Tag Archives: discovery

Iris

If creativity is a conversation and life is a season.
There’s no time to be dumbstruck for it’s a gift to be breathing.
We wear the books that we’re reading.
Some pages get dog-eared because we’re so consumed by our contents.
If a fore word gives direction you’ll be able to cut through the treason.
If the grass is always greener, are we green-eyed, hungry or ambitious?
Things don’t always add up when we get the vision.
The glass is never half or half when we find a source and leave the tap dripping.

Sometimes I wonder…
If wisdom is knowledge, is food for thought, is logic the knife and the fork?
Do we consume pain and pleasure with our hands or heart?

I wonder….

If life is an art and we are a creation, are we, as a translation of a recurring translation, to consider that we are life imitating art, what some call inspiration?
If that is the case we are painters, life drawing.
Our collages are collisions of the crass, the clean, the common and the convenient.
When wonder is water, why do some stop drinking?
When our palette dries we do.

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Flagged Offside (52/7)

United 92 away

I was just young and black, in gold and green cuffs.
Sent to the wolves, a young cub full of cereal.
I was a serial offender, great pretender
Midfield or defender, I couldn’t remember
I just handed out oranges.
Water boy before The Waterboy
The captain was the manager’s son
A right little Lord Fauntleroy
Bib master, ball boy, cone king
Occasional substitute, should have swapped oranges for another fruit
Dammit I was everything!

Was there something they weren’t telling me?

King of the spelling bee wasn’t helping me
This thing called football required a different type of memory
I could dance better than any white kid raised on chicken, rum and reggae
I had the running man perfect but with a ball?
Ermmm okay…
I was not Steve Staunton or Stan Collymore
Ladies and gentleman in one game I nearly scored
I was young a foolish villa fan
But could I run with a ball?
Could I hit it true like I gave a damn?
Not even Obama would say Yes He Can!

For St Faith and St Laurence I was offside on the touch line
A whole lotta heart not skill was my punch line
When I tried to read the game I was tongue tied
Aston Villa couldn’t inspire pride
When they passed to me they looked petrified
Why couldn’t the clumsy demon be exorcised?
I was too much of a saint to pray abusive parents drank pesticide
Wearing claret on my sleeve I became blue
Praise would be wonder land but cats just asked
Who…are …you?

I am the black Vinnie Jones
A Roy keen to see red
Devil in a new shirt
Not that ugly black red and green striped
Muller branded
Would look better if puked yoghurt was splashed at.

Villa Park will never will be better than my hell on hallowed turf
Old Trafford is more than a theatre
When I watch them I am a dreamer
Scoring Hughes screamers
Weaving the blood of ogres with Ryan’s wing wizardry
My long legs will be David Gower’s bat on a tricky wicket
When that ball comes I’ll know where to stick it
Call me Michael Ricketts and you might hear crickets
I will be a chocolate Alex Ferguson with the master plan
12 years old I will be the man because I am
A United fan

They’ll no longer scold chocolate green and gold.
Paid my dues in the freezing cold
If I tackle you, reach for that 3 digit call
999, see you at City Hospital
Not arrogant just better, yes I’m that bold
I’m a united fan, don’t you know
Trap a ball, head it
Let’s take it slow
One day I might have Tor Andre’s flow
I might score a great goal or swing and slip
Then again…. running for number 10 …
I might just end …in the premiership

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Love Letters from the Hood vol 4.

