Update

Okay, so I am now moving towards lanching the recording of the poetry album, but I am looking for a good bass player. As soon as I find one, I will be well on my way. Wish me luck. You can also connect with me on Facebook.

Hung

Do you know what it is like to be


Hung? (Sung)



Do you know what it is like to be

Hung? (Sung)



No I’m not talking about that popular definition of

Hung. (Sung)



Like a bird in the air suspended in mid flight

Hung(Sung)



A multicolored rainbow of feathers in flight

Hung(Sung)



Seven stars, in alignment

Hung(Sung)



The rising of the sea to meet the moon

Hung(Sung)



The red skinned branches of the Sequoia



Hung (Sung)



The oily olive of the Serengeti trees

Hung(Sung)



The peak of a pyramid, an opulent brief reprieve

Hung(Sung)



Yes we all have ideas of what it is like to be

Hung(Sung)



Even here among these yonder popular trees we know what it means to be

Hung(Sung)



Scarlet goodbye letters amongst bitter battered leaves

Hung(Sung)



In the right place, but in the wrong skin

Hung(Sung)


Wrong skin, and right men and you can be

Hung(Sung)

Judge, Trial but no Jury
Hung (Sung)

Still, I don’t think you really understand what it is to be

Hung(Sung)


I mean, when friends become removed like a coat from the hanger
Hung(Sung)



When the lips of the beloved are colder than the stranger

Hung(Sung)



When everything in you says run, but still, you face the danger

Hung (Sung)



When your love is counted in the seconds it takes

When the seconds it takes become without time



Hung(Sung)



As they drug you through the cities whipped and scarred
While those you’d given everything refused to look you in the eye



Hung(Sung)





Oh I don’t really think you know what it is to be

Hung (Sung)



Mangled sentences, sparsely separated



Hung(Sung)



Speech cut off mid---


Hung(Sung)


A wine drenched rag hitting the skin like sizzles

Hung (Sung)



A nail in the hand, a nail in the foot



Hung(Sung)



Who do you think you are, anyway, to say that the Lord redeems? they yell.

Hung(Sung)

Hoisted, lifted up with only a white loin cloth

Praying because this is not a walk that you want, but you choose to walk


Hung(Sung)


For your mighty acts, crowned with thorns

For your loving words fed a fist



Hung(Sung)



For your holy nature clothed in dust

Hung(Sung)



Gave your blood, we spat on you


Sung Verse:
Hung!

Pieced in the side!

For the sins of a world so cold

They shun the love they needed to survive


Oh Holy, Holy, Holy

You, that Hung

Or Worthy, Worthy, Worthy

Is the Lamb that hung


Poem (Spoken)


 Prince of Peace

The Great I Am

The holy hope

Of every man

You sit upon

The Throne of Grace

That hangs above

This broken place
Clear bright sound of Angels singing echoing day and night

Hung upon a darkened cross,

Yet you are the light




Do you really understand what it means to be

Hung? (Sung)

Do you really understand how much you’re worth and for this he was

Hung?(Sung)



If you understood how much the Father was willing to pay to release
you from the devil’s grip,
 your mouth would be filled with so much praise you could no longer use it to speak
 And when you approached the throne of grace you’d bow your head in this scared place



It would be



Hung (Sung)

Hung(Sung)

Hung (Sung)


(Sung)
In reverence

In Honor

In Love

Miss Mary's Blues

Miss Mary Mack
Mack, Mack
All dressed in Black
Black Black
With Silver Buttons
Butttons, Buttons
All down her Back
Back, Back
She asked her mother
Mother, Mother
For fifteen Cents
Cents, cents
to see the Elephants
Eleplants, Elephants
Jump the Fence
Fence Fence

