"Newsworthy" (Derrion Albert's Epilogue)

"30 poems in 30 days" is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, and ending January 13th, 2010.


#19 of 30

I can't imagine getting my head stamped on
Sent to heaven
Express mail by ruthless teens and
Faulty, fucked-up adults
Who thinks this city
Should be repping
Five rings of the world
And the current leader of these states "united"
once surveying this greaat Windy wilderness
Shits on a royal throne nightly
Reading the paper
With my name
"Derrion Albert"
Featured...
In the Nation section...
folded over neatly
Behind his funnies colums

I'd laugh too,
But I can't clear the blood from my throat.

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Irresponsible Reggae"

"30 poems in 30 days" is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, and ending January 13th, 2010.





#17 of 30





Somewhere inside this dusky incense-laden domain
I'm grinding with this she-spirit
And it's a mutual agreement
To wind both of our waists
And grab
And push
Together

It's a beat that is forbidden in my dreams
Hidden in my fantasies
Just under the cuffs of her pant legs
Tucked inside her short, multi-colored cutoff...

A rhythmic thump and she won't stop
Licking my neck for salt
Accompanying her malt
My head buried in the dip of her shoulders and collarbone area

Steady...

It smells like sweet lilac and lusting eyes
I'm trying my best to stop our twisting
But you cannot deny God
His matinee
He paid for it
Creating four Ifa days
Saving this one for his rest and entertainment

The lights dim
The smokes erects into the atmosphere

It's is divination
Divine dancing in a hedonistic mindset
I'm basically
Penetrating
Without proper protection
In comes music
I can't stop its rush

The heart beats accelerate
The skin retracts
The needle reaches the end groove
Thus producing the
Birth of desire

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Sleepwalking"

"30 poems in 30 days" is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, and ending January 13th, 2010.

#14 of 30


Every dream that takes a stroll
Across my lucid landscape
I wonder what it holds in its hands
I wish that it would give me a
Birthday present to erase the past
From behind its back as it hides
Nice surprises I'd already know about
How to fix pain
Patching the torn fabric of a union
Only to
Torch that sumbitch again...
With the right liquids and flame
I don't want too much help
Dealing with my fated future
Band-Aid hopes and repeat apologies
Given due to martyrdom and fault grabs
Throwing my lighter up
Pushing my history of bad relations down
Into a barrel rusted and named
"Ifeanyi"
And let that shit burn inside
Until the ashes reside down in the
Bottom of my heart
And I'll smudge the outsides
With artistic thumbing
And make my desires
Of memories and reveries
Black and proud



Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"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

"Embattled Tastes"

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 #8 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project


Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx




If I had it like you
I'd take out all enemies
All who oppose me
That they would be nothing like me
Not anymore
I wouldn't have a scratch or scar on my image
No.
I would be impervious!
Then again
What would I be
Someone soulless gathering holes
Where I laid waste with bombastic
Rhetoric directed towards
Unarmed armies
Greeting me with
A pedestal
An forgiving stares

If I had it like you
I'd invite the world into my circle
Welcome them with open arms
Legs jet set in running
Rounding the campfire in games and joy
Releasing the inner child
Out towards me.
No.
I would be impenetrable!
Then again
What would I be
Too happy go lucky
Stuck on Utopia
Uptempo upbeat beatdowns
Of sunshine happiness
Unequaled to somber notes
Played on sax and trombone tones
Of those who jazz on hopeless
Nose coked smiley pokes dreams
And Failures
But


What is it we desire to be...
Or have

Then I have it like...

mixed emotions in a bowl.
Spoon please.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Clutter Heart"

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 #6 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX

Finding items lost
When placed openly in front
Ideas and love
© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Under The Gun"

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 is #2 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project.

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx



A spark of hope
Coming out of the wrong scope
Bullets be not a Microsoft Word insert
When paper is due
Instead street calls for exams
In hospital ambulances
And unmarked vans
War on the youth recruits death
At best you get a wounded body
But no purple hearts
With blunted dark brown lips
Crimson shade eyes realize
Cops, killers, Crips, and convicts
Bankrobbers, Bloods, ballplayers and
Babies bottoms freshly powdered
No older than the invention of gun powder
Now fall to the wayside of that position to hold powder
It's the money and the power
You'd think we're Trump instead we're apprentices to
Applications socially nettin' that "work"
Sometimes it's the sun times anger
Multiplied cliffhangers to story book broken hearts
Pages of life ripped apart by the shot
Cupid never used a silencer
The drama is like TNT when it explodes,
So to silence her mode
He mutes the mood with the magazine
Ebony entity emptying its Essence
Jet quick into jeune filles
Jealousy, longing, lust, and lies
Ex-boyfriends get the butt...of the gun,
Or hole...between eyes
Some even doubt fire when they aim
Robbin' children of years
In a red pool of fears
Parent's tears and wails
But of course, we're heroes when we
Pull triggers?
We solve equations with
Caliber precision?


When the next day comes
Could we not try to cut down ourselves?
If anything
Cock back
Shoot for the stars.


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Under Arrest"

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 is #1 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project.

