Tag Archives: poetry

A parrot made my day

11 Mar

A baby parrot made my day today

bright flash of green and red

calling my attention.

We chilled for a while

he posed for a photo

Then flew off on his way.

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Baby Peach- Faced Lovebird, passing through Al Quoz, Dubai.

An escapee I suppose

Now free to fly!

It made me smile.

I thought,

‘Imagine having the gift of flight

and not being free to fly?’

So

I decided today

I need not return to the cage-

the one I built for rainy days

The one that keeps out the sunshine;

And the rain. And the clouds. And the rainbows.

They tell you you’re playing it safe,

when really you’re living in fear.

They say ‘hey bird, show us you can fly!’

So, you step out of the cage and flutter to one side of the room

They’re hardly impressed, but satisfied more or less

They clap anyway. Happy to see a bird.

But…. you can never truly soar in a room like that.

And my if they could only see!

My, if I could only feel the true taste of freedom and the wind upon my face

Let it consume me and take me beyond the sand dunes and out into the wilderness

But there I went,

returned to the cage before it was out of my sight.

Well, if a baby parrot can do it, so can I.

So not anymore.

It is time.

To fly…

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Amal Kassir: A voice of hope and despair

19 Aug

Amal Kassir. A powerful voice in these times.

Not sure how I came about this talented spoken word artist, but somehow I did and I am glad of that.

The suffering that is happening in Syria now, that my mind can hardly fathom., I began to tear and really feel through these words…

“I tried to keep my mouth shut for my tongue didn’t have any more room for scars in the shape of my teeth.

March 2011 we have been reborn a social infant screaming: let us live !

We will speak until throats are raw until all of syria is in the news …

The dates will read like obituaries…”

Utter despair…

But finally, like the name ‘Amal’ means hope, a look to a brighter future;

“There will be a time when we can eat together

When we will build homes out of abandoned tanks

Peace is a rusted recoil

We will sip from the cups made of old grenades

And shades of green are only worn by nature

There will be a time when the fences choose to sit with us

Instead of standing between us

Ameen”.

 

Sometimes hope is all we have to keep us going.

‘You’ve gotta have hope.  Without hope life is meaningless.  Without hope life is meaning less and less.’  (anon)

 

Coded Language

16 Aug

Saul Williams.

http://www.saulwilliams.com

 

His poetry blows my mind! #Truth.

 

 

 

Coded Langauge

Whereas, breakbeats have been the missing link connecting the diasporic

community to its drum woven past

Whereas the quantised drum has allowed the whirling mathematicians to

calculate the ever changing distance between rock and stardom.

Whereas the velocity of the spinning vinyl, cross-faded, spun backwards, and

re-released at the same given moment of recorded history , yet at a

different moment in time’s continuum has allowed history to catch up with

the present.

We do hereby declare reality unkempt by the changing standards of dialogue.

Statements, such as, “keep it real”, especially when punctuating or

anticipating modes of ultra-violence inflicted psychologically or physically

or depicting an unchanging rule of events will hence forth be seen as

retro-active and not representative of the individually determined is.

Furthermore, as determined by the collective consciousness of this state of

being and the lessened distance between thought patterns and their secular

manifestations, the role of men as listening receptacles is to be increased

by a number no less than 70 percent of the current enlisted as vocal

aggressors.

Motherfuckers better realize, now is the time to self-actualize

We have found evidence that hip hops standard 85 rpm when increased by a

number as least half the rate of it’s standard or decreased at ¾ of it’s

speed may be a determining factor in heightening consciousness.

Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face of the

unchanging, the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth.

Equate rhyme with reason, Sun with season

Our cyclical relationship to phenomenon has encouraged scholars to erase the

centers of periods, thus symbolizing the non-linear character of cause and

effect

Reject mediocrity!

Your current frequencies of understanding outweigh that which as been given

for you to understand.

The current standard is the equivalent of an adolescent restricted to the

diet of an infant.

The rapidly changing body would acquire dysfunctional and deformative

symptoms and could not properly mature on a diet of apple sauce and crushed

pears

Light years are interchangeable with years of living in darkness.

The role of darkness is not to be seen as, or equated with, Ignorance, but

with the unknown, and the mysteries of the unseen.

