Headroominations...
Header pic
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, December 25, 2015
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Monday, December 7, 2015
Homeless
Homeless
Sometimes I feel alone
As if I’m out here on my own
Abandoned. No guidance
or old companions
It all feels wrong
No connectedness for which I long
No place that feels familiar,
that feels like home
Even home don’t feel the same
Been gone too long;
everything’s changed
I’m from a different time
that only lives inside the minds
of kids from my generation
before being overtaken
by life I had to eat
in a concrete jungle.
had no mercy
Rents absurdly high
even for efficiencies
Had to slide
Detoured to B’more with my B.K. Kats,
but they up in the traps
Couldn’t fuck with that
Had to stay legal
Owed it to my people
Pops sacrificed to much
‘fore his life was snuffed out by that cancer
It took Moms, too
Burned their coffins
Made me and Sis orphans fighting over debt
Wished it was a check
We cool now, but I digress
Always out of place
It’s written on my face
They see it in my style
So many outta state Kats in Harm City
sharing the same fate
Always an outsider
I blame my New York state of mind
My closest friends all hail from outside Maryland
Though I visit, it just feels wrong
I can’t go home ‘cause I don’t belong
I don’t fit in anywhere anymore
I guess I’m homeless.
- HymnAgen
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Monday, November 30, 2015
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Monday, November 23, 2015
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Friday, November 20, 2015
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Ghost Writer
Passions burning
beneath my sternum
pulsing like dancing flame
circulates through my veins
feeding rage to my brain
I avenge souls
I take aim
swinging my broken chain
Look into my eyes…
Feel the pain of your victims
those slain by your system
of justice corrupted
destructive to the lives
in your clutches
lives interrupted
feel the burn of my glare
internalize their despair
fuck that old life ain’t fair
shit you kick
cue the violin music
‘cause muthafucka I don’t care
So scream your last rebel yell
your soul is required in hell
Look into my eyes…
Feel their pain - Hear their cries
Drown in the tears of many years of broken lives
and despair...
for I come bringing justice
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Loss Luggage
Emotional walls
seemingly impenetrable –
exceedingly tall
built of broken promisesfortified with distrust,
graffiti covered in guys lies
and a disgust
that marred her beauty
with lost hope
that made her eyes roll
at times when I spoke
to that invisible hand
she held out in front of her face.
So often looking at me
like some others do our race
as if I represented
all black men in that moment.
Game-facing me down
like an unworthy opponent
known to cheat.
Disreputable. Weak
in both character and credibility…
replete
with every failing
she ever encountered
in boys disguised as men
whose only interest was to mount her.
“I…AM NOT…THEM,”
I tried to send her through telepathy
wishing she had a sixth sense
that could connect with me
and let her see
my purity of intention
that it might crack
her hardened soul so her retention
of hard feelings might begin
to seep through it like fluid.
That, given the occasion,
I would rise to it
and prove this assertion:
“I…AM NOT…THEM.”
I am singular. A person
extruded by a Queen Mother.
Forged into manhood
by the strong brother
seated on the throne beside her,
annealing me in their love’s fire
that my mettle might be tested
but not bested.
In me the fruit of their labor
is reflected
in how all who get to know me
are respected –
Man and woman, alike.
Apparently unfamiliar
with the sight,
she didn’t recognize
a man raised right.
She had no compass.
Sure it’s possible
I’m not her type
and she did not want this,
but her eyes told otherwise.
They held contempt
not disregard.
She’d cut her eyes at me so hard
if they were knives
they’d leave deep scars
in my soft tissue
if I had low self-esteem issues.
But she kept me around
for a reason.
So, I guess she found
something pleasing
about my presence
even at arms length.
Calling me “friend,”
when I was little more
than an acquaintance –
a step above a phone number
with a date stamp.
But somehow close enough
to behave stank when
she observed
other women’s overtures.
And even though I found that bullshit
so absurd,
I still dig her.
I understand how her track record
with these niggas
made her gun shy…
apprehensive that one guy
could be any different from the last.
Careful with her heart
and values it more than her ass.
