
there's always gonna be a sound shoutout to those
Who recognize the sun
Coming unfroze...but celebrate that bullshit I suppose
Give me the Nubian-nosed King in the crimson robe
And that's dope.

Kabiyesi Kabiosile


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Walking The Path"

Originally, this was a #30in30 piece, but I suddenly realized that this is a draft of something bigger.



We step down
A step
Which many take in vain
Painfully skipping histories and
Pages with each footprint
left on unstable sand
Catch them slippin' on demand for
They skip
Skip Skip
Skip on and run
Ruuuuuuuuun past their own legacies
making mockery on top speed
Running on empty
Full of shit
Dismissing their African traditions
my home is not a plate
My continent isn't mispronounced or separated by vowels mistakenly
This here is a clue to all those
keyless
clueless
less of a man or woman to
Skip skip Skip skip skip
down memory lane and
Fall and bust their asses
Cause how can you lace the truth
when you're trippin' amongst the masses
My great grandmother smothered brothers like
me, with baseball cards and Sunday dinners
near Dallas Cowboys games
My grandfather built bridges for me
with constructions and hearty laughs
haircuts from Gipson and go-carts on the back way path
My cousin did me a solid and we collaborated
on rap rock, Heavy D, Beastie Boys, and Run DMC
So we run from we...
My mother let it be known
that even until i was homegrown or foreign soil spoiled
my name will be said in all languages among the most high
to respect the women and don't tread on them on the low
and love with all my heart, and believe in the one
that casts shadows upon those who tarried, trampled
dragged, marched, stepped and never
Skipped in the unstable soil
now paved over by granite tough ancestry
Let my legacy have a leg up on me
Mentally
We no longer
skip skip skip
when we stand upon the shoulders of thee.


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

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.

Polished.

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...
OMFG
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.
Answer?
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

"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

(No) Ailment

My soul doesn't answer to sorrowful names
My eyes were not designed to hide shine behind Ray Bans and Oakleys
My hands couldn't possibly be pre-shaped to drape around Spalding and Wilson's balls
Naw
My feet cannot understand walking a mile in Jordan's shoes
My voice wasn't trained to sang too much soulful blues
Brown brothers weren't meant to be red with whip scars on backs, blood flow
Mother seeing alabaster and peach plowing her daughter so
No
My fingers misunderstand cotton and wheat constant picking
My beliefs see grief in a cross-colored, no pants, FUBU
Kani take a trip to Mecca without Lugs and Timbs?
Could I embrace my family when cuffs restrain my wrists,
Can't extend my limbs past the heavy burdened branches
That store my people dangling over the Banks of America
Cashed in to the Lord, forgive the tellers and give thanks
To sorrowful kinds, we hum hymnals and write rhymes
Graduating to better niggas in the worst of times
Saturating in central air when the heat was mine?
Never
I cannot shake the same hand that makes the same man of my hue
the blame of your spewed hatred
In tobacco-flavored words and snare and fife
Or go to war to fight for the coward trying to screw my wife
Or go to prison for delivering what you put me behind for life
I go to hell cause heaven seems to be so white
But wait
Now I'm a bigot, a bigger idiot, ignored bidder
Trying to buy, vying for my freedom, Mason-Dixoned on the Street of Walls
But my mind wrinkles while your iron fists remains hot
To try and smooth my thoughts when even my kinks dread you (k)not
Shit
My children haven't been poisoned by your longstanding happiness from our labors
My legacy precedes your dying dynasties predicting your destiny
My legs will not dash for your limp dick Olympic dream
My trinity wasn't a sausage party
My spirituality didn't involve crooked televangelists or choir directing fashionistas
My culture isn't oinking nor snorting, nor clucking
Like hell
My heart is beating my ribcage to work harder
In the heat of passion to exude the fire
To press on the desire in order to overturn the New World Order
My drink runneth over without diamonds and gems adorned on the chalice
My prayers haven't fallen on deaf ears, in fact, they are catching dropped calls
From your carrier
Your savior savoring silly Scuds and nuclear hors d'oeuvres
My teeth refuse to bite down on the piece of the American Pie
My hair stays locked up regardless if you try to lock us down
My tongue tastes knowledge of my ancestors' fruitful history
My nose swells to smell that African soil so insulin sweet
My ears can't hear you past my homeland's heartbeat
Your sound blast podcasts couldn't outlast my homeland's drumbeat
My buttocks couldn't be affixed to your hybrid/diesel car seats
My knees won't bend to live,
I would rather die standing than serving.
My mouth doesn't speak betrayal in many European or Latin languages
My body is not responding to this treatment
My system isn't worried about shutting down
No...
How about yours?

