Credit: JSquared Photography (photographer), Omari Hardwick (writer)
Real dream was to be the only
One the town learned more from
After I were dead,
Or the verse I once said,
That I were the
Paradox of a monster scared,
Stuck in a glass
Menagerie Box—turned inside out—
Or Sekou’s last Dred locks—right before
It’s cut out—
Wondering if maybe in its
Past life it was a Dred Scott—
Cause I came out here on
“The Magic Bus” but broke down
Like a Jim Crow boycott,
Though—never cared whether my flow was
That hot—just as long as I could
Be one of the greatest words they
Ever said or not—
And my tombstone—A Simple Poem—
The Poet “10”
Like Bo Derek’s movie
But with just
A pen
Said a lot
But his greatest—pledge—a pledge
Of grievance to the flag
Forever since the Natives
Were made un-American
This flag was snagged—
Left threads hanging,
Left the colors reds and blues bangin’,
So it left a red poet
Slangin’ his blues
Like cane—365,000
Days of intoxicated pain—tears tasting
Of beer, like droplets of shame
And he was
Half that number of joy.
He came here a man.
He has left a boy.
A verse of Whitman—but even
More coy—the world
Is too much with things.
Searching—10 years—
For my lost angels—
All I’ve tripped upon is tattered wings—
Wisping away …
Truth is I have not found
My truth—and that is okay.
One day it will find me,
And the fat ladies will sing
While the iPods play.
One the town learned more from
After I were dead,
Or the verse I once said,
That I were the
Paradox of a monster scared,
Stuck in a glass
Menagerie Box—turned inside out—
Or Sekou’s last Dred locks—right before
It’s cut out—
Wondering if maybe in its
Past life it was a Dred Scott—
Cause I came out here on
“The Magic Bus” but broke down
Like a Jim Crow boycott,
Though—never cared whether my flow was
That hot—just as long as I could
Be one of the greatest words they
Ever said or not—
And my tombstone—A Simple Poem—
The Poet “10”
Like Bo Derek’s movie
But with just
A pen
Said a lot
But his greatest—pledge—a pledge
Of grievance to the flag
Forever since the Natives
Were made un-American
This flag was snagged—
Left threads hanging,
Left the colors reds and blues bangin’,
So it left a red poet
Slangin’ his blues
Like cane—365,000
Days of intoxicated pain—tears tasting
Of beer, like droplets of shame
And he was
Half that number of joy.
He came here a man.
He has left a boy.
A verse of Whitman—but even
More coy—the world
Is too much with things.
Searching—10 years—
For my lost angels—
All I’ve tripped upon is tattered wings—
Wisping away …
Truth is I have not found
My truth—and that is okay.
One day it will find me,
And the fat ladies will sing
While the iPods play.
subscribe
fresh ink
digital edition
digital edition
Visit the Inked Art Gallery if you're interested in buying or selling your tattoo art or go to our Tattoo Gallery and upload photos of your tattoos or browse 1000's of other tattoo designs. Check out the Inked Girls to see sexy women with tattoos and beautiful Inked Girls.
Copyright © 2007-2010 Quadra Media L.L.C. All Rights Reserved