Miss Mary Mack
Mack Mack
All dressed in Black
Black, Black
She's on her way
Way Way
to get her man
Back Back Back
She went to town
Town Town
to buy some Shoes
Shoes Shoes
With Silver Heels
Heels, Heels
Give him the Blues
Blues Blues
She was so Fine
Fine Fine
By Innate design
Design, Design
That all the Men
Men Men
Stood in a Line
Line Line
They begged and Pleaded
Pleaded, Pleaded
For Mary's hand
Hand, Hand
Even her Sorry
Sorry Sorry
Cheating Man
Man Man
But Mary Loved
Loved Loved
Her Self enough
Nuff, Nuff
To walk away
Way, Way
With a Tuff Strut
Strutt Strut
You see she loved herself
Self Self
She is God's Best
Best Best
and she don't settle
Settle, Settle
For Nothing
Less, Less, less

bitter rinds

wrath

is the dried and fully fermented fatty seed

of the cacao tree

from which chocolate is made

typically with a machete

pulp and cocoa seeds

are removed

and the rind is discarded



You must always handle wrath carefully,

In order to separate the curse from the crème

But the fool

walks in the bitters

ego sticking to his feet

like chocolate

with no sugar to cull

and humble

the tart



a chocolatier refined yet without history

nor recipe;

definitely not a chocolate-maker

for these are two different things;

the quick man opens

harvested pods are opened

eating it all,

rinds and seeds and pulp

before it liquefies



he thinks to himself,

I will be first,

he picks patience

and shoves it pass his lips

never tasting it





what was once herbal medicine

he sips in a strong hot cup

that burns the tongue

but chills the ribs



when they try to warn him

that too much, of even this treasured sweet

is poison

doesn't bother to laugh at irony

of old men who have tamed the seeds all their life

their laughter light, and creamy

like time



i guess

to a dying man

a sense of

humor is always first to go?

Welcome to the New Worth Watering Blog

Now that I'm taking this new journey, please register as a follower so I can update you on all things new....and speaking of new...a new poem..

The line


Never outdone.
Never out maneuvered.
Flies even when falling.

Has learned more from mistakes
Than success.
And success is no accident.

Looking into a soul of a native son
That has spanned many lifetimes
But always seems to know its way home

Landscapes of archetypes
Drawing still forms, in raging skies
In sharp curves
Like the line of a pencil
Before it breaks
He sees the shape of things to come
And pushes the led weight
Holding the line
Until the line becomes art

And yet, in the stillness,
There is the quiet space
Of a heart that has seen the dark bend of the road
And yet, dared to walk
And today, that heart will walk the walk
They said you would never
Never letting the world know
How high the price was

God wants you to know that
He sees. And hears.
And God too is a lawman. And an artist. And a visionary.
And he too has put the pen to the paper
Seeking to push the line.
And even when it is hard to believe
He believed in you.

the rose

In the sand, the storms, the snow
It grows;
Where concrete meets the lean line
Of green, a seed waiting, listening for a whispered word: why not here?
It grows;
When history meets the darkened veil of a time
When ships of precious cargo
that weren’t expected to comesailed in chained and bound, yet not broken
It grows;
A fluttering prayer
A beating wish
A railing arm
The hands of grandma still smooth
In all the rough places
Pressed together like petals
Praying for rain, rain, rain
To fall upon her grandson It grows;
In the quiet of that 2 am madness
When all the earth is stirring, yet still
And the corners of your mind fold into
The questions you never dared to ask yourself
It grows;In the electric flight of the feeble hand
Of a 106 year old queen
Who pressed a silver screen
Electing to choose a 400 year old promise
Over an age old lie
It grows;
Gracefully; a brown hand of
A global ghetto child
On a roof top over looking the over skyline
Eyes watching God, bigger than you can see
smaller than you can hope
It grows;
In the moment when seeing is no longer believing
And believing is no longer knowing
And knowing is a street number
To a house with more rooms than can be counted or viewed
Asking you to remove your shoes
And enter the holy groundIt grows;
The pattern of the stars
Outlined stitches in time
Stitches dropped into the ear of
Patterned faith cut into
Northern stars leading to a freedom unseen
It grows;
The echo of a heart as it craves the very essence of
The thing that must fill Its drum
It grows;
In a still small place
On Calvary
When the waiting of the world
Hung like a sentence cut mid-
It grows;
Here lies the rose of Sharon
The lily of the valley
Growing in the places

That they said nothing good could come.

