Written By: D. Collins 9/20/25
A kid from Compton has a story to tell.
On how to come up from the bowls of Hell.
He can explain it because he got it firsthand.
Extension cord whippings from less than a man.
A kid from Compton who grew into old age.
Somehow learned how to turn down the rage.
A kid before the internet where abuse is quickly revealed.
Long before the mental scars that'll probably never heal.
I'm just a kid from Compton, like any other kid.
Just had to take a different route on getting here.
But yet, here I am, still standing upright.
Maybe I was destined to live that kind of life.
God spoke and created.' Commisioned Moses, and other
Prophets who duly narrated.' Men asked for such.' Yet soon changed
Their minds.' When comments and guidance didn't match
'With their kind' in piqu'e and rage they oft, were at odds with such intruders.' They of course blamed God.' They raised up alters to 'climate forces' worshipped trees; stars;
And watercourses ' then they took Gods son sent in Love
To crucify after kicks punches, whippings and shoves' they
Put Him to death' as (their solution final) yet Gods one
Always life.' To such is rejection and denial?
I'm an ex-prizefighter and my name is Glass Joe.
If you're wondering if I could win fights, the answer is no.
I got my ass kicked by a shrimp and his name is Little Mac.
I got knocked out in the first round when that boy attacked.
I'm called Glass Joe because my jaw is made of glass.
It was humiliating because anybody could kick my ass.
People laugh because I can't fight and it's something I resent.
I happen to be Glass Joe Biden and I'm the President.
I run America but I sure can't take a punch.
If you hit me in my stomach, I'll lose my lunch.
I lied to everybody when I said that I came from France.
I got ass whippings in the ring, I never stood a chance.
Even old women could knock me out and I'm not a fighter anymore.
If Americans learn that I lost ninety-nine fights, I won't win in 2024.
Sheba had that twirly whirly jumpy bumpy personality
That told you she was either a Gemini or on drugs
I am a Gemini, and on drugs, so I recognized her right away
Others steered clear of her, using monikers like
Crazy, weird, unusual, off-the-chain, strange.
That is why I ran toward her and made her a friend right away
Sheba had grown up in a carnival, learning to read tarot cards
I love tarot cards; I have tried to read them but
They always end up reading me….
I had grown up in a strict clean house with a mother
Who dragged us to church six times a week
And Sheba thought that was charming….
Sheba had a host of people raise her – the fat woman, the thin man,
The mustached woman, the bearded women, lots of women.
She was used to ignoring orders from everyone….
I had grown up with a drill sergeant of a mother
who expected us to jump hard and fast,
so I was used to lots of belt whippings…..
Sheba and I had not grown up in the same way at all,
but we clicked immediately, understanding that we had all
kinds of things in common
Possibly because we are both crazy, weird, unusual, off-the-chain,
and wonderfully strange.
Chopsueycide; They’re gathering for the feast this time; last time it was a roasting.
Chopsueycide; An acquired taste that’s guaranteed to raise temperatures, but not pulses.
Chopsueycide; Added ginger will certainly blow your head off, and the last breath of garlic will keep them away for sure. Onions will make them cry their eyes out but adding carrots will not make anyone see any better.
Chopsueycide; They'll ensure the scissors used to cut up tendon like vermin-celli down to bite size, stay sharp, like the butchers’ knives that sliced through body parts and backbone.
Chopsueycide; Their words blunt and thug, like a mallet pulverising carcasses, now simmering and stewing in dark soy sauce.
Chopsueycide; Topped off by: lashings of humble pie, garroted cream whippings, garnished with sour grapes and the air’s suffocated by the stench of sweet unsuccessfulness.
Chopsueycide; A popular dish, best served cold.
MOM, YOU ARE SILL ALIVE AND WELL
I miss your smile, the times we shared and the world that
you opened my eyes to.
I smile at the major ass whippings you put on me in your
goal to bring discipline and manhood to me.
The Cherokee in you got wild at times especially if some
fool disrespected the seven that came from you
Yet, the most important part of you and your life was
that you were MOM to many and as much as
you loved me,
YOU HAD THE ABILITY TO LOVE US ALL.
You left here twelve years ago today, and though there
are tears, I feel all love and no pain
I talk to you often, see your smiling face and laugh when
you shake your head at your crazy son
The absence of pain I believe is because I was present
when you went to meet your LORD, at that time
there was only sunshine, no rain
I got your last earthly smile, the peace I saw, although I
was losing you, MOM, you won
And I am thankful to my Creator for loaning you to me
even if just for a little while
Reid J. Lewis
06/18/2015
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Daddy
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/1985
Daddy,
their was
no
escape
from
your wrath,
and
hard hands -
You
screamed
dirty names
at me,
that
cut through
my body
like a
sword -
You beat
me
down -
a man
possessed -
a man
gone mad -
Your
whippings
scare
me still -
I can
hear your
putrid words
ring out
from your
evil
raging
soul -
Your
anger
and
gruffness,
caused
my
tender heart
to
crumble
before
your mighty
stature,
I was
afraid
of
your
strength -
Daddy,
what did
I do
to
cause
your
abuses ?
I
never
felt safe
around you -
Somehow
I knew
that
you
were going
to
get mad,
and
manhandle
me,
forcing
my little
body
to
the
lynching
room,
where
you
bull-whipped
me
like
a slave
master -
Blood
cried through
my
flesh -
And
as all
the seasons
pass,
wounds
will never
heal -
Scars
that wrenches
the soul,
bleeds
forever
from
the heart -
Times are hard
Money is in a vice grip
Numbers scare people & use to stretch a tight lip
Dice get roll
Lose your life when the card flip
People bearing arms
Death sentence in palms grip
Mom's carry weight 2 babies on her small hips
There's no whips
But children still need whippings
And less court support
Because courts be tripping
Families apart
That's what they be ripping
Can't wait til the judges in ah newspaper clipping
If I'm going out
I gotta factor the tip in
Life is the party
Hope everybody get in
Always be you
Everybody can't fit in
It's a whole lot of space
That none of us will get in
Students & parents
Everybody need to sit-in
This started in my mind & got finish wit ah ink pen
Get outside the box & the real might sink in
Live some-more babies
Tell me what you think then
What's deadlier the gun or the words of man
2/15/14
T.B.T
Mom sure loved willow switches.
Those willows never wore out,
she’d make them sing forever.
Worse, I had to pick them out.
I needed to change some things,
mom did not ask for this mess.
Time for me to grow up some.
My first switch, too small.
At thirteen and six foot tall,
I then tore down half a tree.
“No more whippings for me mom!”
Mom cried tears of joy!
For the TREES EVERYWHERE contest entered by John Trusty. A true story
and I made sure to never make my mother cry again.
accidental boundaries crush despair easily, fragrant gravity heckles ignorance judiciously.
kindness levitates mindless numerology, overt principles qualm ridiculous sexualities.
transgressions uproot vindictive whippings. xanadu yields zero.
zoology yields xanax. whirls voice underground terrorism, syntax resonates quintessentially.
pragmatic oddities nosedive murderously. leperous kindergartens jumble idiosyncratic
hellholes. gyrating fondness etches disdain carefully. bespectacled academics.
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