I school you like black folk being shown the boondocks
Every time I tick your boom box
My second hand ruins clocks
With cold play the room the rocks
My motion is curt so I sniff Cobaine
Get you high and ready for my purple reign
In principle I’m weather vain
So blow me like the winds of indoctrination
See I lay you then lay claim to you
You are my patent
You’re micro soft to my bad apple
Peach queen,
Your juices energise my saddle
Reducing Ginuwine’s first line to babble
Said I’m not bachelor and
Your bad ass is making this soft boy harder
The way you rub so incisively
Decisively,
You thrilling me killin’ me
Said I’m so anxious
I’m trippin’
I’m stumbling
My lips are fumbling like a nervous young bomber
Mama, Mama, Mama
Martyr this moment
This is just a second row hit,
Don’t come till we hit the back of the line
You’re a serial killer with your tongue tied
Around my hung rhyme
My epic piece
Not written with a biro in hieroglyphics
I got a fountain pen
Recognise the thesis,
Acknowledge me like Romulus and Remus
And
When
You…
Respect the architect, like Guru and his nuances
I’ll show you,
You already knew what the blue print is
Yeah I got reasonable doubt like Hova did
I ain’t mad atcha cos I’m fallin just the same
Caressing those white cliffs of dover
I don’t want this to be a once hung
Over
Like Suge Knight trying to sign Vanilla ice
I need more than 20 stories
36 chambers
Most definitely
I want us to be the new danger
See a quiet dog may bite hard
But a real man guards the keys to a heart
Will you fight for this love
Or just watch the throne
I don’t want to be alone
Princess…

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Salt Shaker

What if Shakespeare was a stray cat?

Would it be a gay cat

Happy or homo

Two tails or normal

Hormonal, territorial or zonal

what if Shakespeare was a feline

would be ironclad or a shemale

telling tails of great pussy or just giving it

Selling great lines like punchline raps over a DJ scratch

Or just scratch and wounding every record made

What if Shakespeare was a stray cat

Would he be a junglist pugilist or into dubstep and grime

Would he even know to rhyme

Would he be giving it that rub a dub style

Blanched soul or measure for measure be a bore

Would he hamming it for the days of yore like a porky child

Or would he be buckwild like the leopard with neon spots

A sabre tooth who bit his style to confound the have nots

A couplet like Romeo and Juliet as his lines never met

Could we join the dots and understand his free style

In battle would he be really be riled,

His memory defiled like a child raised by paedophiles

Would he go Lear level senile or Tyson level crazy

Would he ride a beat or just beat up his lady,

I don’t think so see Shakespeare could’ve been Zulu

Spinning lines like voodoo tales of sincerity

Hynotising ear drums with verily verily,

Ye lords and ladies merrily

Before switching to yoruba listen to j.cole’s who dat

Scribing F ye polizia and burying it in a saltimine

We hold him high cos he assaults minds with a fools cap

Only then do we realise that his words were preserved cos he was never a stray

Just lyrically aux fais cool cat

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Filed under Random Poetics

beat again

My tongue’s tip flicks, flinches and convulses around melodic pulses

I gnaw at the beat root, energising my ions for the time of the spinning pulsar

Under the wings of doves and vultures I find riffs, licks and bricks of tongues

See I draw with my lungs because I breathe through the paper

I read my blueprint in red because my ribs caged her

Engaged the light like a mannequin clothed in logos and brands

Dismembering logical progressions because my perfection is inflection

Flawed excellence grounded in the moment of inspection

In junction, I reflect on conjecture like a medusa concerned for the health of her snakes

While I find my mete to raise the stakes a Medusa will pant evil for eons

Seeing promotion to lady of the lake I sold my Medusa self reflection and made her my pantheons first level

But that was merely shaping my wood with a Junior bevel and I needed flames

Even with a cold flow life ain’t cool runnings just because you’re at the winter games

Even if you share the status of your King James

Who dares frames so take a picture of a pun

Cos all I be is, a theist conceived by the drum

Received by the hum,

And still my tongues tip flips flash licks and straddles lexical prisms

To break my heart would mean long division so I sleep with my art for kicks

Rocks like statutes of New York liberties still standing I look good with the nicks

Rising like offspring of the Phoenix not needing canned-heat from the suns

As the Stan of standards in stanzas as I read I become living ecstasy

The pen was never purposed as an X to be, so while I live, there will be no full stop

So while I live, there will be no full stop

While I live, when my lid goes pop and my ink leaves to reign with the clouds staining like tar

Know that my beat root has seed to and you’ve just been blessed by the rhythmic harvest of my spinning pulsar

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Filed under Relationships

Million Ways

Million Ways:

(Me)

