Thursday, January 31, 2013

Sestina in Blue

Sestina in Blue
a.k.a. Rainmaker #2


back in the time when there wasn't nothin' but the beat
before shootin' dice, sippin' forties in the street, space
was the final frontier yet to be known. but fear of the black
ness still kept enlightened ones at home. first cracks of rain
and thunder give new birth. wide, and wet, and cold for earth
bound friends. it all depends on if they love it. inhabit the sky
instead of reachin' up above it. redefine the nursery rhyme
s instead of cursing the young minds, there may be enuff time
to strengthen the frail spines, turn those candles into star
s, whose light exceeds the speed and density of mars. the fire
consumed turned mountains into craters by the light of the moon.
master plan of the creator with a little voodoo, call it the blue

s, sad raggy tunes, nothin' to loose, dispossessed from earth
from the very beginning, burnin' trees, smokin' lucys in the sky
since the mortal sinning, they told me a i could be a star
one day link john lennon, or maybe john wayne, just beat
the pain and keep a smile on my face, and keep enough space
between me and the boss's daughter. baby reflectin' the black
ring of the bath water. so now i'm out in to the cold ass rain,
ain't never begged for change, we bust caps in the moon
light, hustlin' thangs, seem like i can never do right. fire
in the trash but no heat. my fingers are stiff and blue
from livin' on the street. but still i conduct the rhyme
circles on the ave, and hope i live a long enuff time

to take the haves and the have nots, and shorten the space
between, and maybe add a little bit of hope into the black
dreams. awakening the magic people, shines and blinds, fire
ry lines, have a good time, secrets of the brown earth
planted deep in the spine, infinite like a strip of the sky,
immediate like a blink of the eye, givin' dap to a star
on the rise, when he stumble folks is lowerin' eyes,  beat
in' on him like a pimp on a corner with a 70's rhyme
all balls but no mind, he think he stay true, but the blue
suede pair of his wing tip shoes will keep him strollin' in time.
got his hones lined up on call, plus his cash flow is rain
in' like seattle in fall. dilated shine like the new moon

shit i had been thru, not new to me but usually the sky
above my head's brighter than sonic boom, a star
ry night that sparkles light from that eternal blue
hopin' you see it too. hollerin' at the wide cold space
keep me shiverin', but my tongue's deliverin' birthrights on black
nights but nobody is listenin', now i see how fast a fire
blast can steal your glistenin'. one day the whole wide earth
gon' know my pain, i'm like a world series game seven called for rain
aint climactic life but no shame, slappin' fives with father tme
cause he never complains. just maintains his cycle like the moon
goin' thru changes, we about the strangest, sharing one heart beat
but streets is gettin' dangerous. make 'em believe that their rhyme

is your rhyme. step in to your own time. greet the morning star
everywhere you are. fires in you, their rain can never consume.
only the bluest eye can penetrate the light of your moon. spirits black
er than deep space nine, we beat the old school minds who never cared.
the earth is our turf so let 'em stare. only the sky above us do we share.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Black Love



black love is tough
the whispered voices of your brown brothers urging you on and keeping you sane
black love is the embrace of your mother as she rocks you gently thru the cold wet rain and lets you know its goin’ be alright
black love is a vicious bark turned into a vicious bite
black love is tough
patiently awaiting the day of parole
black love is keeping a candle in the window
the silent prayers of vacant stomachs trusting the lord
turning their dreams into store bought wishes for a brighter tomorrow
and a satisfied today
black love is that forgotten dream steadily floating away
it shadows the hunger and shines down on pride
igniting the spirit and blinding the eyes
black love is the blues and john coltrane
wailing a soulful tune from the depths of his divinity
spinning a web of castrated desire to set his captive spirit free
the heat of a blue flame on a bright red rose
black love is respect for the lives of the old
blaring confidence and silent despair
the black fist on the back of the comb in your hair
black love is painful
black love is real
the coal in the engine
and the spokes on the wheel
the smoke in the sky
and the stiff iron track
the gleam in your eye
and the sweat on your back
black love is alive, passionate, and free
a single tear drop that longs to be a wave in the sea
black love is 1,000 fists raised high in the sky
a unified voice and a unified cry
black love is the kiss that cools the burn on your forehead
when hot comb meets nap
spicy chicken wings that make you jump back
round brown shoulders glistening in the sun
black love is crazy
black love is fun
black love is everything
the dark side of the moon
the interstellar womb
the cocoon of man’s civilization
black love is the spirit of every nation
hand writ sanskrit prayers from ancient kemit
beyond the horizon of the cosmic black sea
the rhythm in you and the rhythm in me
a disregard for the rules, chaotic and free
the beauty in you and the beauty in me
black america is the paradigm twice shifted
black love is the infinite
yes, black love is infinite