Thus, in the name of:

ROBESON, GOD’S SON, HURSTON, AHKENATON, HATHSHEPUT, BLACKFOOT, HELEN,

LENNON, KHALO, KALI, THE THREE MARIAS, TARA, LILITHE, LOURDE, WHITMAN,

BALDWIN, GINSBERG, KAUFMAN, LUMUMBA, GHANDI, GIBRAN, SHABAZZ,

SIDDHARTHA,

MEDUSA, GUEVARA, GUARDSIEFF, RAND, WRIGHT, BANNEKER, TUBMAN, HAMER,

HOLIDAY,

DAVIS, COLTRANE, MORRISON, JOPLIN, DUBOIS, CLARKE, SHAKESPEARE,

RACHMNINOV,

ELLINGTON, CARTER, GAYE, HATHOWAY, HENDRIX, KUTL, DICKERSON, RIPPERTON,

MARY, ISIS, THERESA, PLATH, RUMI, FELLINI, MICHAUX, NOSTRADAMUS, NEFERTITI,

LA ROCK, SHIVA, GANESHA, YEMAJA, OSHUN, OBATALA, OGUN, KENNEDY, KING,

FOUR

LITTLE GIRLS, HIROSHIMA, NAGASAKI, KELLER, BIKO, PERONE, MARLEY, COSBY,

SHAKUR, THOSE STILL AFLAMED, AND THE COUNTLESS UNNAMED

We claim the present as the pre-sent, as the hereafter.

We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun.

We are not afraid of the darkness, we trust that the moon shall guide us.

We are determining the future at this very moment.

We now know that the heart is the philosophers’ stone

Our music is our alchemy

We stand as the manifested equivalent of 3 buckets of water and a hand full

of minerals, thus realizing that those very buckets turned upside down

supply the percussion factor of forever.

If you must count to keep the beat then count.

Find you mantra and awaken your subconscious.

Curve you circles counterclockwise

Use your cipher to decipher, Coded Language, man made laws.

Climb waterfalls and trees, commune with nature, snakes and bees.

Let your children name themselves and claim themselves as the new day for

today we are determined to be the channelers of these changing frequencies

into songs, paintings, writings, dance, drama, photography, carpentry,

crafts, love, and love.

We enlist every instrument: Acoustic, electronic.

Every so-called race, gender, and sexual preference.

Every per-son as beings of sound to acknowledge their responsibility to

uplift the consciousness of the entire fucking World.

Any utterance will be un-aimed, will be disclaimed – two rappers slain

Any utterance will be un-aimed, will be disclaimed – two rappers slain

 

You and me and everyone we know

25 Mar

When it comes to artists like Jean Grae, RAP becomes..

R=REAL

A= ARTISTIC

P= POETRY

Forget best female rapper. Jean Grae is simply one of the best rappers-period.

Here’s a recent track I just found on youtube, produced by M-Phases… her voice & style is as silky, smooth & real as ever… enjoy! :)

 

 

 

 

“Half Caste”

8 Feb

Super excited to hear that one of my favourite poets ‘John Agard’ is coming to Dubai for the Emirates Literature Festival next month:

http://www.emirateslitfest.com

(Tuesday 6th March)

There is one poem by him that gave me and my ‘mixed race’ brothers and sisters a lot of satisfaction.

We were introduced to it in school and the poem has stuck in my head all these years..

Enjoy! :-)

Half Caste

By John Agard

Excuse me
standing on one leg
I’m half-caste.

Explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when Picasso
mix red an green
is a half-caste canvas?
explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when light an shadow
mix in de sky
is a half-caste weather?
well in dat case
england weather
nearly always half-caste
in fact some o dem cloud
half-caste till dem overcast
so spiteful dem don’t want de sun pass
ah rass?
explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean tchaikovsky
sit down at dah piano
an mix a black key
wid a white key
is a half-caste symphony?

Explain yuself
wha yu mean
Ah listening to yu wid de keen
half of mih ear
Ah looking at yu wid de keen
half of mih eye
an when I’m introduced to yu
I’m sure you’ll understand
why I offer yu half-a-hand
an when I sleep at night
I close half-a-eye
consequently when I dream
I dream half-a-dream
an when moon begin to glow
I half-caste human being
cast half-a-shadow
but yu must come back tomorrow
wid de whole of yu eye
an de whole of yu ear
an de whole of yu mind.

an I will tell yu
de other half
of my story.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

28 May

Yesterday the legendary “Gil Scott-Heron” passed away.

All day long I’ve had that famous title stuck in my head-  ”The revolution will not be televised”.

and I’ve been thinking about the meaning of those words…

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
 You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
 You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
 Skip out for beer during commercials,
 Because the revolution will not be televised.

 The revolution will not be televised.
 The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
 In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
 The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
 blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
 Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
 hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
 The revolution will not be televised.

