/Boom Bap Reverie
Crates cracked open in dusk-lit basements/
Needles tracing dust on grooves of gold, Soul samples looped—forgotten statements resurrected from wax, stories retold/
Basslines thump like city heartbeats, Hi-hats flicker, snare drums snap, old school wisdom in concrete streets, Cyphers ignite in a boom bap trap/
Chopped horns echo in subway tunnels, Scratch of vinyl, a DJ’s prayer, Freestyle poets, words like funnels pouring truth in the midnight air/
Apollo Brown dreams in sepia tones, Soul-worn records, crate diggers’ pride, Underground kingdom, built on bones of legends who never died/
So, spin that hour of rare instrumental. Let nostalgia ride the groove in every sample/ Hip Hop's past is still on fire/, and hip hop’s spirit finds its truth/
A cracked lamp
In the corner
of the room
How did it get there
Or was it already there
Was it you
that
knocked it
over
The other night
after your
tequila party,
We may never know
But the crack does
And will take this secret
To the garbage bin!!!
The day the dam finally cracked.
It sounded like a loud boom followed by several snaps.
In the distance, a warning siren.
Then there was a hurricane-like sound of water crashing through metal pipes.
I was home, unbothered when it happened, taking a long-needed nap.
This did not surprise me; after years of warnings that fell on deaf ears, harsh remarks, and side-eye glances.
Myself and the 300 did our best, but grew tired of cleaning up others' messes.
Patching daily holes, coming up with ways to make this dam stronger for the next generation.
Of course, it did not last, with many throwing stones and other sharp objects.
Breaking the mold.
Hate and violence — it simply could not hold.
So as the waters rushed into my home,
I simply let it take me under, closed my eyes for one last time.
Inwardly, I thanked the Lord with a smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fingers trace iridescent dust motes~
sunlight spills through the cracked walls,
where piano still hums.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fragile porcelain,
once steaming with jasmine dreams~
now sits cold, chipped edge
catching morning light like
a confession no one hears.
Five days late…
His birthday almost forgot-
but not quite…
The hurt lingered deep.
A small package arrived
addressed to him--
Special
from Dad.
Inside: a watch.
A big boy gift,
for sure.
Gold and bright,
crystal light,
backstamped RollX--
a boy’s treasure,
for sure
Too large for his wrist.
No matter.
He would grow tall,
just like his Dad.
The watch was perfect,
just like it was,
Worn each day with pride--
a symbol
of genuine love and dedication…
How priceless
he was in Dad’s eyes…
Proof.
Scratches
and a flaking finish
didn’t matter.
Neither did
the crack across the face,
or the fact
that it always read
a bit after two.
A good polish--
and it was
good as new.
Like the day
he got it.
Five days late.
I stared into the mirror too long
And it finally broke beneath my gaze
Not from age, neither from accident
But the weight of truths I dared not face.
I saw a childhood in pieces
stitched together with borrowed faith
smiles that were survival
and joy that never quite fit.
I tried to imagine someone else
a better version
but the cracks revealed more
than I could ever hide.
Behind the splinters
a black hole not born of stars
but dug by my own hands
layered carefully to bury what hurt too much to hold.
I hate that reflection
not for what it shows
but for what it threatens to reveal
a truth I can’t unsee, the quiet contempt I carry
for the person I pretend to be.
Frail heart's are weak minded bigots
I felt this disturbance enter into the light
this cold dark cloud burning below zero
it sends the shivers coming from its shadow
The broken record begins scratching a surface
ingrowing putting the needle between words
sewn deeply rooted the reflection appears mirrored
frozen watching this crossover
it all happens without conflict in the company of wolves
Ripping to shreds rights and other human truths
a journey begins in order for us to open our eyes
to see we must start exercising to earn virtues of humility
Without Grace at the helm souls will sink
impurity has adopted so many bad habits
it hates to stop
inappropriately it sits back and watches the seed of destruction flourish
The Truth will rise from ashes of despair moulded
in the end we need to internally examine this shortfall
and overcome our weaknesses making progress acceptable
hence we can always live for a better future with God
My aims, this way achieved, I must atone.
A man, so old, my affections were sold,
and today, I find I am so alone,
inside resides a wilderness of cold,
at my interior, a heart of stone.
I'd like to think that it was made of gold,
with structural integrity, intact,
but can it ever be, now it has cracked?
cracked earth sings
thunder splits the sky
wild blooms tear through dirt and stone -
life screams into light
"Paint your words with pretty colors, as you paint your pretty eggs with color"
Before we know it,
Easter will bring a new outfit.
Colorful eggs will be here soon so don't blink,
dye your eggs~blue~yellow~purple~pink.
Pretty color eggs we will eat,
they taste much better than a red beet.
Oh no my new dress,
the egg made a big mess.
Cracked egg shells will be all over,
save some for the garden bedcover.
Pretty colorful flowers will soon takeover.
When life with barrenness deals
Her c-r-a-c-k-e-d heart frustration feels
Teen Felix got pissed as a newt
His actions he could not dispute
He pee’d in the sink
Caused by demon drink
What happened next he can’t refute
He perched on the sink for a dump
Brown faeces came out of his rump
The weight of his load
Made the sink implode
My brother I just want to thump!
I guess you're upset, but you've cracked me up
How will you manage when needing a scrub
Still holding my own
So put down the phone
It'll cost you too much to buy a bath tub.
Out of the crack, a life did rise,
A fragile bloom beneath the skies.
No gentle rain, no nurturing hand,
Just broken stones, a barren land.
But still, it fought, it clawed its way,
Toward the sun, it longed for day.
A tiny shoot, a will to grow,
A heart that hope would never forgo.
Like fragile souls, with spirits strong,
Who weather hardship all life long.
Though lost and lonely, cast aside,
Their dreams still bloom, a source of pride.
So let them rise, these broken hearts,
And find their strength in scattered parts.
For even roses, cracked and torn,
Can fill the world with beauty, born.
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