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx



Smiling while black
The sun charges me for
Many stars shine without
Luster
Luxurious love for my
Rays pour out on the shoulders of
Smooth Sahara sand-colored souls
Man, we kiss each other and pass lineage
Through lips and struggling
Stressed like history
Through strainers
I maintain my brown
Down the Mason-Dixon
Up the Nile
Around downtown Houston
Ground Zero in Zimbabwe
Hey, sepia sensuality
Sends me there
I'm counting spirits on her digits
Play with her toes and nose
My baby becomes quick of knowledge
As the world slows
I'm rolling deep
Without the 'Lac and white walls
But deep in the red clay
My chart's a splay of things
So Aquariusly queer to veneer
I'm not seeing the future clear
Without a little mud covered aura
To show me my way home
Turn right
Go East
Keep walking
Shh...
The ancestors from below the waves are talking
Sending instant messages in maelstroms and
Hurricanes
Communicating with copper casings
We bullets with intelligence
Target redemption
Realign to hit our points of reference
Our destiny's real destination
Wrecking the frame of shame and
Picturing shattered distress calls
Being pieced again.
Straight from Mama's Gun
Motherland daughters and suns
Charging all of us
For
Smiling while black
Concealing contraband history
In our backpack and satchels
As we grapple with the long arm of the law
That was the unluckiest of the draw
I sketch
My life to be my wife
And we artistically die together
When we are satisfied with the ruling of
Guilty on all charges
No parole on freedoms?
I smile harder!
No probation on free will?
I laugh and show strength!
Hell, I'll lock myself up up in my culture's possession
I'll swallow the key
For there shall be no more of taken from me.





© 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 (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 people...to 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, like....live!

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

"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 seasons...no dry spells
Volumes
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
Together
Alone



© 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
deep
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
release
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
cry
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
together
at midnight

Ifeanyi Okoro II

Coppersoul © 2009

So, who will be the first to stand against...?

You know, it's funny...as I write this blog, the title aptly discusses our futility to mobilize and unify in our own communities.
"What comes next after nothing comes at all?" is a good way of saying:

"Our people have nothing better to do than to kill each other before they celebrate graduating from high school."

Or perhaps I should say it means,

"Let's march around and do candlelight vigils and pray to the Lord until it's our baby's turn to die."
Could it exclaim that,

"We shall overcome, especially in the Year of Obama!", for it's sole entity upon this blog?

I did not know Derrion Albert, nor Eli Escobar, nor Sean Bell, nor Amadou Diallo, or Pedro Oregon, Brandon Mcclelland, James Byrd, Eleanor Bumpurs. In reading (and viewing in some cases) these grizzly murders, it is apparent that the Africans in America, whether brought here by boat unlawfully or by plane ticket, are still under attack. Unfortunately, due to the rampant acts of violence and the emergence of the volatile, unstable black youth, Derrion suffered death at the hands of other these very same people who shared his skin hue.

The question is not if it was he that started it, nor decided to participate in it, nor if he should have been there in the first place. Where were the adults during the melee in the open Chicago streets? While most of the Chicago population were either unaware in their houses or schools, and the others crossing fingers for some worldwide games bid, these children and some teens (and adults) went after each other as if it was a territorial war in Africa. I need the after-school and outreach programs to step up in this situation, preferably our young African males that are capable to take charge and instruct without the social constructs that limit the resources through government aid. They wouldn't give a fuck, anyway. However, Chicago isn't the scapegoat here as well. Houston, (the Historic Wards , Southwest, and South Park) has its share of laxing on the monitoring of our youth and their activities when they leave school, or, for that matter, if they leave the house to pretend to go to school? Compton, St. Louis, and New Orleans as well needs some retooling. Who's down to help, instead of rapping and doing poems about it? No offense to those who do both the oratory and physical labor of improving our situations.

These things were put into place to disrupt black progression since. The children must feel ignored to have dissent in their hearts, and the adults must separate from them in order to exert force and rule in the harshest of ways. I must say this...since he inception of chattel slavery, this system has been designed to tear down the image of the African people, regardless of if we were bound or not. So, where are the chains if we are still bound by self-degradation and hatred?

It's almost as if this Willie Lynch letter has evolved for the millennium. Not again.

I work in an artist/after-school program that has a fortunate few to help experience neighborhood artists as well as national/international artists directly, and hone their own talents. It's by far not the most perfect, and yet, it's long-standing and it does put a chink in the armor of the establishment's ways of destroying black neighborhoods and families. SHAPE, PABA, FUUSA, Blue Triangle, PBUA, and Operation Outreach have a hand in teaching our youth much more than "bangin'" and "slangin'". The children that come from the 3rd Ward and 5th Ward area love to participate in the programs, because they expose their talents to the world and feel much more confident. Yes, America, positivity exists. However, I notice the middle schools now take fads to another level. Saggin' and fight bragging. Video taping brawls and 'scheduled' after school fights to post online (this didn't start with them, people)! they are showing no fear, nor respect for the elders, as they are starting to clog the Ward by purposely walking the streets like vigilantes looking for justice or bloodshed. At this age, the police are licking their chops, for it is all too easy to convict and restrict them for just this alone. Again, where are the adults? Parents, especially? Don't be surprised to hear feedback from the young ones that say their own brother or father jumped them into a gang, like I heard from these two young students over the summer tell me and my co-worker. Non-profits need help as well. let's also look for help within. What's wrong with leaving the club or bar alone for that night to put in 5 dollars a week to preserve a small area for the children to learn something about our legacy??!?! Donate to black-owned. But not just any, to the ones who are using it for the greater good of the uplifting of our people, intellectually.

