Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust
for things start to be.
Me myself and i
For I myself,
Believe in myself.
For I love to stand by the book shelf.
In order to read some nice stuff.
Yoruba is my lineage.
I’m seen by my image.
And am called by my real name.
Buying things, I buy not fake.
I aim to be among the greats.
For one of my saying, says,
“Pays to be popular than being famous’’
Cos, famous people could be no-torious.
People say am pretty shy
That a time, I wish to cry.
Cos, I know I do try
To hide that, am really shy.
I’m a Muslim,
For my religion is, Islam.
So, pock meat is an haraam.
But I’m free to dine on ram.
I wish to be a doctor
So that youngsters can see me as a mentor.
I love teaching as a Professor.
For all that are great, are my mentor.
People don’t really know me,
So, this is to tell who I be.
For I prefer being a Lewis’ base,
Than to be a bronsted’s base.
Ridwan is my real name.
Olyrid is just a nick name.
You better know before it’s too late,
For I involve not in a criminal case.
My advice for you in life is this:
Serve you GOD, when not in pains
For in good health a person fails,
But calling unto him when soaked in pains.
Is my yahoo mail.
I’m dark, friendly and a little tall.
And all I love is winning soul.
For all I hate, is the “big boys” style.
Cos “sagging” is what they like.
For all I do, it’s my own style.
So if you like, you can be my type!
Young Shakespeare didst say to his tutor,
"Methinks I wouldst be much astuter,
And per chance, I wouldst say,
Mightest write a screen play,
If some fool wouldst invent the computer."
Dig Down Deep
Artifacts Will Speak
Words of Worth
With Pick and Shovel
If Block and Rubble,
Deep In Soul
Hold Hidden Scrolls
To Royal Edicts
Read and Call
On High Walls
Show Gold Emotions
In Glass Display
In Sealed Mystery
So The Poet Did …
To Preserve Words
So That You Heard
and Shared, Discovery …
The narrow path
or a decision
from the bench.
The narrow path
the status quo
Welcome, Ms. Valmer!! Glad you are aboard- now you can comment on any
poem, right after reading it....and try your hand at your own, should you choose.
Lotsa great people here. PS- could not open greeting sent- comp. needs
something installed - some file, I'll have to find out how to do it. So glad you
joined! Luv, tom
He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.
Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears,
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!
I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!
I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father;
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?
He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!
Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep;
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!
Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "
You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm
You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I
would never wear.
If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me.
You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.
Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless
I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I
just need someone to give me courage.
I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized.
So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her
In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities.
Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know
that your confident and well worth the struggle.
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same,
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.
The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.
Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.
Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul,
Which they all just had to express
Some could not control
This powerful thing
Was so often put to the test
It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing
Called the Harlem Renaissance
That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth
Possessing syncopated rhythms
And chronic expression of surreal tunes
That perfected blend of jazz-poetry
Developed into what it is today.
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes
That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race
Therefore, the mantra had begun to be
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka
Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters
Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing
In which made many a heart sing
As these icons did their thing
Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong
Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.
Bound by my hands
Bound by my legs
Bound by my waist
Bound by my neck
I can't hear
I can't smell
I can't taste
I can't see
I put everything away and only thought of
What brought me joy.Nor do I want to
Cry leaving my captures to smile about
To gloat,to have that unknown brutal power
Over me which is held in one tear.
My body numb,my heart is stopped,my mind is blank
Is this dying? Why am I paralyzed? Could it be falling a sleep?
These chains are cold but everything is hot.What feeling beside
Pity would become of me?..Be it not grief not sadness not even remorse.
But as I stand up from this seat,I am nothing more then a well mannered
Pup on a tight leash.
Born of depth and soul
A peaceful man rests weary
Detained with his mind
Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete.
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep.
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep.
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep.
Forgotten by those on the outside.
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide.
No choice left but to sit and fight.
In here only the strong minded survive.
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right.
All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time.
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes.
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying.
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying.
We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it.
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
In here there is only time no fun.
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun.
Only by our own selves we may be out done.
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....
Past the valleys strewn with apple trees-
And spirited places where he derived his passion
To the hardships and things forgotten-
He clutched his thoughts in the quiet of candlelight
Through the woven fabrics of his mind-
And the boundless journeys he strove
We gained his poetic wishes in perspective
Now I drain my thoughts in deliberate diligence
Hoping to bring him approval
Though I know he no longer resides-
I feel him in the cracked filled walls of yesterday
I am but a humbled poet -
Waning in the lost wishes of a master
I will walk with Robert Frost deep in my soul-
Breathing the pages of him and his earnest intellect
Rehearsing the dreams and agony of an America’s past-
Inspired by Amy Greens “Wow me with inspiration contest” !
Dancing with butterflies
Worlds of wonder
What more could she
Possess, pen to paper
Day time timid, night
Flying wings of words
Friends, fields, birds, earth,
Death, pretty things,
Horses, almost anything
Free to be a child,
Any shape, size
Her pen decrees
Nothing escaped her
Honest appraisal, told its
Heart, like a revealing
3-D photo, then the deft
Ability to describe value,
Heft, meaning of things.
Story teller true, flare, power,
Whimsy wit. There’s nothing
More to say except to love,
Secluded, she wrote for herself,
Creativity bequeathed her to us.
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of lasting freedom you know what I mean.
My constant mirror from heaven,
On earth and in the sea,
Only you can be;
But can you see yourself in my poetry?
the negro is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno negro is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno negro you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno negro know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.
They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light
While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill
Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night,
The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill.
Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood,
Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet,
Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood;
Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet.
Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass;
Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time
They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme
Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.
‘ King David’s 23rd Psalm … ’ (Classical-Tribute) 61st Senryu
The Brave Should Know Song:
King David’s ‘ 23rd Psalms ’
Makes Warriors Stay Strong
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better.
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
Kids are playing with strange blue graffiti
So, they wrote several times: ”Neffertiti” …
And drew the most beautiful queen`s head.
The whole history of Egypt written in red,
With sacred hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion:
The Pharaons` destiny dandles a dewy dandelion…
Writing is my thing. My drug of choice. My bling bling.
I fall in love with the similies and mentions of passion while wrapping my body in
Creating complicated rhythms and making them simples as instances
Every line a differenet emphasis
Commas, explinations and periods
Sometimes rhyming and sometimes not
Stopping to puff so my thoughts can lock
Feeding hungry souls starved from starvation
Creating new creations
Making people feel the sensation as I build up to mind elevation
The quest for knowledge is not a game
Spoken movements teach about the pain
I write to ease the pain
Rhythms run deep
Deep underneath clouded visions of unspoken truth lies a message
a message...a message that should be taught accurately to the youth
About the struggle of a people that was misued
abused, refused, confused, raped, beaten down
portrayed as clowns, coons, niggers, fools
Modern day niggas and goons
Wake up!! Did you hear the news?
You are responsible for you!
Imagine how it would be tho
If we were uninterrupted and brought overseas yo
Uprooted from a line of royalty kings and queens
Africa unite is all we'd sing
Rhythms run deeper into the seams of my being
I write to ease the pain of the oppressed
I write to celebrate their success
I write to educate the rest
The message..The message..The message is very clear
No time time to waste
The time is NOW
In science class, listened intently,
Wrote biographies in four short lines,
Invented his own poetic designs.
‘ Lord Alfred Tennyson … ’ (Classical-Tribute) 62nd Senryu
‘ The Charge Of The Light Brigade ’
Salutes … Six-Hundred