Thrusting it’s yellow limbs like rays into the draped darkened corners where the hunger hungit has begun;
the saying to the world
rise and shine
I am the one
I am the one
Who will grow in the sand, and the storms and the snows
While the soil may claim ignorance
The sun knowsIn a world filled with darkness
The light is more beautiful because we know
beauty comes from broken things
and the common spaces
are the dwelling grounds for uncommon kings
the song of the coldest winter
preludes the opus of the spring
and it
It grows.
it grows.
it grows.

Places without water

Sometimes my house is river without the music
The music has run out of windows and doors
Left deep carvings in rocks an quarries
And only wet humectants lie
Evaporating sheaths of stream
Vicariously suspended in the silence
Trapped beneath a hard surface of hope
Whispering for rain

Another Way to Say Goodbye

(song)

Hello there
Is anybody there?
I’m speaking to you from my heart
but the sound is caught mid air

I’m tired of
Giving what I got
and loving you for what you’re not
That ain’t cool…ain’t cool

I keep hoping
in your best
When my hope’s worth so much less
Than my attention
But I’ll play the fool

Who will come and make it right
If I don’t stand and fight tonight
This fight
With you for me, for me?

And I don’t want to talk
To you
Anymore
There’s nothing left to say
And I don’t want to talk to you
Anymore
Hello is just another way, to say goodbye
Bye, bye, bye
Bye, bye, bye


You gave me roses in the springtime,
And tulips in june
Roadside weeds in autumn
But on this summer afternoon
Your love is the coldest winter
----that I’ve ever known

Week by week
And month by month
Year by year
Time lives to die
When you talk to me
Your speech is empty
as your eyes
Every hello is just another goodbye
Waiting for someone to let go first
I know it hurts, but

Repeat
I don’t want to talk
To you
Anymore
There’s nothing left to say
And I don’t want to talk to you
Anymore
Hello is just another way, to say goodbye
Bye, bye, bye
Bye, bye, bye

I keep on searching and trying to find
A reason why I gave you my piece of mind
Left the doors open wide
For you to walk inside and make a mess of me

Now we have a house but no home
We have hope without will
We have a form of godliness
But we have no peace to be still
You claim you gave me everything
But the only thing I wanted you to give was
You

But that you cannot do
So I’m through--

Repeat
And I don’t want to talk
To you
Anymore
There’s nothing left to say
And I don’t want to talk to you
Anymore
Hello is just another way, to say goodbye
Bye, bye, bye
Bye, bye, bye

I know it was the blood

I know it was the blood
(In memory of the lives lost
To the senseless thing that we know as
Man’s inhumanity to man, dedicated to City of Oakland)

Oh the inhumanity of it---

I woke up this morning
With my mind
(Stayed on jesus)
Woke up this morning with my mind
(stayed on Jesus)
Hallejulah
This poem
Racing through my left ventricle
And out of my right
It lines up at my leg
(ready)
And races towards my stomach
(set)
Pivots at the heart
(go!)
Booking through my right temple
Hard heels of hard thoughts thudding squarely in the
Softness of my mind
This poem woke up today and shook me
shouted inside me
So that my body still quakes from the after effects
like the shots
That rung out
On east 73rd
When four blues fell with purple hearts
And none said a mumbling word?
While windows of wandering eyes look on
And wail
“where is the love?”
Love that was so obstructively spoiled and curd
As four men fought breath
a death
They did not deserve.
And yet this poem is not straight,
It’s curved
This poem is unwilling clipped
And shaky and suspicious
And full of grainy cell phone images
And the reality of no more second chances
For black boy be free
Like the shot that
said happy new year, Mr. Grant
And yet this poem cries tears while you rant

Oh the inhumanity of it

This poem cries
And wails the deep raging sorrow that wells up in my eyes and damns my soldier’s soul
but my tears are ice
It is cold in here
It is so cold that the words of this poem
Crack and break and flake
As they hit the harshness of hallow breath
Of the darkened mind
Of people who somehow seem to believe that
Life is a series of harsh justifications
Pow! Period, POW! period, POW! period. POW! period
Followed by three letters
Wet like war paint
Hollered from either side
Subject, verb, predicate.

They deserved it.