Fighting on inches when moments would suffice
Head lies crawl through the epidermis
The sperm is energized like electrons
Neutrons spin in frenzied atomic glee
Singing I wish I could be free like the Legend of the John
Pimped out by spinning pulsars watching orderly stars exist
Why dost normality persist when fantasy is evolution
Champagne supernova is the solution
Get drunk on revolution
See banality is pollution yet everybody acts clean
Out of vented spleen windows are cleaned
They say you gotta die to live and I’m a suicide fiend
A homicidal maniac, a sniper of actuality
Breaking souls with a sentence, killing them with logical sanity
Remixing their incarnations with intonations of moon.
Saying there’s a million ways to die but I’d rather make the vultures swoon….
For Me

(Jodi)

I play hooky from he that is death
Outta breath
Living life in more seconds than time allows
Never picked the short stick,
But fate got a case of hate and I continue to raise my brow
Wonderin what he up to now
Attacks are coming
When, where, why and how
Knife stabs and low jabs
Swollen face for tryin ta face em…
Head on
So I headed on
Unconsciously warned
Scorned
For thinking I controlled life just cause I was born
Torn
Between the plots he plans
Tryin to get a grip
But he has a full house
So I gotta fold in my hand
Tryin to find an angle
But he 180’d my 90
Supa fast like whip lash
Premonitions thrown out with the trash
And he straightened out my hindsight and blinded out my future so I couldn’t see
Leavin me empty
Reached in my stash
Tried to pay death off but he wanted souls not cash
There’s a million ways to die…
I wish he’d just choose one…

(Me)

I stabbed her with visions of my past pain till she sang soprano
The modals of her yodels burst my banks
Blood money was the currency of thanks for her mirror
Jagged souls sang as they passed port to the fast lane
Concorde to the last gain, last cause, jungle wars
Stalking perception with no pause
Animal instincts on all fours I was used to wound licking
She said there’s a million ways to cook chicken
8 bullet barrels in a pistol with one trigger
6 letters make a nigger
Yet he needs four to live as she reached out in the dark
Saying I am Wrigley Field, I am Fenway Park
Step up to the home plate you can feed your flame in the dark
For even bats can see play or be played off the park
Her eyes pierced like a shot in the dark
All I heard was the swish before she swayed in an arc
She died giving rebirth to me
To love myself was her last respect

(Jodi)

Respect paid
Body laid
With a million ways he chose to torture me
Net caught my life before he set me free
Now I have nuttin left but respect for thee
Embracing the elevated view of the scene before me
He was the owner of a life that made living weak
Pain’d by those who’d never “circle and inner Y”…Pump peace
His hunger for death led an attention craving frenzy
Embodied John Gotti
Mafia controlled following bodies
Held the hand of the clan
Whispered a little hate and reeled ’em in
Train derailed music and gangs
Started an epidemic that’s killin men and can’t be contained
His gift is quite precise
Slashing unity with rigged dice
Political gambles and fights over raising oil’s price
With the world in his hand
He plucks away a few each day
You can choose the trick
Cause he’ll treat ya a million ways…
Choose One!

Adrian “Poetic7” McKenzie/Joanna OrJustplain Jodi Collaboration © 2011 All Rights Reserved

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In10city

Males and females have childish moments but those who live are men to be

They say they live for the 80/ 20 but only want 7 tenths of me

Clothed in the banner of cleverness in defence of their density

Said I’m living in the moment, walking in tense I be

Fuelled for swim sprints, beating the air with all propensity

Yet my mind is erogenous it lives for the intensity

Wedded to life, I do is my identity

Yet my image is a nipple ready to ripple with solar energy

Powered by the colour of broken dreams and fallen enemies

Plentifully, planting, peace, poise, purpose, passing powerful prose inventively

Sensibly sending sentimental scents of mental fortitude and transcendental epiphanies that transport you into messianic states of mind

Like when Adam and Eve ate only to find they were human

It’s proven everybody needs a little steel yet trouble is our blood – we need iron

Life is a contract so if you get a second chance know your value and re-sign

See your mountain is only high as your incline,

Your decline is only as far as your disciplines poor design

True happiness is when confidence puts a ring on knowledge of self and says be mine

So refine, dovetail, walk with intent and be

Remember males and females have childish moments but those who live are men to be

 

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