"The Arbor Of Old"

I fall at the feet of the tree.
Limp and in the trance of love, praising ancestors above
Tears dancing in my eyes an African tune along with
beating drums of my coronary to the point of return
there are no mo' "no mo's"
So I don't serenade the clouds solo
Grasping at the leaves and branches that share fallen fruit
of sisters in Selma and Brothers in Beirut
of play cousins in the Palestine and aunts in Angola
of history's treasures a-stolen over
They are too easy for me to pluck down
I frown at these discolored coloreds
Covered in bloated faces and swollen throats
and coated corpses and blood-drenched ropes
This isn't a lesson taught 101 or live and direct
This is where I wash my hands
with their souls swimming
At the roots!
They dive into my palms to bring clenched fists
Freedom songs and war psalms
I'm no longer a long no wailed
whipped like winds whistling through slave ship sails
I am the strongest of cries yelping out loud
Like orange colored tunics and dashikis splashed proud
I kneel, naked and torn and humble at the bark and stumps
For every road block, for every bruise and bump
I can't write a story so bold about saving face
On music awards shows when I can't uphold my race!
On home plates and hardwood courts where I stand not on grace
But in front of those who'd jeer my cultural taste...
If I didn't recognize my arbor...
My soul's arbor.
Growing through concretes on Mississippi days and Texas nights
Shading from Georgia sun and Carolinian stocks
Hiding my figure from Tennessee crops, and Virginia canines
My scent is on these rings, sprinkled in a spiral
Deep within these arbors harboring
Intellects as old as oaks and warriors with keen eyesight
And kinky hair like tangled moss.
I fall at the feet of the tree
At the point of Igbo and Yoruba roots
Branching through my dreams and truths
This arbor is my armor, protecting my love
For my people
Unpruned by predators
preserved and uncarved
I stay rooted, and unforgotten.
Unrelenting.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro

The Surgery, The Implant, The Transformation (Part One)

I'm attempting to reach out to fellow readers and bloggers alike on a subject that many will overlook only to suit it to their lifestyle or belief. I won't hate on that, however, I feel that no one is owed anything without giving proper credit and thanks to those that have laid the foundation before us. This blog is dedicated to Dr. Afolabi O. Epega, my ancestors, my ori, and those that I have come in contact with that have helped me move forward in life, as well as I unto them.
One thing that Ifa has taught me is that you cannot do anything or go forward without mentioning those that stood behind you. We stand upon the shoulders of our ancestors. It's been said time and time again. I wonder if we are starting to lose touch with our teachers and trailblazers because of what Western society deems as 'self-deserving notoriety' in the technology age. One thing that is repeated in the lineage is that we know our information and continue to study life and nature. The ebb and flow of this surreal and very tangible existence before us calls us to react in a way that our spirits are not affected detrimentally by what we acquire, but what we've learned. Not by what we see, but what we feel. I was taught that you must "sacrifice the chicken within, in order to before we sacrifice outside ourselves". My mom always taught me to put a 'handle' (a proper address, such as Mister, Madame, Mademoiselle) on the greeting to an adult. Sitting down with elders unlock treasures and stories unheard of and so valued that you'd not want for the foolish reality shows. I have seen how we must consult our family and elder community, before we start anything, for their permission.
Respect comes in many forms.
In my six years of up-close Ifa experience, I have seen things that Dr. Epega and a host of African spiritualists, (or shall I say 'spiritual influences'), appear and manifest before me in astounding ways. To unlock the faith and strength within, through turmoil and through triumph, makes you wonder why do we struggle to understand others' behaviors? Ah, if only everybody understood Ifa the way that Jordan understood the game of hoops. It was one thing to comprehend Christianity, another to tolerate Islam. Both are somewhat dependant of the African lineage of the honing of oneself, spiritually. Somehow, invading became a big ordeal in order to spread the 'enlightenment'. Unloading your beliefs upon a culture to improve your cultural and political status is out. It's still being done today, but not as subtle, if it was at all. What gets me is that most Traditional African practitioners are looked upon as outcasts by the multitude, yet the ones that lead these hordes are secretly consulting the oracle (Ashe-O)! I don't want to give nor withhold too much of what I know, so I will just say this about what I believe Ifa has done for me. When I started to walk out of the boundaries of Christianity and searched for more slightly on Islam, I found out that the two don't contrast as much. In more than one instance they mention each other's prophets, guidelines, and even how they greet each other in a closely connected language. With Ifa, these differences are demolished by simply undressing the title of a person's beliefs and addressing them within their spiritual paths and taboos. I always tell the story of how I was pulled over by policemen, searched, harassed, and then arrested and taken to jail numerous times. Was it my first significant taste of discrimination, exuded upon me by the self-hatred of others? After all, a 'sista' called them on me, and they were two Hispanic officers with tazers and a glock pointed at me. I wasn't in the wrong, and yet, this was the time that I would experience why it must happen. I've been mired in the works of Ogun and Ochossi all of my life. However, in one instance, I was told to come to court for a judgment, and three days before that my life was changed in significant fashion. That will be revealed in part two.
It is believed that the only things that are certain are the days of a person's birth and death. Anything else can be manipulated to suit or help with the flow of your life's path. However, it is also said that to work against your ancestors is ruination and certain unease throughout your life. I've heard one person mention to me that it's (IFA) only significant if you believe in that type of energy. What you believe in isn't the problem. How you react and respect nature is.there are some Christians living the high life without acknowledging any Traditional African spirituality. There are some that practice Voodoo, Vodou, Voudon (sp), Lucumi, Santeria, Hoodoo, Candomble, Palo, Chango Baptiste, whatever type that is a derivative of the systems of Ghana, Congo, Egypt, and Nigeria, and they are wildin' out. However there are reasons for everything. Since I've been here, and only ONCE to Nigeria, I've come to realize that more of my blood leave the mother continent to search for God, Goods, and Glory...through CHRIST that strengthens them. My elder, Dr. Epega, mentions that they're just revering someone else's ancestor (that he is the most overused). So poetic, seeing that we don't search within the self, in order to better one's knowledge of using and misusing universal energy. After all, this shit ain't ours to keep...the energy we are given is to repair past lives, past situations, redeem, settle debts, find harmony and love, and redo this all over again. (TBC)