Far from perfect
But someone she can work with
To help seal her past
And reveal her tomorrow’s
Possibilities seem so vast
I just need her to leave those bags
And walk away with me from them ...- HymnAgen
Monday, October 5, 2015
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Monday, September 21, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Terrorist States
Terrorist States
Let’s talk about
how
I RAN…
terrorized by
state sponsored
terrorism.
How
I RAN,
ran away from
Amerikkkan injustice
of the piece clutches
because that
Justice of the Peace
had his clutches
on his piece
as he approached me –
terrorizing me
on my own streets
for allegedly
fitting some
description.
Since we still
all look alike
through dark blue
hued prescriptions!
I RACK
my brain
like I’m
SO DAMNED INSANE
‘cause I can’t make sense
of this bullshit war game
anymore.
Misnomered,
the fucking “Drug War”
when it’s more like
a war on his perception
of Thugs.
But since when
is Blackness
a narcotic?
Granted
a hard dick
or a wet snatch
can get some so high
once they cum
they never go back
to their own –
unable to leave
our jungle-loving alone,
but I digress.
Who is the terrorist
when my people
feel stress
from the chance
lingering glance
of the Gestapo?
Yet, the shrinking
majority
wants to claim
this is not so…
that looking
at enforcers
without fear
in our eyes
constitutes
suspicious grounds
for being terrorized!
Giving them
the off-the-cuff
power to decide
our public assemblies
are the actions
of home-grown enemies
and thus, made
a misdemeanor.
“Break it up;
you’re loitering,”
the common
Gestapo procedure
for maintaining
intimidation
in our young male
population.
See while their hoods
receive patrols,
our hoods
get occupation.
Might as well
be in Gaza
slinging rocks
at their body armor!
Will we be forced
to resort to being
suicide bombers?
I pray
I never see the day
they live to rue.
- HymnAgen
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Friday, August 21, 2015
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Eternal Quest
Eternal Quest
Am I forced to retire
when this body expires?
Caused to abandon
my ponderings?
Unable to continue
the wanderings
of my imagination?
Unwilling to relinquish
the squandering of my time,
will I be allowed to fight
for the right to muse?
To grapple with
the “whys” of my moods,
of my purpose,
of my existence?
Can I continue
to be insistent
about what I think
I know is true,
what I believe in
without having proof
nor confirmation?
Firmly clenched
in consternation,
will my brainwaves
continue to race,
even accelerate
as my respiratory rate
and pulse pace
grind to a halt?
As my body yields
to time’s assault,
will I find fault
or perfection
in my reflections
on my embodiment’s
temporal nature,
be reabsorbed
by a Creator
or dissipate
into the vastness
of the universe?
Am I consciousness
or was I human first?
Where do I look
to find answers?
- HymnAgen
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Moved To Tears
I count myself blessed
by a radio moment I shall never forget.
Each word that I heard
as their testimony unfurled
blew me further away
from the selfish concerns
of my insignificant world.
How could that one
forgive the unforgivable?
How could the other
earn the undeserved?
How could they make
their desolate lives livable?
My throat constricted
more the more that I heard
from these resilient spirits –
trying hard to choke back the tears it
seemed my ears pumped
from my heart’s bottomless reserves.
Like water from aquifers –
feeding my amazement,
growing my reverential awe
by showing me death, time and remorse
could bring forth a pure
and honest love.
A love a repentant murderer could profess
and have received by his victim’s mother,
who in turn would confess the same
and freed from the grip of her pain call this man “son.”
by a radio moment I shall never forget.
Each word that I heard
as their testimony unfurled
blew me further away
from the selfish concerns
of my insignificant world.
How could that one
forgive the unforgivable?
How could the other
earn the undeserved?
How could they make
their desolate lives livable?
My throat constricted
more the more that I heard
from these resilient spirits –
trying hard to choke back the tears it
seemed my ears pumped
from my heart’s bottomless reserves.
Like water from aquifers –
feeding my amazement,
growing my reverential awe
by showing me death, time and remorse
could bring forth a pure
and honest love.
A love a repentant murderer could profess
and have received by his victim’s mother,
who in turn would confess the same
and freed from the grip of her pain call this man “son.”
- HymnAgen
http://www.npr.org/2015/07/17/423549790/at-the-end-of-a-murder-sentence-a-redemption-forged-from-forgiveness
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)