To Rev
... And three hundred years from now, will not we be with the ones once called Apachee?
In the beginning there were the seeds of many fruits. Human scientists didn’t invent seeds. They only try, individually, to deal with seeds, nationally, the best they can try to sometimes, and to replant the potential of the body of this earth in the minds, and through the gardens of our landscapes. The bible begins by talking about the seeds of the fruits. And it immediately frames this in the context of the statutes, because the arrangement of the statutes of this Republic, and of international laws that had been liberated, as well as had been tortured, been terrorized, and had been held to an ongoing captivity, through them, it is essential to understand, by means of a source beyond individuals continually born to this beyond colonization. This that called the devil. No! You’ll see no devil here, my brother, Reverend, just the glow of a mighty blaze to kindle here. I kindle.”
“Ok, hold on now. Hold on!”
“Reverend, I’m the kid with Mrs. Johnson.”
“I’m Mrs. Johnson.”
“Oh, but a woman named Mrs. Johnson used to babysit me. I was there with her. And no one had a better seat for that speech than us, Reverend, Mrs. Johnson didn’t even flinch. The speech was so good, for one second, I look over to see the reaction of my Mrs. Johnson, and, or my other Mrs. Johnson, if you will.”
“My mother?”
“Wait a second! Wait a second! You were the little boy with Mrs. Johnson? And you’re calling your mother, huh?” (Rev puts his head in his hand again. I continue)
“Rev, and I still remember the reaction of your mother, which was no reaction, because I’d looked over to see her reaction before it had happened…”
“What happened?”
“The guy gave the best speech we ever heard. I think that’s what the Reverend wanted to note the speech for. And everyone was into it. We all felt bad for the this little lamb. Which it was a miniature horse, but he’d kept telling us to think of it as a lamb.”
“Wait a second. Wait a second!”
“Reverend, for one second, I looked over at your mother; you know; to know, myself, to know how to react to it. But I remember it like yesterday, Reverend. I look over… I look over. And in the same moment of my astonishment at the reactionless attention of Mrs. Johnson, your mother, who you were the thought of her mind, be you, having been in Georgia, with her family.”
“Wait a second.”
“Get back to the speech?”
"Oh…"
“Me and Mrs. Johnson are right in front of it. I look at her for one second. During that second, and for at least a second after it, she had no reaction.”
“From what!?”
“Wait a second! Wait a second!”
“The blood! I look over for one second. I hear the sound of a sword unsheathing, and see blood go all over your mother’s white church clothes. Instantaneously. And still! She had no reaction. She just looked at me, and then right back at the old man, who was now tangled in people who jumped in to defend her blouse. And then it almost got calm for a second. And then…”
“Wait a second!”
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on -
(after intro)
Get through the static, girl.
Turn it, ya'll, tune it.
Walk through the static, girl.
Unit. G-Unit.
On the radios.
Every lady goes. It rolls. It rolls.
Let me lend the heat to your souls.
Rock down when she rolls.
Every woman knows. On the radios.
Every woman knows.
On the radios. Every woman woahs.
Oh, woah, radios.
Turn into the unit.
G-Unit. G-Unit.
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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Girls on a girly bus.
(Three beat pause)
Well they roll far away.
And their leader trust...
Girls on a girly bus...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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Now cut the rhyme up.Yeah.And move on the track.Here comes the power from the bowels of rap.Awe hour stumbles.The second unfolds.I humble shepards when I step with the folds.The hour gives up.The god hands me down.While stuck in nations.Some look ta the crown.I peer right through it.And gaze on around.I cut the rhyme up.And move on the track.Here comes the power from the bowels of rap.The hour stumbles.The second unforlds.I'll rip these shackles, then we step for these goals.The hour stumbles.The powers increase.And flowers never fumble when the power is peace.Hard rockin' game from the east.The flower never fumbles, but the brain is the beast.I whisper like an i**** and I roll from the ees.Peace...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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Chord to the socket.
Get it ready.
Shock it. Rocket.