There Can Be Only One...(It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Me Up) - Oya Energy?

This is getting addictive. Same old Ifeanyi. Making his heart visible for the seemingly unreachable. Giving solely because he feels that he needs to. Sticking his hand out to pull up the downtrodden fellows. Something about my energy that drives up the stakes for my soul. Can you grasp any concepts, Mr. Okoro?

Oya doesn't see me as a forgotten child, so why do I find myself in the midst of someone else's change? Particularly, another child of hers? Those that features and motions point to Yansan's protected, amongst the streets and schools and neighborhoods? I like how energies like ours connect. I think maybe it's destined to meet with these Oya children and make use of our time. Now, I'm trying to transform into a better being. Eating better, working out once again, and trying not to worry as much, if at all. My heart, however, always interferes with progress. I lose massive amounts of weight when near depression after a heart-aching experience, I lose focus on my job when I am deal with its issues, and, worst of all, I alienate a lot of my current friends. Is that how it's played for me? I must admit I do like to be alone on some fronts, but not all the time. Last night, this shining star and I talked about being alone and how it hurts the soul and physical condition. Oddly enough, my ex never wanted to sleep alone, even when we got into huge arguments. Her children even wanted us to stay together in the room (mainly so they could stay with us). I miss it. Not the arguments, but the company. Feeling someone cuddle (yeah, I said 'cuddle', and I despise the word, even 'snuggle' has me kinda eh...) under you. I even used the word to describe what I needed to feel emotionally.

When I live alone, there is no worry. I live far apart from society, or someone that knows me. Not on purpose. It just happens that way. I dated Xaviera, and I moved out of 3rd Ward. When I broke up with her and she solidified my trust in her as shady business, I reaped what I've sewn in being alone and was evicted. I literally was evicted by Hurricane Ike to move into my recent ex's apartment. We stayed together until we just couldn't see eye to eye. In her mind, I was behind, and in my mind, I needed time to reassert myself with her. She settled for another person she previously knew and desired, and I again was evicted, but by her this time. I stayed with friends pretty much for 4 years. Even my sister. That took a while, cause I separated myself from my family. Another thing we've talked about. People of African descent thinking they are disgraced for staying with their family. What else can be done to bring separated family together, other than death? Marriage? Graduation? Even when trying to start a new family, such as my last attempt this past year that was unsuccessful, it's something that we look down upon. I even frowned at being with anyone after my recent break up, because I wanted to start over again, by myself, and no one to give me any lectures, speeches, or get well soon card sentiments. I wanted to be isolated. Is that bad? In a spiritual way, yes, because you decide to be bitter and encased in solitude to the point that you harbor bad feelings, even if the energy called for the relationship to cease, for now, or for good. Why get mad and set yourself away from your people?