The police has a nice target on the backs of our black youth, as well as our elderly and, what seems to be the new trend, our women. I've been receiving disturbing emails and video interviews of young girls they put away as young, as 12 years old, for life. Some of them have their children in prison. Most are either abused children/women, or accused by the real perps that left paraphernalia in their possession unknowingly. It is NOT the police's job to protect us. It is our own. We should be able to police ourselves. Why not? Wasn't it your mother or auntie that whooped your ass when you did something crosstown, or when you acted a plum fool in church or at the library? Wasn't it your daddy that got that ass when you decided to steal something from the old man's house, or chunk a rock at the elderly family's window? Are we that "screwed and chopped up" in the Land of Syrup that we'd rather think it's cool to sport a faux-hawk, some Forces, and some skinny jeans on our children so we could be accepted...by THEM?!?
Where does the buddy system stop and the parenting begin? Better yet, where's the mentoring of our black males?!? The police's job is to make sure that your ass stays right on the plantation. Avoid the 'boys in blue' and corral your youngins into the house and learn them the ways of the elders. I need not hear about "Maaaaan, you know, Pook an em comin' out in three, but I was up in there, and Dice got shot. Imma come through and get my heat on em for dat" bullshit on the bus anymore. It is NOT COOL TO BE INCARCERATED. That is not a badge of honor. In fact, the 'badge' and 'your honor' put you there. Get it right.

Let's zero in on this foolery. First off, the radio airwaves will allow poison to wave freely as long as you have a conduit for it to be carried through. Derisive and derogatory comments on young black women and girls will continue if we done not hold those in charge responsible. My niece knows Jeremih' horrid ass song of "Birthday Sex", and yet, when she grows up, God forbid you'd have some brother trying to exude his machismo through the lure of illicit songwriting and fuckery. If someone can rap to you about 'knockin' down girls' (promiscuous bragging), selling dope (or how they used to), and flashing gaudy, ridiculous clothing with a name on it that they can't spell on a Speak and Say (Texas Instruments - old school), but offer NO POSITIVE OUTLET to avoid the trap, do you think the children will take the high road to intelligence, or 'Superman' that ass onto hustlin' for the cheddar on the corner? Television DOES NOT RAISE OUR CHILDREN. Get them the hell out of in front of the screen, and give them a book. Teach them a language. My nephew is learning Capoeira moves as I learn, giving him another way of expression. Introduce them to African countries, or customs. Something other than programming that has our children addicted to speaking like they have rocks in their mouth (i.e. Teletubbies).

Brother Jesse Muhammad (Final Call newspaper & @brotherjesse on Twitter.com) has made the beckoning towards we few black males to take part in a resurgence of mending the black male youth's image and ambition. I heed the call, and I'm sure other cities will do so as well. Do not let Chicago put us into shock and awe for a young man that many will soon pass his death of as a "killing in vain". If we have to put together a panel, or posse, something will and must be done continuously to stop the direct attack on our black youth. Otherwise, we cam show how our swag is supreme in the state pen. Parents, leaders, ADULTS in general. Put down your technologies and help, or put that technology to work and let's save our youth!

Enough marching. Let's mount up and make it happen.

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?

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...

In Due Time

This is my first official post as a blogger on this site. I have been posting blogs for a while, however. I'm just not too accustomed to doing so. My first blog isn't a sweet one, nor is it something I'd really like to discuss. Instead, it's a reflection of how I opt to talk online, rather than to people offline.

I have someone in mind, yet my mind isn't a sharing entity. It's likely that I'm going to suffer this September, seeing that I want to do so many things, yet, I am tied up. I'm kicking myself for not being able to mail a present off in time, being financially sunk as of late, and will be commemorating my friend's death five years ago from this date. I'm struggling to recover quick, if at all, from a relationship that dented my heart's door from the kick of another person she's invited in. This blog should be finished within five or so minutes, yet I am behind, due to worrying about correcting myself too damn much on a damn blog!

Anyway, I promise more in-depth writings as the time comes, if I am alive long enough to do so. Who knows where I'll be? Who knows my mind? I can think of one woman. She has captivated me in such short time, and I am failing to understand what she sees in me. I'm always smiling when we talk, and I'm sure to the bone that I'll be able to help her as she has helped me. Her special day is coming up, and I'm willing to sacrifice a lot to just visit her, if not make her feel wanted...especially by me. She told me about having a dream about someone that seemingly had the same characteristics that I shared AFTER she told me. It was a vortex that I was sucked into. But I will give more as the time progresses. Until then, I'm closed. I need to be focused on getting my self right. Or else...