No Regrets

No Regrets



i am outside of someone
who loves me. i look
back into her eyes. hear
what rank scents come out
from her voice. hate her
pleasant greetings

cracks in the concrete, for growth. when
my head sits spinning at the warm breath
the sigh of peak, or supple skin
rubbed against me, a magazine, a movie
without smile, or embrace, or fulfillment

it can be fear. (as then, as all her
ambition frightens me) it can be that. or
fear. as when she ran from me into
her service
or fear, the heart
brown and muddied cast into the
earth, lower than even alter boys
thought Diablo would be
or fear. and the other. the maybe. (inside her thoughts,
her rouge toenails, they are fixed images and were never
free.)

growth, expanding as the fern, the stealthy
virus. a teen ball player in mid season.
or the cold snow in its heap.

cold words flowed thru tense deaf ears. growth,
sinewy, twisting, and tight. stretched as the bubble
with its gum. it is an alien hostility
i live outside. an emaciated hobo
you recognize as beat or simple passion

but it has no passion. as the concrete is stiff
it is not given to tenderness

it strikes that thing
outside it. and that thing
cries

Monday, January 28, 2013

Its Good To Travel

It's always good to travel. One thing about acting that I really like is that sometimes you get to be out on the open road among the nooks and the crannies of in-between life, outside of the main cities. The small town tempo with its lazy sunny days and its patient strolling sidewalks, the town's single post office, the fresh-pie diners, and the late night Wal-Mart hangouts, all quaint in their gentle quietude. I live in New York right now, and when there's no apocalyptic hurricanes to worry about, its actually a pretty nice place. But I've always had a thing for smaller cities.

Back in the fall I was able to work on a stage production of "Mice and Men" up in Connecticut near New Milford. The countryside was beautiful. Lush rolling hillsides and small winding roads connected the inter-woven townships of the area. And I have nothing but great things to say about the Sherman Player's Theater Company, they were a class act. Connecticut in the fall is legendary. I'd take the Metro-North Rail on the Harlem-Valley Wingdale line all the way up. It was a nice ride. It gave me time to write on the train, munch a quick snack, or nap just a little, all necessities of travel. 

Myself and one other actor from the play usually crashed at the director's house when it was a long rehearsal week, and for the most part I was up for exploring a bit of the area. I will admit though, I did decline the nature hike through the forest hills, even though I wanted to see the waterfall I had heard about. I've seen and been in too many horror movies to be comfortable being the only black guy on a nature hike like that. Sorry, but I know how that story ends. 

Once the fall colors really set in, the whole area took on a life of it's own. I was glad to spend the time up there. It's too bad that most actors would opt to cut themselves off from an experience like that just because it was a smaller production than, say an Off-Broadway endeavor, or because of the community theater pay. I think these are the kinds of things that give an actor an edge among the competition. There's a richness of life experiences that can't be faked, and especially when it comes to the interview process, it makes a difference. One actor from the show even joked that I should do a cross country experiment of some sort, couch-surfing my way through theater towns coast to coast. That would certainly be an experience to remember. 

Rainmaker


Rainmaker


from this view it seems like the fires may never cease

orange and bright yellow flames
licking and flickering
against a pale grey sky
that’s getting darker

yep
from up here
i can see endless stretches of field
overlapping the sunflower forest

that’ll go too before dawn

the ignited coals of my written
and verbal bonfire of expression
have plenty of fuel to torch an endless supply
of ideas and questions and passions

that’s the easy part
the idealized multidimensional
poet’s eye view
of how the world ought to be
how it will be
soon

but that type of flame only gives off
the black ashen smoke that burns the lungs
like tar from firestone tires
and even now the clouds gather with one another
forming layer upon layer of thick heavy ashen air
the cumulus with the nimbus
letting their powers combine
and where is captain planet anyway
he’s probably too smart to hang around
in this sweltering grey humidity
but as for me

i choose to get my buckets ready

cause when the rains do come
and i’m told they always do
i gotta be ready to fill my well

until then i dance the jig of the shaman
and dream about home