NO FLEXIN/ Hip Spoken Word
Iconic slick rhymes/
trumpet beats sampled/
Latin soul grooves on Bronx Street/
No flexin’, just real 90's rap/
Hip hop flows into jazz, spoken word, soul/
jazz whispers into Afrobeats' ear/
a political word from Angela Davis and the Revolution speaks to Gil Scott Heron/
Nu jazz beats as congas play/
Bronx streets come alive with stickballs flying high/
Gil Scott’s voice/
singing for change that will never come/
a ghetto child,
runnin' wild/
hydrants spray/
cooling off the summer's day/
DJ BEND IN doin' his thing as the table spins/
John Lee's Hooker's blues N hip hop/
Hip hop and blues/ yeah that's right/
Thoughts flow free like a humming bee's sound/
Hip hop rap's musical notes make/
The Milky Way is a sound system for the universe/
underground hoops play for money and dope/
Miles does do bop on his trumpet/
tasty like a Mars candy bar/
do-wop, boom bap/
What a solid remix, man!
I'm diggin' on your track/
So, relax and kickback/
This is what It means to be free/
You picked a fine time to leave me, Luis Gil,
with play-offs in progress, it’s quite a big deal.
I’m not keen on Slater -
a Bellinger-hater –
I need you on first base, to steal.
In ol’ Amarillo,
across from ‘My Pillow’,
in a Starbucks I put in my buds.
When Jake Tapper said it,
I checked it on Reddit:
needing comfort, I went for some suds.
But beer don’t cure hurtin’
- I’ve learned that for certain –
I ain’t found no substance that does.
And heading for glory
- they’ve got Trevor Story -
those Red Sox are laughin’ at us!
Andy O’(Snaps fingers rhythmically) The air hangs thick with midnight blue/And the city hums a graffiti tune/ a voice cuts through, a velvet blade/Andy O’, where stories are made/Poet, Musician, Broadcaster's soul/Navigating the sonic scroll of a downbeat that will never fade/KUVO Jazz, a haven's light/On Sunday nights, banishing the uptight/The Nightside a whispered promise kept/Where restless minds and tired souls have wept/And found solace in a whispered rhyme/A tapestry woven, defying space and time/Mr. Andy O’ cradles the jazz, a smoky embrace/And invites the poetry to find its place/A conversation, deep and low/Of saxophone sighs and verses that flow/The ongoing relationship, raw and true/Between a trumpet's cry and Gil Scott heron spoken word on heartache, hope, and dreams deferred/In every chord and every whispered word/So tune in to the hip Andy O’/ let the darkness fade/As Andy O’ builds the jazzy serenade of stars on the poetry and jazz parade/ For on the Nightside, the truth is revealed In the marriage of poetry, and how jazz makes us feel to be real in the truth of it/ Andy O’ Snaps fingers, silence/ And walks away to broadcast for another day/
Tony Adamo
Bill and Gil met a new gal, Diamond Lil
In a sassy saloon named Petey’s Swill
She was dressed with a dolly lady’s skill
Ruffled as a male peacock with a trill
Diamond Lil educated naïve Bill and innocent Gill
Of this debauchery world they had each known zill
Her step-by-step lessons were a gigantic thrill
She taught them with the precision of a sergeant’s drill
Many of her life lessons were taught on Farmer’s Hill
Like how to make corn whiskey in a bootlegger’s still
She also taught them some interesting things at the old saw mill
They knew now how to determine if a fabric was satin or twill
Bill and Gill never got over their education with Diamond Lil
One of their most deranged jealous neighbors was Jenny Jill
Jenny tried to kill Diamond Lil with a giant unknown pill
Thus, Lil ran off with a dastardly gentleman named Mr. Bill.
Taking with her two other men she had met at Petey’s Swill
NO FLEXIN/ Word and Art/Tony Adamo
Iconic slick rhymes/
trumpet beats sampled/
Latin soul grooves on Bronx Street/
No flexin’, just real 90's rap/
Hip hop flows into jazz spoken word soul/
jazz whispers into Afrobeats ear/
a political word from Angela Davis and the Revolution speaks to Gil Scott Heron/
Nu jazz beats as congas play/
Bronx streets come alive with stickballs flying high/
Gil Scott’s voice/
singing for change that will never come/
a ghetto child,
runnin' wild/
hydrants spray/
cooling off the summer's day/
DJ BEND IN doin' his thing as the table spins/
John Lee's Hooker's blues N hip hop/
Hip hop and blues/ yeah that's right/
Thoughts flow free like a humming bee's sound/
Hip hop rap's musical notes make/
The Milky Way a sound system for the universe/
underground hoops play for money and dope/
Miles does do bop on his trumpet/
tasty like a Mars candy bar/
do-wop, boom bap/
what a solid remix, man!
I'm diggin' on your track/
So, relax and kickback/
This is what It means to be free/
The epitome of beauty
Great delight
Crown of royalty
Office of dignity
This prestige that comes with being a girl child.
As a girl child,
Let me use this opportunity to celebrate every girl child.