Harder than any shot fired
Is the gunfire of the human heart

Oh the inhumanity of it

The weight of the cross is heavy on my mind today
As I stand at the center of it
And wonder Jesus
Why?
Why in the world in this, the winter of our soul’s discontent
Is this song, this poem so this poem so
hot, unmindful, and unrepentantly retractable and red?
Why is this poem pleads to the living
To understand the humanity of the dead

Oh the inhumanity of it all
But is it really inhuman for human beings
To dehumanize each other
For blindness is to sight as
Black is to white
As sin is to cover
as
Brother is to other?
Yes in deed
I plead my brothers
To heed love’s creed
Yet still we bleed
More cain than able
To hear red seas crying out from
The killing fields
As all of Heaven hopes and waits
That maybe we as a people
Will finally get
This poem?


Because I refuse to believe that this poem is
simply a sign of our times
we’ve seen this poem before
Same theme, usual suspects
This poem is bleeding out the nail scarred holes
Called Calvary
For a man imprisoned by hate
So that love could be free
Because you see this poem is the blood that cries out for
Us, even when we are too cold to cry for each other
This is a poem that sticks closer than a brother
And with a last breath says, “Son, behold your mother”

This poem was broken and bloodied for you
Nailed to splintered wood post for you
Fed sour wine of hate for you
And yet
This poem loves you
while shouted at, spit on, beat, dehumanized,
This poem dies, but will not be funeralized

This poem is your mother’s smile
Your brother’s eyes
Your sister’s feet
And your father’s hands
This poem cries out for the four fallen soldiers
Tends to the wounds of the new years day dawn
This poem warms the chill of the frozen hearts
With a simple breath in the cool of the day
This poem is beaten, bloodied, but not defeated
But is universal, triumphant and utterly divine
Even when it is in human
This poem is daring
Because there is only one, hurt, one salvation, one love
One blood
Falling as a fountain
from a man who died so we could live
The redness cries out Father forgive
And because he died, this poem lives
And with it he left a hope so great it rips the curtain that divides us
healing the aching quake
That shook my spirit last night
and woke me up early this morning
with my mind

Stayed on Jesus

And
I know it was the blood
I know it was the blood
I know it was the blood
For me.
One day when I was lost
He died upon the cross
And I know it was the blood for me

don't know what to do with this

deep wells

of deep rivers

with muddy bottoms

and cotton

a

sooty past

running through

creekbeds and river sides

into concrete oasis

yet the sand stings feet

the blast of obliterated sound

the slapping of cheeks

the pounding of feet

the gnashing of teeth

the

and then,

a pause

uncrdeciiously

the page turns

and I see color

Rest in the key of "Promises" (dedicated to Barack Obama)

silence
slips inside
the tuba

quiet casts a brassy glow
upon the shadowy saxophone

amended
twins,
the french horn and clarinet

accompanied by
the hollow throat
of acoustic breath

and the night belts out what magic is left behind, and returns the breath
to its proper rest

the prayer without words of
empty eyes
full of the moment

Can't you hear it?
the baited still of
a willing will

fog falling freshly
as white on
keys
into early morning's ears

sweet as a lover's mouth
dancing with praise?

and then;

as with in the beginning
was the word
and the word was with
the director
speaking in sounds that created space and time
a universal pause, followed by a lifted voice
in place of a hand

and everything that has breath stands still

-- harmony in the
key of f

maybe?

humm
maybe you are
my
marcus
thwarted by an int eruption called "black history"
fussing at me to get home on time
delighted by witty banter
frustrated by my stubborn ways
that refuse to m......m.....move.

maybe that's why I am so scared of you--

inviting me into intellectual adventures
without the fuss
working to build a life beyond the ruin of this

whispering under your breath
what a dang fool I am
praying that I'll hear.

Kryptonite

he is the kind that will make pretty babies
and ugly tears

a hulking super man
who still longs for his mama's breasts
after a day of misadventures in manhood

his smile crawls inside spaces that it shouldn't
scurrying inside the empty spaces
between thoughts and dreams
late at night
when I don't want to be bothered

he is
unrepentantly popular
even
in the most unflattering light

like an undone cookie
smelling rich
but tasting poor

and yet,
despite my better judgement

I fight myself from tasting the batter

Chicago, 2008

Like a sweet fragrance
It rises;
Scorched streets yield transformed trees
Oasis of human hope
Grown in a desert
Bees swoon to the flower of
its harvest height

