Echoes of the 90s Hip Hop
In the dawn of the nineties glow, Beats dropped heavy, spirits in flow, old school vibes, raw and true, rhythms that kicked butt shaped a culture anew/
G-funks smooth, West Coasts ride, East Coasts hustle, man, pride you can't hide, from Tupac's voice to Big L's rhyme, legends etched in the sands of time/
Boom bap beats and scratchin decks, Classic cuts that still connect, Undergrounds dance steps, popin' and deep, secrets that the old 90's school keeps diggin' on ya, that's for keeps/
Mix tapes spinning, smokin' joints alive, every rhyme a hustle, a story to survive, from Diddys
drops to Ice Cube's boombox stance, Hip hop's soul a fierce dance/
So, dig this, here's a high-five to hip hop's golden age, the craft, the passion, the music, rapper's rage, forever in our turntable hearts they stay, the timeless sound of hip-hop's "beat down" lies in its aggressive, stripped-back rhythm, take no prisoners sound, a blueprint for heavy social commentary/
Man, it's the message, hip-hop history, forever new/
Oval day broke and hunger looking for $5 meal
Walk into the discount store. Food fossils line the shelves, with beverages stacked in dusty years and bread petrified with mold, hard for two weeks. Jesus sings to shoppers from the boombox. Nero mocks Biden for losing to Caesar. They ban weed and *********** but hand kids assault weapons for school shootings. Broadcasts sold in installments to poor folks play on countryside AM like Roosevelt’s nightly chats. Jesus is a friend, but compassion ain’t rent. Social Security and EBT rolled cigarettes . Get a job, hit the streets, and hear jail anthems for the broken. Jesus’ blood drips, Buddha weeps, and they spit on my poppy’s grave. Rome is for Romans, commandments nailed for Judas, and the American dream turns to apostasy. The Samaritan’s gas tank runs dry. Billionaires make their riches from fraud, while Protestant TV preachers fleece the flock. The revolution flickers on the tube. Why is God love, Jack?
Gluttonous screen helpings of
‘A long time ago in a galaxy far far away..’
Lime boombox with Madonna singing,
‘Only when I’m dancin’ can I feel this free.’
Bread and butter of a pig tail soul;
My base bricks, these memories built me;
Grew up drawn to creativity,
carved my yearbook space unequivocally;
Walked with sweet n’ sour hooligans
who chose to live life differently;
Relentless teen of the DMV,
I learned the ropes on the trains of the city;
A poet with a head full of dreams,
and some of them I have made come true;
Ever changing but my roots are strong,
adaptable but loyal I forever stay;
Illuminating that smile I wore as a kid
are all the core memories that built me.
tonight i light the fire
nothing to do but embrace life
i have a cup of hot chocolate
i have a plate of ten chocolate chocolate chip cookies
i just may make about ten to fifteen more
time is even being cooperative
tonight i light the fire
nothing to do but give Thanks to the Lord
feeling better now that i am over that bad cold
i have one more day off to rest the body and the immune system
i have a chuck berry greatest hits cd playing in the old dual cassette boombox
right now being alone is the greatest feeling in the world,
but by bedtime i will be missing her and the how good her body felt again
well, in life, you can't always get what your heart yearns for, desires, and wants
however, my attitude is educated even more all the same,
so i will just sit in front of this warm and soothing fire and Give Thanks
for the Blessing of the Important Needs ThankFully EverPresent in my life Now
only in numbers
never in words
we send codes
no longer do we live in the modern world
yet and still we fail to ascend
we are branded insane
our lifestyle is featured in NoWhere Anonymous
only existing out of print
i guess i will fix the sink
i guess you will hand me the tools
the dusty cd no longer will play
the dual cassette boombox was made by aiwa,
so it has not been working since decorative day one
why not join the earthworms
i wonder if slimy is still alive
all thrones in the dirt are made of mildew, which is weird
does that not define us
please become defiant and refuse to believe
a question mark will be served to you tomorrow after your wake up call
i think i will have exactly the same
Mental illness did not find its healing on earth
—10/31/2021 RIP
Then will the lame leap like a deer,
and the mute tongue shout for joy…
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.
