Random Haiku #8

My Booga is grown

One year her senior's enough
To argue with Dad

:)

From Kings To Presidents

Present (Me)
Past (David A. Strother)
Both

1 year shy of 7 scores ago
My Great Grandfather couldn't fathom
A seed of his seed's seed recieving a voter's registration card
Stamped with flag and eagle
Representing a country that denied him the same right
...Even drilled it into Moms head...

It was the winter of the Negro's discontent
Only made warm by a summer's dream-
A dream deeply rooted in the American Dream-
A dream that made "glorious" the glory of the Lord,
...But was deferred by a bad check

Moms says "He would be proud."
So while this card practically floats towards my hands,
I MUST understand,
Why this Negro Spoke of Rivers

Rivers that ran deep as his soul,
Through the bottom of a country that left those around him,
Swinging from trees
Like strange fruit for crows to pluck

A country that left 400 years of something more than oppression,
Lashed on his (my) fathers back
And wouldn't allow his (my) sons & daughters to eat hamburgers,
Towards front-window shop glass
That shattered when bricks represented those
Who opposed those that thought otherwise

America created an atmosphere so thick for Blacks
That they (we) had to march through it
Picket signs in air
Reflecting stares and expletives
However, couldn't stop the german shepards that drug wet bodies
Dripping from water hoses that couldn't put out the fire WE were fighting...

...for the promises that they promised in the promissory note
For my son, I have hope
So I promise i will vote
But my sun don't shine- I wont ever see the light-
Those unalienable rights only matter if you White
Insufficient Funds!!
Thats what they wrote on the vault
Five scores of opportunity at the nation's default

Our eyes were watchin God
While His eye was on the Sparrow
We had a reason to sing but the jail cells were still narrow
And King knew that...
So no matter how tight the cuff, or brutal the badge
We understood that one day, we would be "Free At Last"

And that our chil'ren, and chil'ren's chil'ren could be something bigger
Learn the history of people; Not defined by that ugly word...

Niggas had they minds made up
Pens plastered on hands,
Ready to connect the arrow that pointed towards the Black man
Wondering if elephant holes left by presidential predecessors,
Are too steep for him to pull a country out of

Cause everything's backwards
The dollar aint what it used to be
But as you can see,
Poverty lines are still etched in predominately Black markers

So while I stroke this ballot
While I stroked that ballot
I can't help but be biased
While seeing my family,
And those outside my bloodline defined as "dimeless"

Especially in a time when CREAM ever present
Cash Rules Everything Around Me
But Moms even drilled it into MY head...

Money dont make the King
It's what the King bring
When the King aint got no money

And?...

Remeber,
Even Jesus rode in on a donkey

So how can we not believe that Democracy will deliver a savior of sorts once again?
Not only to save a country from itself
But to show a lil Black boy in the Slums of Georgia
That he can aspire to be ANYTHING he wants
His voice will be heard...

My voice will be heard...
You cant silence my right!!

Cause that's what King wanted...
Cause that's what Obama's given...

So while the WORLD practically floats towards my hands,
I MUST understand,
Why this Negro Spoke of Rivers

Emcee Squared

Something I wrote some month's ago. For now, it's to this beat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6xDH8Rq-uU

It's 4:30 in the morning , bout to light another square/
Getting fussed at, and honestly, I probably wouldn't care/
Cause they acting like it new to me... "Shouldn't be smoking"
Me and my lungs well aware of what it do to me/
And we just fine on the matter, so dont even speak/
Cause it's shit on my brain, like my mind on my bladder/
Sometimes I would act up...or act out/ Reason being...
I can't help being different, I chose THAT route/
But it starts to get to me, passed up a life of thuggery...
Nicks of weed, and whatever my Pop's calls "bigotry"/
Little me, passed that. Moms told me not to/
Bigger me? Shit changed, but Moms had a lock fool/...
So this is me, a square smoking square/
A man on the edge till I put that square smoke in air/
Moms would be pissed, but she can't really damage me/
Plus I been a good kid, so dont trip on my sanity/

*
***
*

The White kids done did it for years. So who tripping?/
Tweet did it for love, made songs, but who listened?/
Camels and Cowboys advertised it/ And they be working hard as shit...
So who the FUCK can say what I get?/
Moms couldn't part with it, years after starting it/
Said it was addiction when i asked her to call it quits/
Then when she saw all of my asthma attacks/
She didnt think it was from smoke, what type of asthma is that?!/
Lady, in actuality, I blame it on you/
I started just to prove that addiction was a petty excuse/
Wes started cause it was supposed to be a substitute for weed/
But he burns herb everywhere, but around authority and me/
So dont think that he a bad influence, cause what he had me doing/
I choose that, and you a factor to/
And you can get mad, or a attitude/
Or be glad that I finally told more than half the truth/
*
***
*
I'm at position now, where I couldn't give a shit/
Used to never have a stack, cause I couldn't flip a brick/
Never had a dip; Couldn't fuck? Couldn't get a chick/
On that "Fuck Life" tip, cause I couldn't get a grip/
On how she never play fair, why the fuck should Jay care?/
About mini, miny, moe, this aint a fucking day care/
This shit is Real Life, the reason I break snares/
Cause either people fight for it, or quit and take theres/
And I'm at my wit's end, but FUCK suicide/
FUCK life's altamadum's, nigga FUCK do or die/
FUCK rappers, my lack of swagger, FUCK Cooly High/
And every bitch that did me wrong, hoe FUCK you and I/
Or just FUCK all my X's, that's what you call aggressive...
Or being a "asshole" cause I cut through the lies/
That emotional shit is done, nigga happy or sad/
So I'ma puff this last cig and get back to the pad/...

30/30 Challenge: The Dread...

So I just got the message from Mr. Nate Marshall asking if I wanted to do the 30/30 challenge (a poem a day for 30 days). And I'ma take a stab at it for 2 reasons;

1

I dont write enough...

2
I needed this push to make my leisure-writing blog...

&

3
I hate not being a part of stuff like this

So we just gonna see how this pan's out. Hopefully I wont get blown out by all the other poets doing this, and I just enjoy my self (and you enjoy it as well).