The implausible garden
Broke the hard earth
drank dark days
And came up spring--

Deliverance dances in the streets
Burning again with the hope we thought had failed us
After being auctioned off at the very steps of the great columns
Of hope itself

We can--

Open tightly held fists
after holding on so long to expose

palm
Sunday

Given way
To hot prayer, salient desire,
historic hallelujah--

hope unhinged
the earth.

the aftershocks are vivid:
heard beyond the grave, savored beyond the sky
Given beyond the gift
Makeshift tambourines herald
broken silver links
a roaring applause
filled with five generations of prayers
prevailed

The Communion of Saints

"This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.

"This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

it is passover in

the heartland

the fruit of faith

the hungry hope

is sweet

communion

of saints

the forgiveness of sins

the ressurrection of the body

a brown body

ripe with flight

of falling freedom

in the wind

of change

decidedly different

The mightly hand of God has

watered the harvest

refreshing forty years of faithlessness

there is not an apology

sweeter to the bruised rib

and the broken limb

than

equality

take the bread to your lips

and partake in the manna

feast in communion

of the storm that is passing over

to do you justice (In memory of Officer Brad Moody)

I tried to write words
that could do you justice
but they have failed me

my arsenal is empty
the syllables
the punctuation
the vocabulary lists
all frozen in perpetuity

Simple characters won't do.

I tried to write you words,
words that could explain
could hug, and heal
but with lackluster
they've been arraigned
tried
and acquitted.

Simple characters won't do.

all the dazzling metaphors
falling flakes of new snow
and the sizzling similes
searing like hot hopes
the lovely languid images of lighter days
of a man whom the uniform did not wear
he wore the uniform

I could write about your kind smile
that darkly funny sense of humor
that twinkled in your eyes
that brazenly defiant attitude
that refused to be convinced
by the unconvincing
if only because
you were your own man.

I could write about your
kind heart
the many days that you gave that heart
to others in need of one
the sweetness of a kind act
giving up a day off in the sunshine so that
kids in the Barretts might catch a ray


I could write about your conviction
your passion for
the dreams you carried so tenderly
like a small frog in the pocket of a child
who just discovered its greenness
the pages and pages of notes
taken copiously
as you envisioned Iron Tracks
free of "C' hats, full of basketball games
and old men talking longingly
shooting the breeze about days long gone

But these words, wouldn't do you justice.

Simple characters never do.

What can kind of character can make a word like:

Father, faithful?
or
friend, fierce?
Or
officer, exceptional?
Or
brother, bonded?

What kind of a word can
warm the hearts of so many just at the mere
smile?

And what kind of word is the word brother, really?
Seven short, unceremonious letters
used to describe a man
of simple heart,
but great character.

shoes

Tied to the left
Ans strappy
Two toned
And slim boned
Makes the brothers long for home
Makes them shout for joy
these tiny delecacies
massage the earth in circled
“c’s”
Step front step back
Side to side
They whisper warrior
In the click clack
Of the swayed back
Go , sister, go
See sister run
See sister command
Look out, here they come
Wayward ribbons
A perfect witness
Ask the question
Who are you?
And the story better be good.
Cauze I got no time for
Malevolent melodrama
Don’t you see my back zipper
Packing in my power tight?
Don’t you see
The patent on my leather induced adrenaline flight?
Don’t you see the way I hit the arch at its height
Letting em know whatever I come with
I’m promoting
a doggone tough fight?

I’ve walked over run away lovers
And hate filled horrors
And dissapated dreams
And broken hearted blame
To crush the heal
Of my own pain

I can be long stemmed
Or thin rimmed
Wedged or silhoutted
Archetpe arodite
But when my hops shasay
Mama don’t play

I’m blue, magenta, black
Aquamarine
I wrap myself around your weary (soled) dream
To adorn almond delight toes
With hues of mango
I am the dancer you can never catch
But always follow
As I give you too tough blues


Cauze no matter where her feet carry her
Everywoman has a pair
Of fighting shoes.

How’s My Driving?

(Written in January 2008)


How are you driving into your new year?

Have you given yourself license to do all the things that you said
You would not, could not do?
Have you made resolutions anew
Or are you still scratching waiting on a clue?