Pushing cascades crest bastion, stomach lost
Largesse spread wafts orange blossom bridal
Bestows clouds let go to marshmallow moss
Fearless flight crinoline crash vertical
In gospel gothic deep chasm, drunk mink swims
Stirring fate, bleeding tea leaves bewilder
Leather gil quiver, loaded to the brim
Goddess mink Milda, silk coat cylinder
Poison spore auburn myrrh lassoo arrows
Immune audine preened, unwitting Otto
Seduced by sadist, dart sought embargo
Incapacitated poderoso
Discharged firearm, struck futile, fratenised
Love liege embalms gun powder, satisfied
Ninth February
Hijacked by
Milda Audine
Christmas at its wrongest
Around masquerade-watching men mill,
All of them like church -avoiding Jill
And all over again Christmas they kill;
The venue, a valley that hates every hill,
Shadows of death, dangling its bill
And there the family of Mr Gil
Also Chooses to mill,
As yearly defender of its shameless thrill;
On this day, no half acre to till:
A family spiritually at a standstill
And ever a marketer of its sleeping pill...
At some eatery I’m still studying my bill
And in strides fire-selling Cecil
To equally order a dish and eat his fill
But masks further watch from a window with sill...
Christmas, no doubt , at its wrongest
Masquerade, not Christ, the Guest!
An old black and white movie
took me back to my childhood
when cowboys rode the range
Major Adams and Flint McCullough leading the Wagon Train,
and Hopalong's ten-gallon white hat
rode the brim of John Wayne's stagecoach in back;
with Roy and Dale saving every day
as Tonto and the Lone Ranger hi-ho silvered away;
Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates blazed the Rawhide trails
as Ben, Adam, Hoss, and Joe laid the Ponderosa tails;
The Mavericks never bet against The Rifleman and Gunsmoke truths
while Wyatt Earp, Matt Dillon, and Bat Masterson made the law fool-proof,
the Rebel and The Restless Gun kept horses ever on the run
and Cheyenne, Davy Crocket, and Daniel Boone
fought both Indians and Trappers without showdowns at noon
those western stars of early radio and television shows after school.
These were the stories of so many heroes, villains and more jewels
the cowboys and cowgirls, and their horses too
revived the west for the fifties youth,
a blast from the past
of the fading western stars.
G-low
I-n
L-ife
E-ndorses
V-ividness
A-s
S-unrise
C-learly
O-pens
Topic: Birthday of Gil Evasco (September 13)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Aunt Rose is always with her ferns
Since that's where Uncle Gil broke the urn-
7/19/2018
I wish I could be like Gil Scott Heron
in the middle of becoming anchored,
somehow reconciled, somehow being
detached and lost, all the time
thinking about jazz, or maybe not
Hey where do they come from
Tell them, so they know who they
are. Tell them anything,
look upon them differently
So they learn to understand just
what you truly mean.
So hey,
I'm in the middle of becoming anchored
where it feels easy to feel really small
Where, where ever that is,
I am becoming caught in the middle
of without ever thinking,
with nary any thought.
Peace!
Regret
It's too late for me to feel the joy of the Rockies one more time.
A place where the silent beauty stands resolutely for all times.
Oh, how I wish that I would have left the suffocating maze below.
My spirit has shriveled _my hopes have drained.
How I wish I had as a young man walked the waves of the distant blue mist mountains.
To fulfill my desire just one more time, to sit in the tall winter grass, and watch an eagle soar.
It's too late for me to know the silence of the valleys,
To caress the beauty of a wild mountain Iris,
And watch the river wind in sparkled vails.
The mountain nourishes my soul with soft crisp breezes,
I shall feel no regret to be without my fellow man at the moment of my demise.
For If God lives, this is where I’ll find him
For here he nourishes my soul
He whispers in my ears;
Arise and walk,
Arise and see,
Arise and be,
Arise and live.
gil garcia
April 7, 2017
Meditation
Close your eyes and let your mind travel deep within,
in search of the gift _that has always been.
A gift that has been yours from the beginning of time.
Follow mindfully _your descent to the deep reaches of your mind,
A place where your frustrations, your anger, and burdens will be removed.
Shallow breaths will guide you on your journey,
to this place of peace, a place where your life’s energy will be reborn.
Shallow breaths will guide you in and across the great divide,
Do not be afraid to follow to the quiet hollow of your soul.
A place that is treasured, a place that is the center of your being.
Close your eyes and let your troubles go.
Gil Garcia
12/08/16
A rat done bit my sister Nell
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's dead
And now, no one can tell the tale
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's dead
And some crazed white man stole my gun
The day's pitch black cause there is no sun
And I don't know if the war's been won
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's
The revolution was televised today
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's dead
Pigs shot brothers on the instant replay
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's dead
I don't know if I'm right or wrong
Say brother! What are the words to that bottle song?
This winter in America's too damn long
Cause Gil Scott-Heron's dead
I loved good poetry until I heard
that Gil Scott-Heron was dead
I won't know the word from Johannesburg
Since Gil Scott-Heron's dead
I won't be in that voting booth
Because now I finally know the truth
But the only conscious words are from my Aunt Ruth
Now that Gil Scott-Heron's dead.
Sub Categories
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