Electric in time.
Get it ready.
Shock it! Rocket!
Guitar on the line.
Let me use it up, right?
In Union... In Union tonight...
ready get it ready.
Flight!
Electric insight.
Lemmy get it right.
Lemmy get it right.
In Union...
The Union...
In Union tonight...
Lemmy get it right.
In Union...
In Union...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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Here we go.
Here we go.
Yo. Say Bronx ain't Brooklin.
Hey, yo, go Brooklin ain't Queens.
Go all the way Manhattan are a few in-betweens.
Say Bronx ain't Brooklin.
But Harlem one piece.
Statin Island swimming in the sea, never cease.
Big up the burrows.
Go Biggy the skies.
What up with heroes?
I rap for you guys...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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Can you see the soul?
Can you see the soul?
Can't you see the totum pole?
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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All day, sniffing for chicks.
My dog, my dog is loving those tricks.
All day, my dog is cute as hell.
But he gets rigid if he doesn’t play well.
Barking on strangers.
Attacking some kids.
My dog is brilliant.
But he’s crazy like this.
Attacking strangers.
And straight for the cars.
My dog is brilliant.
But he’s peeing in yards.
He’s way too violent when we leave in our cars.
Standing in the window, and yelling at yards.
Where you going suckers;
While the day’s burning free.
At least take me with you.
I’ve got doggie needs.
Yeah, my dog’s demanding.
He’s a burly guy.
But sweet and understanding.
He can even cry.
Cry like a baby.
Or run over me.
My dog is something.
So great and so free.
We call him Rico.
He’s more than a pet.
My dog is something.
He’s something; you bet.
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Permalink Reply by Timothy Alan Layne Brusky on -
whats up with that rhyme, it doesn't make any since.
i got somethin for you, stop repeating yourself over and over fool.
you think your all big and cool well you not, so homie i think you
have lost the style you have.
i can't understand can you see the soul, yo man how does that go.
you heard me, now let me see.
this life isn't a dream, it's not a scheam.
but i'll keep rockin with what i have, but i think its time for to take a f***** pill
and go to f***** bed.
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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When they take down the warmth and the glow.
Look now...
The season will flow.
Winter. The winter.
The icy wind-chimes.
Winter. The winter.
The death of our times.
Wind climbs.
The wind-chimes.
The winter unwinds.
yeah...
The white cloud will splinter and snow.
Marks of the season.
The winter we know.
Winter. The winter.
The winter will grow.
The white cloud will turn in the rain.
The white cloud will splinter.
The season again...
Winter. The winter.
The winter remains...
Winter. The winter.
The season disdains.
The winds of the winter.
The season remains.
Fire...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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The Bus
Lights on the city street.
Or the highway, beside.
Souls on the weary feet.
And the people need the ride.
The one ta grin and bear it.
The road rage ta fuss!
The one ta grin and bear it.
Yeah...
And we call that one the bus.
Yeah...
Here come fus!
Right with the real when you take this bus.
Here comes the fire, truss.
Bus...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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I put a Neo-Renaissance into this song.
She's a pretty - pretty thing when she comes along.
So go and tell the other poets up in the frame.
I'm a fourth dimension on another plane.
With a backpack filled up with the right things.
There's freedom in the vision that my good rap brings.
I cold step.
My feet don't hop.
I battle rap.
I battle rap.
I just don't stop...
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Permalink Reply by Romulus Magnellah on
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To Trinity College
Great Trinity, within your aged cast while life unfolds.
Between two parts, in each, another holds.
We flux and flow for passion keeps on standing.
But know we know great science is demanding.
Now a poet hears your cannons.
And he hears your towers's cries.
For I give, to them, the depths,
So they, to me, give skies.
Great Trinity, between my heart, and mind, my poems rise.
Great metaphysic mountain of the steep.
The hands that count, of clocking time still reap.
And semesters fall out faster than the essence of
What old stone still remains to rise above.
Where a third place contemplates between our eyes.
And each may understand.
And hum inside...
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