Big.Brother's.Shadow. (For Michael)

On February 22, 1999, my older brother Michael passed away in an automobile accident. It's amazing to me how something that happened 10 years ago still has a way of being a sensitive area for me and my family.
But God is so sovereign because it was through my brother's passing that I found poetry...which isn't just a hobby to me, or a talent I claim to have...but it is a way I worship my Father. And whether or not anyone cares or clamors to read a word I care to write, it is a gift that I was given to express the deepest pain one can experience: grief.

So, I write.
And every year around this time, I write something for him. About him.
So that I can rest in the fact that he is still missed...and not forgotten.
I can sit with most anyone and tell you about Mike, if given the time...
But there are only two things that are essential at the moment for you to know:
He was my big brother, and I loved him.
Enjoy....


Smiles and
Bright eyes.
I regard my youth with
With a bit of fondness
Because I had you.

I followed you closely…fascinated,
Because your manner
Hinted at a strength outside
Your years…
…and inconsistent with your “kool-aid” socks
And high-top fades.

I.
Big brother’s shadow.
Never leaving your side
Unless the sun was down.
[Your bedtime was later than mine.]

Grins
And high-fives.
I hated dresses
And itchy tights in my youth
Because I had you.

I mimicked you faithfully
Through basketball jerseys,
Blasting my Outkast cassette tape,
To mastering the final level of
Super Mario Brothers…

I was
Big brother’s shadow.
I wanted to be great,
Just like you.

Sighs
And broken hearts.
I learned of love early
In my youth
Because I had you.

You showed me unintentionally
What a man is and isn’t
Meant to be.
From sneaking peeks into that little black book,
Finding dirty letters in the laundry piles,
To your care for probable offspring…

I miss being
Big brother’s shadow.
Where I found safety
To openly abandon myself in innocence,
And a growing hope
On which to gaze and glean from...

He.Be.Revolution. (Personal Fav)

I've touched the hands

of a revolutionary.

a man.

and a catalyst

for change.

I've kissed the lips

of a revolutionary.

a force.

a potential name

for legacies.

Not one amongst

the legions of those

bound by the streets

and chained to a mindset

he pumps his fist

yes

but he's holding

a pen.

a mic.

He's the epitome

of Black Pride.

Malcolm's Pride.

Martin's Pride.

Mother's Pride.

Nonviolent Verocity.

Knowledgable Grandeur.

Confusing the masses

Because he manuvers just fine without

The gun on his hip

And the chip on his shoulder.

Never whining.

Pointing no fingers

and expecting no hand-outs.

He moves.

He molds.

He is.

With feet firm.

His convictions are deeply rooted.

Eyes focused.

His sights see beyond the Struggle.

His age inconsistant

of his wisdom.

But oh. How his father

would be so proud. if only

his eyes were just as clear.

He doesn't just know of revolution

or hope for revolution

or front with the cap wearin' and slogan shoutin' revolution.

But

He thinks revolution

Sees revolution

Speaks revolution

and

IS revolution.

I'm loved by the spirit of

a revolutionary.

A heart

too good for this world.

The Ol' Ball & Chain

You

Attribute me

Not to life’s greatest adventure

But to a prison sentence.

Or a stage in life that is a

Necessary evil for procreation

And guilt-free monogamy.

You

Associate me

With the nagging to fix kitchen cabinets

And annoying jousts over remote-hogging

…instead of a life-long friendship

That transcends its titles and obligations.

You

Fill bars and hardware stores

Till after hours,

Secretly envy single men,

And excitedly attend bachelor parties

To relive your glory days…

To recall when you were that free…

To recapture the smile that was lost

Somewhere between the rehearsal dinner

And the 50^th soiled diaper that needed to be changed…

To remember when

You weren’t weighed down by the ol’ ball and chain...

You

Cheapen me

And then blame me for

Having desires beyond the biological.

Past our released endorphins and sweaty limbs.

You

Connect me

Directly to the journey’s difficulty

Instead of seeing me

As an answer to prayer.

["It is not good that Man should be alone..."]

You

Flee.

So I

Will wait.

Def Poet (snippet)

Vibrations of plenty

Like boom –bap

And broken syllables in scatted form

Resounding on & on

And on again.

My life is bordered by pulsations

The soil throbs with anticipation

And whimpers with

Discontent from the hoarded debris made of

Parched parchment paper

I exhale in agreement

And pray the

Dry air will ignite the rubbish.

I lend my ear to the ground

To this faultless beat

And prepare the words to release

Into the earth.

Choke the weeds

Before I choke on this burden.

Birds.&.the.Bees.

Each time we become
Dissatisfied with our slow passage
Into a
Lifelong intimacy,
Our desperate grasping leaves us
More discontent.

Stumbling into moments to
Devour one another’s sweetness,
Only to grow increasingly
Hungry and malnourished.
We starve ourselves.

It is then:
A door is opened
That leads outside to
Greener Pastures…
…but we are so caught up in
Our indulgence of this paradise
That we don’t stop to think:
“How will we maintain the land…with no tools?”
So
We linger momentarily,
Stare at our own immature, bare members,
And then sigh; heading back towards
Our original dwelling...
…praying, on the way,
That one of us remembered
To keep the door unlocked.

Still.[Spoken.Word.]

the way the wind blows
acclaim follows suite.
i would rather stretch my frame
underneath the persistent sky.
though it varies in hues
it will never change its shape
still as infinite as before.
steady in its faithfulness
and ignored still.
so i will pay attention
and allow the sky to teach me
how to be great without being applauded,
how to run from popularity with a clause,
and how to use misunderstanding
to confirm my identity.
[in Him.]
i lay.
and i am still.
because the way the wind blows
acclaim follows suite.