In '08, I left a job that paid exceedingly higher than my current job ever did when I worked for them in the past as well. Yet, this job was a family that had dysfunction. The current job has very little problems, (actually it just started to surface now) and the children are just as receptive and loving as were the previous ones at the old job. There are parents that still consider me a father to their children because of my methods and ways I loved them. But I have no children from my being. I am a father-in-waiting. I deal with this one young man named Clay and he's constantly struggling to get shit right in his life. He calls for support, and I'm spreading myself so then, that I can't offer it to him when I really need to. It makes me seem as if I failed him. He does some knuckle-headed things, yet I really wanted him to settle down and think for a moment on the situation he puts himself through. He's like my oldest son. I hope that he can right the ship, but his timing is off in this fucked up world. Now's not the time to start getting it how you live. Time to reflect and then repair. Can I take my own advice? Am I having these dreams about children from my past for a reason? When will I be able to have a son or daughter? I would itch and scratch forever for a daughter.

I constantly desire to talk with Oya in person, or in spirit to see if I'm screwing my destiny away, or if I'm getting closer, but she's busy putting my scenes of my life together. I feel like the more I try to separate and be by myself, the more I develop a sickness, or some malady. Or a blockade. I've even lost 300 bucks to a woman, trying to move out into 3rd Ward again. What's that about? So I've assessed that there are meaningful and painful changes up ahead for me. I'm not sure if my karmic debt is settled yet, however I know I'm losing my direction after losing my religion (but when you let go of false things, someone or something should be there to pick up you and guide you...right?) So I've abandoned Christianity and left the method of respecting the ancestors' ways of surviving to that faction. I've abandoned being scared and started writing and typing and being more open to others. But where's my next step?

I want to venture out. Chicago, Illinois? Bahia, Brasil? Aba, Nigeria? Underground? This is the time that I need to die and be reborn. Mentally, I'll be better for my phoenix-ing. Rising from the ashes. I help people out to extend my life-force past forever. Yet, I'm slowly dying inside. Needing the backing that me and the shining star talked about late last night/early this morning. What must be done for me not to throw all of my efforts to everyone and that NOT be the last attempt to spread my soul around to everyone. I can't save or soothe everyone. And even when I need it, like the surrounding of family, friends, and loved ones...I cannot usurp it. Why? Where are my millions to hold me up? Just one true soul. All I need.

Which is it?

Which is it, America? All of us or none of us? Indigenous occupation or Columbus land disfiguration? Pilgrim or pillage? Pilgrimage to villages of my ancestors' souls' sole prints on pyramid grounds, not Plymouth Rock. Plundering, pasty, pale face pirates barter we good for their goods in our hoods. What's under the hood? Volkswagen? Folks draggin' my mans an' nem the body tumbling and thuds background sound for America's anthem. Mexican reclamation of real estate, now y'all up at arms throwing immigrant tantrums unforeign to we colored folk that have seen this before. Which is it, America? Go green or be black? Plant a tree for your tomorrow, while we sob in sorrow. Can we borrow a saw to sever our fruit from your bigoted branches and uproot racist remarks? You lie? You lie! You lie on our creativity's bed, reproducing cash from fucking us instead. Reduce credit, reuse demoralizing themes, recycle beats for sympathizing beatniks to freak and front our flavor. Profiting from persona-pimping my people from hip-hop, to rock, to jazz, to lips, hips, hair, nose, genitals and ass. I ask which is it, America? The other white meat, get beat to the white meat, or influenza driving under the influence of swine no matter whole, malignant, or benign. Pork, police, or pressing the oppressed to get shots, or get fined, or get jailed, or get shot, or get sick, or get profiled, or get pulled, or get lynched, or get premium lunch meat. Which is it? Bald Eagle or Pitbull? Sick of Vick or sic 'em? I guess while dogs battle now, back then they circled us like herded cattle, nipping at our dogs, so tired from protesting. Gnawing at our bones simmering in the Mason-Dixon sun and determined sweat. Your pup shits on trees while your laws shit on we. At least your bullets were free to roam in our dome, right? Can't even call this place your home, right? Which is it, bitch? Health care or Hollywood head? Which? Bi-partisanship or badger bi-racial brother? Monotonous monopoly on mahogany inspiration. WHICH IS IT, AMERICA? USA...or US?