 The revolution will not be brought to you by the
 Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
 Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
 The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
 The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
 The revolution will not make you look five pounds
 thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

 There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
 pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
 or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
 NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
 or report from 29 districts.
 The revolution will not be televised.

 There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
 brothers in the instant replay.
 There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
 brothers in the instant replay.
 There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
 run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
 There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
 Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
 Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
 For just the proper occasion.

 Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
 Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
 women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
 Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
 will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
 The revolution will not be televised.

 There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
 news and no pictures of hairy armed women
 liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
 The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
 Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
 Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
 The revolution will not be televised.

 The revolution will not be right back after a message
 About a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
 You will not have to worry about a dove in your
 bedroom, the tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
 The revolution will not go better with Coke.
 The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
 The revolution WILL put you in the driver's seat.

 The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
 will not be televised, will not be televised.
 The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
 The revolution will be live.

Poetry and art, by its very nature is open to interpretation. Thats the beauty of it. But I’ve heard alot of people say today that the revolution has been televised already… they seem to be missing the point..

As he explains in the below clip- the real revolution begins in the mind….

I can personally hear two stories taking place here…. (its a very clever poem!!)

On one hand he is talking about African American people and how their story will not be televised. He seems to be making the point that TV is for white people for white people, that it won’t show the revolution of black people and it won’t tell their story.

“There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay”

“The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom

Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth”

But I think also what Gil Scott Heron means is, that when the real revolution happens we will have stopped believing in all the bullsh*t that is fed to us through the media. Part of the revolution is to stop believing in all the media hype! The real revolution is when we realise that there is real life to live.

It won’t be on TV, ‘because black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day”, and because “the revolution will be live”.

He references adverts and how they make us feel inadequate, how fear is used as a tool to make us buy, to keep people oppressed..

“You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, the tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. The revolution WILL put you in the driver’s seat.”

Its exactly as he puts it, “the revolution WILL put you in the driver’s seat”.

Finally people will have the knowledge power and autonomy to make up their own minds about what they need and what they don’t need in life.

and you know what? The revolution is happening now.. its really coming!

It won’t be a quick process, precisely why you can’t televise it.. it’ll be a subtle, gradual and yet apparent change.

Look around the world…

Already more and more people are aware of how the media feeds us crap. People are starting to look for spiritual fulfillment, to value their time, and to appreciate the world around us…

University students that have the qualifications and brains to go out and work as bankers or lawyers, are choosing to go and live in third world countries to help others.

More people attend Yoga than church in a lot of cities.

Books on “Spirituality” are more popular than ever.

The financial crisis .. a sign of Capitalism starting to fall in on itself?

The rise of nations in the Middle East – showing us what can be achieved when we stand up against oppression.

The real revolution is something that cannot be held accountable to one film or one piece of music or one place and time. It is starting in minds allover the world.

Maybe years later we will say “Wow, that was crazy.. how did we used to live like that? Why were we so stupid?!”

DAMN right the revolution will not be televised!! ;)

We are moving into a new age.. the age of communication and love.. away from superficiality, ego and selfishness. It all begins with a suspicion of modern cultural values… a global shift in consciousness…

R.I.P Gill Scott-Heron, may you rest in heavenly peace. Thank-you for the inspiration. :)

xox

The archipelago of kisses

10 Dec

 

The archipelago of kisses…

By Jeffrey McDaniel

 

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don’t

grow on trees, like in the old days. So where

does one find love? When you’re sixteen it’s easy,

like being unleashed with a credit card

in a department store of kisses. There’s the first kiss.

The sloppy kiss. The peck.

The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we

shouldn’t be doing this kiss. The but your lips

taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.

The I wish you’d quit smoking kiss.

The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad

sometimes kiss. The I know

your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get

older, kisses become scarce. You’ll be driving

home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,

with its purple thumb out. If you

were younger, you’d pull over, slide open the mouth’s

red door just to see how it fits. Oh where

does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.

Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.

Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.

Now what? Don’t invite the kiss over

and answer the door in your underwear. It’ll get suspicious

and stare at your toes. Don’t water the kiss with whiskey.

It’ll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,

but in the morning it’ll be ashamed and sneak out of

your body without saying good-bye,

and you’ll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left

on the inside of your mouth. You must

nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it

illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest

and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a

special beach. Place it on the tongue’s pillow,

then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath

a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.

But one kiss levitates above all the others. The

intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.

The I’ll love you through a brick wall kiss.

Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth,

like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

 

 

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