Harlem Sunset Poem

every autumn evening

just around dinner time

nestled in the neighborhood

where a nickel costs a dime

the setting november sun

trades places with the downtown skyline

there’s nothing like harlem sunset in late november

an incandescent changing of the color guard

that never fails to line these sugar coated hills

with shadow as well as light

its flavor is rich and sweet

like a whooping plate full of

sylvia’s crispy chicken and waffles

or the freshly brewed iced tea

that washes it down

these lazily stretching rays reflected on my window pane

reflect the blend of colors in harlem

reflect the blend of colors in me

there’s nothing like a harlem sunset in late november

a block of maroon rooftops

softly kiss a copper toned cloud

its color is rich and deep

like otis redding spinning a heartfelt line

that seeps into your very pores

and i never mind watching the twilight fade away

while sitting on the dock of any bay

wasting time

wasting time

there’s nothing like a harlem sunset in late november

like a slowly dying candle flame

the orange embers blend into

a pale blue palatte

crackling yellowed leaves

line a street so twisting and narrow

that even cab drivers have trouble navigating

where do all the leaves come from

in a neighborhood with such few trees

there’s nothing quite like a harlem sunset in late november

There is a good documentary on Richard Pryor that aired on Showtime last month. 

About two thirds of the way through they talk about the incident where he set himself on fire. 

An interview with a close friend of Pryor's says that he was watching television, and they were getting high, and he was watching the protest overseas where the Tibetan Monk lights himself on fire in protest of Vietnam. The interviewee goes on to say that Pryor commented on the fact that the monk never even flinched when he flames first sprang up to engulf him. 

That was why he did it. He was so impressed with the fact that this monk never flinched while setting himself on fire, but rather stayed frozen and still in his pose of meditation. 

We, as actors and musicians in the entertainment industry are constantly in a struggle to "one-up each other" through more extensive projects and performances. Thats cool and all. 

But do not forget that not everything impressive is worth imitating. 

To Be 18 in '99

is like an interplanetary blackout

that causes every knee to bow

and every eye to close

a semi-quasi-metaphysical day of reckoning

taking inventory of the last two thousand years

so i’m placing my order

at the drive thru window of the universe

and the lady,

the lady,

the lady behind the counter keeps tapping her fingers

and glaring at me

as if i’m already supposed to know

exactly what it is i want

when i just now realized that i am a poet

an artist

a man

human

i’ve been trying to live up to

who the world wants me to be for so long

that i’ve forgotten to examine the person i’ve become

like i just found a favorite hat i thought was stolen

only to find that it fits the head of the person i used to be

and they keep telling me things like

love means never having to say you’re sorry

but that sounds more like war to me

and i keep reading in class that

no man is an island

then why do i feel so alone

so i’m poppin’ wheelies down the sidewalks of time

and i can’t figure out whether my bike

is too outdated a vehicle to get me down my path

or if its not innovative enough

i keep pedaling thru more and more gears

but i will never pedal fast enough

to run away from myself

its like watching a black and white re-run of history

i almost fooled myself into believing

that it might not really be doomed to repeat

so i’ve been trying to alter the denoument

instead of just filling in the colors

so i’m counting the patterns in the landscape of my dreams

and its like i’m stuck in the eye of a tornado

a living breathing testament to contradiction

if death and life are polar opposites

then how can i feel so dead inside

yet for the first time feel truly alive

and if chaos and calmness share no similar qualities

then why do i feel so peaceful

when i’m slowly going insane

its like i’m trying to balance

my aspirations on the edge of a cliff

i need to know there’s something solid beneath my feet

but i have to throw caution to the wind

and now it feels like i’m chained to two trains

running in different directions

and each steam engine is pumping

red hot ashes into the air

until my lungs are filled

with the pungent smoke of confusion and rage

but this chip on my shoulder keeps

giving me flack about taking it like a man

so i take a deep breath and hold in my hit

i should’ve stayed invisible

i could’ve easily given

the world a cold shoulder

and just said

forget about it

i yam what i yam

but back then i couldn’t

but back then i couldn’t

or rather wouldn’t understand

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i await the end of this childhood hangover

and its like watching my spirit regurgitate my soul

as my body rejects the bitter truth

but i suck in more smoke and i hold in that hit

and i hold on to that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i helplessly sink to the bottom

of the wave pool of reality

and i’m calling out to anyone

or anything that might be listening

to please toss me a life vest

oh God

allah, mohommed, buddha, jesus, moses, confuscious

osiris, isis, zeus and hades, vishnum brahma, jah, jehova

oh God

help this child of yours escape to freedom

The Wildside Lounge

if you’re here for an english 101 lesson

on the literary profession

or a starbucks cafe luncheon

with scholarly discussion

then you’re in the wrong place

if you’re here for a 3 keg drinkin’

brain cell count sinkin’

one half night standin’

underhanded romancin’

rum and coke spicin’

freaknik enticin’

night on the town

then you’re in definitely in the wrong place

this here’s the wildside lounge

where hungry poets scrounge and scrap for

artistic meals to feed their overwhelming hunger

and seek out open mic sessions

that let us teach lyric lessons

rhyme and reason force artwork into university treason

droppin’ verbal shells that keep our clientele bleedin’

and its always huntin’ season

students be actin’ fowl

so we maintain our midnight prowl

in search of a campus home

that we can truly call our own

written words come to life when spoken aloud

calling all poets

calling all poets

calling out to all you writers

dreamers

believers

teachers and preachers

professors of wisdom

protectors of expressions

guardians of creativity

craftsmen of vision

all you muses

lyracists

catchers of dreams

verbal musicians

composers of passion

keepers of the faith

calling out to all you poets worldwide

hope you’re ready to get wild

as we put our verbal smack down

cause for one night only

the circus is in town

hey y’all

look around

the circus in town

the circus is the town

and you never get out of town