Friday, October 14, 2016

My so gone challange. Remix{ So wrong}

So gone.
Soo gone.

{Remixxxx.}
So wrong. So wrong how your doing us.
 Your soooo wronnnng.
(wrong wrong wrong.)
Silly young you.
You refuse to see.
The only time our live matter is when we are endorsing your products on TV.

I'm not a rapper.
This is not a rap.
I'm just a poet observing what's going on today.
Now I got something to say.
Welllll.
Lets see.
Its 2016.
We're not allowed to wear hoods.
We can't sell squares or CD'S.
We can't play with water pistols.
We can't make political stands on TV.
Not in America.
Land of free and home of the  brave.
A land that was built on the backs of slaves.
Denial of eqal rights for people of color is rampant.
Systematic racism is at an all time high and automatic.
Its a truth that America  refuses to acknowledge.
We send the black fathers to jail on trumped up charges.
Splitting up the black home.
Your so wrong.
(wrong wrong wrong wrong.)
I'm not a rapper.
 This is not a rap.
 I'm just a poet observing what's going on today.
I'm not a rapper this is not a rap.
Every time we start getting ahead you move the goal post back.
Your sooo wrong.
(wrong wrong wrong.)

                         The Poetry corner:
HLH © 10/14/16
                                                          Poetry with a passion
                                                           poetry for all occasions™
                                                             

 











Sunday, April 24, 2016

The angles are holding court




...
THE ANGLES ARE HOLDING COURT.

HE'S TUNING HIS GUITAR AND PREPARING TO CRUNE A TUNE TO MAKE ALL THE LADIES SWOON.

THE ANGLES ARE HOLDING COURT.

THE ENTIRE COURTYARD AND HIS CROWN ARE SHIMMERING IN A SEA OF DIAMONDS AND PEARLS.

THE ANGLES ARE HOLDING COURT.

THEN SUDDENLY SHE GLIDES IN WEARING A
RASPBERRY BERATE AND A GOWN MADE OF PINK CASHMERE.
YEAH SHE GOT THAT LOOK.
THEN SHE PROCEEDS TO GIVE HIM A KISS.
OH YEAH. SHE'S A HOT THING.

THE ANGLES ARE HOLDING COURT.

NOW THAT'S POP LIFE FOR YA.

THE CORONATION BALL WAS ALL IN THE PAPERS.
IT ALMOST GOT CANCELLED DUE TO PURPLE RAIN.
 
THE ANGLES HELD COURT.

THEY LET THE TRUMPETS SOUND AS THEY GOT DOWN.

 THEN THEY PROMOTED HIM FROM PRINCE TO KING.

ALL HAIL THE FUNKY ONE!

 ETERNALLY SHALL HE REIGN.

THERE'S A NEW KING IN THE LAND OF FUNK AND PRINCE IS HIS NAME.

THANK YOU FOR 37 YEARS OF SHARING YOUR PURPLE POETRY WITH US.
RIH
the poetry corner: poetry with a passion. poetry for all occasions.
HLH CR 4/24/16
disclaimer I do not own video nor cartoon character artwork.

Friday, April 15, 2016

time bomb




The other day I over heard two teenagers talking and every other word that came out of their mouth was I don't give a Fu#k.
The scary thing is I know they meant it with every fiber of their being.

How did this happen?

When did we drop the ball?

I can't process how I can reach them.

Why are our children like this?

How did this happen?

How?

They have no concept of the future.

They want it all  right now.

It usually starts with a few insult jabs fack and forth in the dm's
Then escalates to death taunts on the wall./

talking about what their going to do when the see them.
A public beat down captured on world star.

I can remember a time where there use to be boundaries and protocol.
Lines that shouldn't and wouldn't be crossed.

Now these little thundercats are wilding all the time.
Always ready to say fuck it all and whose ever with them./

Chuckling to their selves while in the back of their minds saying look how dirty I did em.

A slain body now laying lifeless./
As if they do not know the difference between what wrong and right is./
All they seem to know is getting revenge and making them pay regardless what the price is./
Their too young to appreciate what life really is./
I really don't like this new scene.
They all want to be gangstas and trap queens.
Henny for breakfast.
blunts for lunch.
It doesn't take much to set them off.
If they have a pistol then we have a problem.
I'm afraid.
No not fearful of them.
Afraid for them.
Their killing each other before they reach adult hood.
All over the country it's same.
Never any real target in mind.
Who do we blame?
This epidemic is getting out of hand.
If they keep killing like this there won't be a future.
Anyone can get it at any time.
bullets don't have any name.
When will this crisis end?
This is truly a shame.
Their anger is sheathing.
 Looking for any excuse to unload.
Today's youth are like ticking time bombs.
 
You never know when they'll explode.

This poem was not intended to bash the new generation.
There are a lot of teens and tweens making great strides in the community and impacting society in a positive way.
This poem was written to address the black on black shooting death tolls in places
like Miami, Chicago, Boston New York,Texas And Louisiana



the poetry corner: poetry with a passion. Poetry for all occasions
 HLH CR. 4/15/16

















Monday, April 11, 2016

The talk




Grade school is a magical time for kids.

They are taught the early year basics.(reading,writing,and Arithmetic)They also are usually taught proper etiquette, getting along with others and sharing.

Career day was probably the most fun and meaningful time in elementary.

On career day you were taught that you could be anything want to be when you grow up.

All the speakers that participated in career day played an important role in their young lives. The youth were getting a glimpse into the future.

All the speaks hailed from respectable professions in the community.
The banker.
The Doctor.
The lawyer.
The Judge.
The farmer.
The police officer.
Out off the visitors to speak, the police officer usually left the most lasting impression.

They would give out coloring books, whistles,and other fun games.
The message that they were trying to send us was clear.
Don't be afraid of us.
We are nice.
Trust us.
Call us.

We are here to help.

Yeahuup....magical times back then.

Then I got a little older.

Shot up a few inches.

My voice got deeper.

Even grew some peach fuzz on my face.

It was time for the "talk".

You know the "talk"

Not the birds and the bees.
"The talk"

The talk that has existed long before I was born./
The talk to help protect the first black male born./

You know.

"The talk"

Don't tell me you've never heard of it....

Fathers,Grandfather's, uncles, brothers,and guardians pass it down like their handing off a baton in a relay race./

You'd always know how serious it was by the look on their face./

In case your still on the dark;the talk I'm speaking of is what to do when you get stopped by the police.

My father was incarcerated so he couldn't tell me when I came of age./
My older brothers were still practicing the routine so they didn't quiet know what to say.

My mother.(a woman) taught me a lesson that still holds true till this very day./

She grabbed my cheeks and said son please listen very carefully you need hear this.

You intimidate them. 
They fear you.

So when your out with your friends or coming home alone and they stop you here's what you do./

Don't slouch.

 Sit up straight.

Give them eye contact but do not stare at them directly in their face.

Remain perfectly still...resist the urge to pace.

Keep your hands out of pockets./


No matter how loud they yell at you always respond to their commands by calling them sir.

Sad but true.

"The talk " has become a skewed right of passage for many of us.

Yet we are still suppose to obey and trust an organization that

slaughters us all in the name of the brotherhood of the blue.

You know the strange thing though?

I bet at one point in time even black officers had "the talk" too.



I'm not saying all cops are racist, corrupt, or bad.
All I'm saying is this.

It's 2016 and the talk still exist.


THE POETRY CORNER: POETRY WITH A PASSION .POETRY FOR ALL OCASSIONS.

HLH. CR 4/09/16