Breaking the Block

Alone with my thoughts

I cavort with my muses

to recover the inspiration

that has been so elusive of late.

With pen at the ready, I wait

for word play to surge like flood gates

have been opened.

I pray like sowed seed

for this drought to be broken

allowing thoughts to flourish,

to nourish dry sheets with wet ink

like parched earth –

letting each word I birth sink into its fibers,

creating a record.

A snapshot in time

preserving a piece of my mind.

Recognizing my efforts

as if they have some intrinsic value to humanity.

But maybe that’s just my vanity speaking –

My ego’s fear of being forgotten

as if I was never here.

Because what I hold dear

is what I will never see

with my own eyes:

That being my own legacy prized

In the future.

Recommended reading

for learning institutions

discussed at poetry club meetings and the like.

A lofty place to set my sights upon.

I don’t know if that’s right or wrong,

but it’s honest.

-HymnAgen

The Park Bench (PS127)

I took my seat

on the painted split wood.

A chain link fence

near where a tree stood.

Broken glass glistening at my feet.

The weak scent of piss

from where two walls meet 

behind the school on the air.

A 40 ounce cap

repurposed a blade

to gut a Dutch Masters

on the ground lays

near a pile of tobacco.

Ever present, the sound

of basketballs dropping

through hoops to the ground.

The slap of pink rubber

striking concrete slabs.

The sound of young children’s

giggles and laughs

suspended by chains

and stainless steel boards

as they swing ever higher.

Their feet reaching for

the heavens.

Memories from a

bench at P-S-1-2-7.

-HymnAgen

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Pride v. Integrity: From the I Wanna Talk to My Brothas series

Integrity?

Worth more than money.

Money?

More valuable than pride.

Be willing to sacrifice money

to preserve integrity,

But don’t mess up your money

trying to protect your pride.

Wisdom will determine

which one is really at stake;

The wiser you become,

the less you will confuse the two.

-HymnAgen

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The Real War

I feel the frustrations of a nation

rising from the fear of genetic decimation,

comingled with the fear of continued subjugation –  

suspicions fomented by cultural isolation.

As predicted by the Kerner Report, we are two nations.

Now allow me to draw this correlation:

These conflicted populations

represent in this equation

North and Southern Hemispheres,

and the Southern’s realization

that the North ain’t played fair

since before colonization

right through today’s economic exploitation.

Wherever Southerners live

feels like we’re under occupation

by the military arm of rich Caucasians.

See these abhor their own poor.

They ship them off to fight their wars.

Those who survive are given multiple tours.

If they hate them to that extent,

just imagine how much more

they hate your black @ss by simple extrapolation.

Poor race relations is a tool

that keeps us both acting like fools

subjecting our ridicule on each other

while they rule over us both unchallenged –

secure in their positions,

divide and conquering potential opposition.

Remember they killed King AFTER he spoke up for the poor

and that imperialistic Vietnam War.

Don’t get distracted by their tactics anymore!

That white and black sh!t is small.

This is a war being waged by classist b@st@rds!

-HymnAgen

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LADY

Did you mute the RJM Lounge Player first?

Sista, I do not need to see the tops of your breasts bare

to know they’re there,

nor the flesh of your cheeks where butt and thighs meet

to know you have a bangin physique.

My days of roamin the street

lookin for women to meet dressed like freaks

are far behind me.

That garb only reminds me

of how trifling I used to be.

Now, I know each of you is able

to bring more to the table

than I used to give credit for,

but stable employment and ambition,

titles and positions

might as well be breasts and cheeks, too,

if used to accomplish the same mission.

Sista, are you listening?

I'm looking for a queen, not a vixen.

I want a partner, not competition

who's always trying to put my pants on

attempting to lock me up in the kitchen

barefoot and metrosexualized…

Huh, neva that.

The woman I've conceptualized is

neither nor. They're too extreme.

I love y’all somewhere in between –

displaying your self-esteem like plumage:

With your shoulders back.

and head held high.

Sexy regality displayed in every stride you take

with that pendulous ladylike gait –

Leaving somethin to my imagination

without looking colder than a battle hardened soldier

in corporate uniforms with broad, padded shoulders.

I want to bathe in the rays of your femininity,

and behold you in your wondrous femaledom

as it was meant to be fully appreciated by all

who are blessed to be in the presence of – a LADY.

-HymnAgen

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Road Trip

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Addiction (Tormented)

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An Ode to My Peers, The Urban Poets

It’s been a rollercoaster ride

since I decide to share

my poems in the cybersphere.

And through that medium

I’ve discovered peers

who love this medium

for their emotions paired

with kindred spirits –

masters of prose and lyrics –

speaking to each other’s souls.

Do you hear it?

Encouraging each other’s roles

as voices for the world’s humanity.

As voices for those embroiled in the insanity

of day-to-day survival,

but unable to find the words

to describe in their own voices

all the things they’ve seen,

and heard,

and felt

as my peers do

with eloquence and humility:

Giving birth to dialogue

from the seeds of soliloquies

initially meant to vent

our own frustrations and triumphs.

Yet through the universal nature

of the human situation

our voices break the silence

of the muted.

We find ourselves spokesmen

of the gamut of human emotions

through compositions

others might read and/or listen

to and find new hope in.

My Brothas and Sistas,

y’all got me open!

I thank you for what you do,

and I pray one day

the world will too.

-HymnAgen

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The Right Word

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The Charge of a Bard

There is no such thing as THE truth

No facts.

No proof.

No pure information

untainted by human inclinations –

just consensus and probability

of just how likely

disparate minds are to agree

with what another sees and processes.

It seems we’ve become obsessed with

objectivity for political correctness.

This is an intellectual unicorn.

See, on the planet THIS human is on

everything is subjective.

Every testimony reflective

of the biases held by its

speaker..............NOTHING excepted.

So those who choose

to deliver their perspective

fully aware of THESE conditions

should be acknowledged and respected,

for they are…the POETS.

-HymnAgen

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