—Isaiah 35: 6 & 7 (portions)
DEATH COMES AT TWENTY EIGHT
Like the raven wrapped in black
Full-throttle wings above the door
Ready to drop the axe, tie the sack
A sealed body of wax on the floor
Ventriloquist sourced voice to the cattle
Knowing he won’t make it out alive
Anxiety, his society, a boombox battle
Seasoned by inner voices that thrive
Shower of baptism; but in relief he’d stagger
Family and friends anchor to keep him here
He loved them but embraced his dagger
Digging deep into the shadows and tears
Last leaves of October sprawled in mourning
Dawn and dusk calls on the same tenth month
Songwriter’s rap label came with a warning
A ten year catapult - his demons’ death
As the Lord received his son, the voices seethe
He accepted a savior, on whose bough he leans
This newborn dunked in his grave, rising to breathe
God remembers the year two-thousand seventeen
11/23/2021
Tremble at this door child but do not come in yelled the Quent
she an ogress at the end of her wits wearing muslin and flint
was only looking for a King who could love her as she was
When the angry boombox voice gave her quivering she went
away, hunching her shoulders she glided away her ogre scent
A little latch opened a flash of blue a slant of eye then he re spoke
"do you clean Kingdoms and can you cook, for a jaunty bloke?"
"oh for the love of God" she cried, I got teacups bigger than this place
yes I can wipe your palace, dust your crocket, just don't look at my face
and so he let her into the Kingdom of JUA, and so began their chase
A little fairy magic in the soup was all he needed as he ate in one gulp
contented as a Mishka, he cried out, " my your skin is soft as pulp! "
From an Ogress to a Tigress, down she went like a pile of timber
while he headlong without haste planted a kiss so soft and limber
that it opened her heart, henceforth they lived happily ever after .
The End.
December 24, 2020
I will go back in time to the 1980's when I was still a young girl,
loved watching the movie Flash dance;
then, leaping in a Footloose trance,
and with hope took a hip hop chance.
Yes, even back then although much was happening I took a twirl,
brother just played his PacMan game;
John Lennon was murdered- oh shame,
and Michael Jackson was the name.
In my room- with leg warmers and a boombox blaring I would whirl,
oh, the challenger and crew lost;
Mount Helen erupts with a cost,
wore ray sunglasses in the frost.
ET, Thriller and then moon walking with My Little Pony- I swirl
oh, Rubik's Cube my brother's thing;
to my childhood I wished to cling,
and with Whitney Houston to sing.
________________________________
November 5, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/A Girls View of the 1980's
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1082-891-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Remembering the 1980's
sponsor, Michelle Faulkner
Third Place
Midnight in the City
It's midnight in the city,
The stars are dull above the lights,
A cat curls round a garbage can,
With a hiss the rats to fright.
A curly haired disheveled drunk man,
Shuffles down the sidewalk,
Breaks his bottle on a dumpster,
Curses with awful talk.
A tired overtimer changes shoes,
For a walk to a parking lot.
High heels are pretty in the day,
After that, they're not.
High above in a lighted window,
A baby cries, and a tired mother tries
To soothe its pain with singing,
‘Til the window’s glow dies.
A boombox bellows from an old tin car,
Uncaring that it's disturbing the peace,
And I roll over in my penthouse,
Amid silk sheets and sleep.
I once knew a boy named Billy
I thought he was originally from Chile
Mostly ‘cause he loved his hot sauce and chili
Toting everywhere his jar of piccalilli
It turns out Billy was really the local hillbilly
I should have known, that was really silly
‘Cause Billy craved to barbecue anything chilly
On his boombox would play loudly rockabilly
Going around back roads willy-nilly
And Billy liked nothing girly or frilly
Till that is his eyes fell on fancy Miss Millie
With her exotic palate straight from Piccadilly
At first Billy would get nothing but stares that were grilly
Till he offered Miss Millie a fine thoroughbred filly
She let out a cry that was remarkably shrilly
All she secretly desired was a bouquet of tiger lily
When Billy misunderstood and brought her back a water lily
Seeing through Billy’s shell Miss Millie paused standing stilly
‘Cause Miss Millie was way deep down a wannabe tilly
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
The ringmaster left
but the carnival stayed in town.
Erect, proud, empowered people
stride by living the Crayola dream.
Awash in color, characters in the screenplay,
the scene played with aborigine like dream walkers.
No surface left to its utilitarian plight,
all stroked and stoked with the creativity
of the artist, all crooned to by boombox
and skateboard smack, or the concrete
slap of a mariachis’ feet.
The burnt bright white light shivers
to a Hendricks strum, and the caffeinated come
one by one hooked in to hook up,
to the juke boxes sixties twang.
Children play on Aztec snakes rising
from a soft foam of green with
mosaic skin and glass eyes
freed from the restrictions, the confines,
the confounded, gay, straight, bi, free
bleeding poetry.
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