i like to move it
so i can call it
my fazballs itch
it needs scritch
its now bleeding
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
my fazballs are now gone
Dear Mike,
I just wanted to touch base with you and write how I feel at this moment. While you were here, you taught us so much. I still play your songs because I like THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL through your music. It brings me closer to you. My favorites are MAN IN THE MIRROR and BLACK AND WHITE.
You know yo boy BEN broke up with DIRTY DIANA and told her to BEAT IT. She began to SCREAM and yell I WANT YOU BACK. Drama, drama, drama. She always WANNA BE STARTIN' SOMETHIN' acting like she's all BAD. It must be her HUMAN NATURE and that could be DANGEROUS.
Anyway, he started dating this PRETTY YOUNG THING name BILLIE JEAN. She is a LIBERIAN GIRL. She told him he reminds her JUST A LITTLE BIT OF YOU.
Well, we all miss you. We feel you were GONE TOO SOON. By the way, there is suppose to be a concert in your honor and you know one thing Mike, I've GOT TO BE THERE. I will ROCK WITH YOU forever, for I NEVER CAN SAY GOODBYE to you and you will never be OUT OF MY LIFE.
You, your dancing and your music will live on and on forever and ever.
Love Always,
Colette Dright
Michael Jackson
Shunned media interaction--
Timid with gals, he rarely talked
But wowed 'em as he rocked and moonwalked.
The staunch and steadfast Reverend Jesse Jackson
American civil rights activist, aka Action-Jackson
This biggie and brave man, coined “Keep hope alive”
Founded The Rainbow Coalition, and that’s no jive!
Blessings, Rev. Jesse Jackson
3/6/26
KEEPING HEALING HOPE ALIVE AND WELL
(A LIVING EULOGY TO JESSE JACKSON)
Our hope is alive
In the healing grace of faith:
We shall overcome:-
Jessie’s chant nourishing us;
His spirit navigating:-
Mentoring with King,
He canvassed the dream’s vision:
Burak…Chapter One:-
Keeping hope alive, let us
Start visioning Chapter Two:-
Our hope kept alive,
Resurrected and rising,
Vision two coming:
Red flushed out, and black poured in,
With justice and equity:-
It’s in alive hope,
That true greatness is coming:
True democracy:
Rest in peace, Jessie Jackson;
You spirit lives on within us:-
Little girl lost
Without emotion
She floats on concrete
Shoes uffed over puddles
Running toward mommie
But mommie doesn't
Understand how to
feed this little
girl who is lost
And so without hope
And stranded in a
Rain Forrest she
Opens her diary
But only to close it
Without the words
She is lost for words
Lost without money
She chokes on P & B
Sandwiches
But stumiks the upsets
Of a broken Vail in her belly
She hides and trys to find somber
Sweet melodies
That will put her to sleep
Little girl lost
That's what people call her
In prison now
Hooked up to a mic now
She checks "1" 1 "2"
And speaks " who does really care"
This girl is gone and blue in the face
Of emotions
Final
Little girl lost.
You are not mourned.
You are recorded.
You still walk among us.
Yet history already carries your name.
When America was dark,
you spoke.
Not for yourself,
but for the beaten,
the silenced,
the forgotten.
You walked beside Martin Luther King Jr.,
hand in hand,
until the bullet spoke
what cowards could not say aloud.
You stood in Chicago,
where doors were closed,
and helped force them open—
through the Chicago Freedom Movement.
The state forgets quickly.
History does not.
When you one day meet Dr. King beyond this world,
tell him the truth—
racism still breathes,
hatred still organizes.
You wore faith without spectacle.
You spoke hope without illusion.
You knew that mercy,
to endure,
must be defended.
And through memory,
you endure.
Rest now.
History is awake.
And it remembers.
"Please, please give me some milk?
The Last words of Michael Jackson
(Milk was his nickname for the general anesthetic Propofol he took to sleep.)
A dream so wonderful it could not last
An impressive voice so vast lay mute in death
His light was stilled and my soul shattered
It dripped with grief for what could have been
The songs of a young boy sublime
So full of promise, health and stardom
A talent glorious- that in immortality it lasts
Some condemned, some were traitors, liars
His life became empty- his journey a struggle
But his amazing music is what he left us
His talent an inspiration to the young and old
and his dancing steps lead us up to heaven
In death his "milk" drug killed him
Oh, could no one help? His doctor?
No family, friend, manager ? I would have
I can still hear his voice- it comforts me
His journey was of waves rising and lowering
He sang until his quiet voice was stilled in death
Yes, I mourn his passing, the ravaged talent
and the people who left him alone suffering
Singing and dancing,
as the last to arrive,
he outshone his brothers
in the Jackson Five.
Moonwalking across the stage,
he was quite the fancy dancer,
but what happened to his other glove,
is a question no one can answer.
Comparing the early to his later work,
you can hear it when he sings,
Michael the 'King of Pop',
put a new complexion on things.
But in '85, with 'We Are The World',
he was dead wrong,
when he wrote the lyric
to the song,
as, from sea to shining sea,
on this globe there is much more,
than only that there north American shore.
Yet, Billie Jean (not his lover) was just a girl
who claims that he is the one,
and Bubbles brought on many troubles,
but the chimp is not his son.
They say a picture may paint a thousand words
but I can't read what he wrote
household paint poured onto a horizontal surface
ain't what I call works of note
splashed with no pre-planned end-result
for art's sake to me does not art make
known for his 'drip technique'
yes he was a drip and no mistake
yet a few of his spills sold for millions
long after his prime
as a fool and his money are soon parted
and you can fool some all of the time
but if we pry the boards from his studio floor
and hang them on the wall
why it would be far more relevant
tho' still takes no skill at all
his splotches are not pictures of poppies
nor pansies petunias or hollyhocks
in fact they're really nothing more
than just a load of Pollocks
i can't watch myself go
how to swallow the sounds of birds
meditations in my mind are
the absent minded professor right now
i have emptied ink
from Ireland
into time
irrelevant crimes of France
you are only children
too sound
much too sound
“…. It’s a deep thing to find out that you belong somewhere.”
Roots
Dirt
Black
Time
Roots
Drums
Feted
Tribe
Roots
That you belong somewhere, is a deep thing to find out.
Bill Marable 12/15/24
12:20 pm
Michael Jackson is so well known
Prince of Pop sits on a throne
Moonwalk his game
His claim to fame
White glove holding his own
Mervin's room via Jackson Hewitt, Lake Huron
My dear Nay few!
My dear shenanigan floating near Shenandoah
Let us make a trip itinerary around the upcoming December
For the longest word where she sang for long, so long
Even a patsy like me denied the intervention
Not to repeat the Meriam , as they sung , unsung, a faded croon
For years too long enduring a morning, a bay boon.
Bonjour!
October 26, 2024
Shanandoah is a place poem.
December is a month
Meriam is a Thesaurus pal
Before the L section in Babylon
Please watch out after twenty past chapter four!
Oracle, are you impeccably manual?
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