How are you driving into your new year?

Do you imagine yourself rolling in that big bodied Benz that wanted so badly
That you woke up with a four door leather interior taste on your lips
Until you realized it was just your pillow
Are you so focused on the glits and glamour of
Everybody and lodie dottie are doing that
You fail to notice that your license says your vision ain’t 20/20

Are you starving for your soul in the land of plenty?

Hey, How are you driving into your New year?

Have you come up on the bumper of a Sunday driver called Patience
Mad because he won’t get out your way?
Psheww… Was that you I saw you flying down 580
Changing lanes faster than Baskin Robins changes the flavor of the month
riding on rims of sold our dreams just ‘tending to be crunk?

Hey, How are you driving into your New year?

Tell me darling
Are old acquaintances riding with you in the front seat?
Hollering out the passenger side
Telling doubt, fear, jealousy, bitterness and hate they can ride in YO’ ride?

Honey, Who is driving you into your new year?

Did you forget that those signals like
STOP
SLOW DOWN
YEILD
WATCH ROAD
MERGE
ONCOMING TRAFFIC

And my favorite, ONE WAY ONLY?

Did you take time from your frenzied automotive flight
To pump your brakes
And hold on tight
As you reached that red light

And a road called the cross?

Did your bring your insurance before you counted the cost
That was paid in full
With a manufacturers guarantee

Or are you with that other insurer
That’s telling you “PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE MY EYES CAN SEE?”

Tell me, how are you driving into your new year?

Are you running on empty
Full of the cheap gas
Of life lived too fast

Are you looking for the living waters
Holyghost octane, spectacular mileage
That will trump your gold gas card any day
And check this out the best thing about it
Is after you pump, you don’t pay?

Who is driving you into your new year?
Look around, go speed racer are all coasts clear?
For you to lean over,
Unfasten your safety belt
Switch seats

And make room for the master.

Is it Well (With My Soul)

Are you alright, baby? Your soul looks sick.

Is it well?
Is it well?
Is it well?
Well is it?

This is the story of how to get free.
Not got free, but bought free
At retail price

This is a story of stumbling through
Transformation with deliverance on your shoulder, sin on your back, and grace at your side

This is a story about having to walk
With humility because pride won’t letchu ride

Is it, well?

This is the story of how a soul got foreclosed upon and sold on the auction block at the court house steps but mercy stepped in and said
Not Guilty!

This is the story of how you slow danced with Regret on Saturday night, while claiming to be looking for Love, and cheating on self respect
Trying to get some re-re-re…reconciliation!

Is it well?

(Song)

This is the story of how inadequacy keeps calling in those summer winds
And emptiness keeps encouraging you to fill yourself with more of it to keep from starving
And abuse smiles and gives you a little vinegar for your thirst, but patience steps in and does her perfect work, turning all your battle scars into testimonies.

Are you well?

This is the story of
The you that you could be should be
Stuck in the land of improbability
With no phone, and no cents to make a call for help.

This is the story about how you forgot about the calls and started up at the wall cause you never felt so small
Until you heard the Holy Lamb issue a gentle call
Saying, “I’m here.”

Yes this is the story of how we “made it over the rainbow”
While wading in the “some how some ways”
And trudging through the “Get theres”
While looking over the mountain of the men that we believed we are
Wishing on stars made of
Backlight in hallowed
Hallways of dreams we wade
Thinking that because were “intelligently designed”
That we’re somehow self made



Are you grateful every day you wake up knowing you’re saved!
To know that you could be plot number 129 million and one of the 129 million people who didn’t see this day?


A confluence of soul ties
Had been binding you to your entanglement
So thick that a simple comb just wouldn’t do
But someone stroked your hair and pulled the knots until it was soft, flowing and new


You see God doesn’t have to do anything
To be everything
His faithfulness bright as the morning stars
But it outlasts each and every one of them

No explanation needed
No assembly required
No repayments found

I love him because when I looked up,
He looked down

This is the story of how
And it is well, It is well, with my soul.

if all you have is love....

bend gracefully
at the knee
a bowed beauty

giving to everyone but herself
how does she live

on love
in a cavernous glass house
where love is a window
yet the earth is so
shady?