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.

No Brasil

Going to the Houston Brazilian Festival downtown made me want to escape to Brazil and never come back. That is, if I could take her and the children. I am not a fan of oppression, and I despise stagnation, so I am willing to live out my existence in Bahia or Rio. Who knows? I do plan to do a class and internship there next year with my friends. Advantages of speaking better Portuguese and maybe spending some time playing Capoeira there as well excites me! But that will take a portfolio, some scrilla, and total will to leave into a place so foreign to me. Come with?

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...

The last of the last 09-09-09 (Part Two)

Some people are just born to be against the grain, and all for the wrong reasons, shall I add. I just saw the Republican Party (Once Radical Republic, now just "Republi-cons" of the Trans-reformers... "More than health care odds") have their own good ol' South Carolinian hardhead Wilson shout out at the Pres. of these States Unified, calling him a liar. Of course, he got some looks form the "Auto-bamas" and a few from his own Republicons. In actuality, it's very legal to say what you will, seeing that free speech is a joke, and that it was only made for certain people of the hierarchy (i.e. rich, white men that had land and power). In other terms, shoes and bullets were used to express disgust (Bush and Reagan respectively). A babalawo once mentioned that the assassination of this new pres will be solely one of character. Why are people surprised? Obama can play this "I'm calm and cool" role if he likes, but the views of many that are sharing his skin, his past, and furthermore, his dream that seemingly is tanking by the second is now becoming dimmer and dimmer.

No respect for self. What was Obama doing this month? Taking heat about a speech encouraging the youth to pursue happiness through education and perseverance. No, he's taking the high road. Everyone mark your calendar when this great prophet...excuse me, chosen man didn't address Gates' arresting officer in a manner of chin-checking, position of power-wise. The flood gates have opened. You have natural born idiots that don't like to use common sense in consulting their ancestors or even some spiritual signs that appear to them. Here, I would have sent this cat to Ogun, or Esu to shut his ass up. No. Obama is trying his best to go Obatala's route, without using Obatala's strategy in thinking. Action won't take place without proper planning. He's balking on the Gitmo and Guantanamo Bay situations. he's not calling up the World Court on Bush and his cohorts for their part in the illegal capture and torture of suspects. Innocent ones, mind you.

Oya's watching and waiting tonight, throwing caution to the wind Obama is twirling in. He might want to gain his respect back by not letting a party push him and his image around. Then again, most of us good colored folk idol worship Jay Z and his "bride", Lil Wayne and Drake, watch Tiny and Toya, Really Asinine Housewives of ATL, and continuously dine on swine and slop. Our outside appearances are banged up through the inside. Oya wants you to be true. I've crossed over into the 9-10-09 date now in typing this. It's as if we're drinking all of this shit down and calling it a cure for the flu our minds have processed to believe we have. "Massa, we's sick?" America is built on September crashes and burns. The Titanic - September 1st.
German troops invade Poland as well as bomb their airfields.
Libya's Bloodless Coup
The world was changing. We're complaining about jobs and shit, yet we're not even stopping to see what the hell anyone else is thinking about our haughty, extravagant lifestyle. I'm awaiting this next day...just to see what transpired as a result of the last single digit ten spots are gone until 2101. (Not finished - TBC)