Tree of Life and Love

Under the Weeping Willow Tree we meet
Conversing with verses that are matched versus
the Words of Man
In the World of God
We share smiles similar to similes that mirror our affection for each other
Dark and lovely like 'universal forevers' echoed in the canals of ears
In the annals of time
Confined to this Earth with your lips pursed,
Eyebrows raised and hands extended interlocking with mine as roots would sacred soil
Deep stares I dare levy upon you to let your love sweat love out of its pores
For a heartbeat concedes to both of our inner selves breathing in each other's air
Even before wanting mouths explore and tongues so African reconnect
I resurrect amorous psalms and proverbs before your presence
Like limbs and leaves erect,
Letting the ori omit opposites of bliss and Oya
bless me with your breezy, easy calm
Before the storm of passion
fruit bares truth
You supply the sunshine lemonade made ready for consumption
as both our spirits bump your soul's selection
Under the rocking of the arbor's dressing
Feeling vibrations
We connect like Bluetooth
underneath the roof of the stars and heavens
Video strides I take to shake the visible blues
Ebbing and flowing to this day
Your hips directional sway,
makes my afternoon
Just before night swoons to daybreak
My ways with words are sometimes diverted by
Exploratory detours when the minds meet
Negativity's grinders causing mentality to
Ground and insatiable insanity to inflate upwards.
However, conversation that sate your thirst for edutainment
cannot delay me in wait...to drink you and I,
Smiles and all, knotted not in a carving of this tree's rough bark
In a flask not fit for mortals and men so petty to spark the not so slick spiel
So sleek that we grasp these emotions with grip tight rubber gloves
And hope that love won't slip from our celestial hands above.
This tree we congregate, spitting seeds of wisdom into the air
Sprouting elements of freedom and
Succulent visions of dusty domains we once called home
Represents strength in its branches that hold in our anger
And the stumps that lay roots sap our pains away
We now wail with the winds and cry desire from our pores
We dare rest here, beneath the shadow of the giant
Spooning like we forgot fruit pieces in serving bowls
Thanking the ancestors for become a blanket of eyes over us
watching the recreation of God
Take place
In a space reserved for
Nature.
Do not park here.

Universal Verse Reversal - (She Is)

I am below below when she makes me feel above and I am not beside

She

I am climbing a climb endless ladder-high as I try escaping trapping eyes from

She

I am tied tight to my tongue's twists try to describe cryptic Coptic casing that is

She

She
Hangs on my copper limbs
I grow oil soil with thoughts of her black/slick
I scale to the skies
I am deeper than six feet
digging her whole persona
Reversing my patterns,
Reversing my position, my words,
My love will not stay in park, it's not even in neutral
My drive is there, however,
And there is no brake, no stopping, no rear view
My past is miles back of me
She uses deception in a receptive way
She likes what I say to her when I sing her soul to sleep
With my heart beat on the percussion
My mind on the spirit's sax
Under cardiac arrest
With trumped up charges of trumpet playing crimes
She chimes in with cymbals systematically
This is a grand band soothing her wounds
Swept away with Yansa's broom

I am guilty

She calls for me in the wind and dials up the number

She has my number

I am caught up

A rapture of reciprocity when I deliver my affection

It comes back to take me

She

I am beneath beneath the Earth
She is my fertile ground to keep me rooted
Even as we bear fruit from our roots up.

I stay grounded with her.

She

I am around the round solar symbol of myself
With my faith in my flares and my color as my God
I make my people brown-black-blue-red-yellow-goldenrod
When she mixes with me
I see we two hues make human
And humanity make humility their pledge to us
Under the skies that scream ancient praises
As we kiss the sky
Every morning

I am connected from the disconnected distances that only keep me from

She

I am longing for the short time that is between our meeting place on this Earth's face until I hold

She

I am reversed to birth cause I'm dying to love...

She.

I am sent back to Earth cause Heaven isn't itself without...

She.

I am without motion's emotions until the axis spins to rotate the beginning again with...