Featuring Sir AMP (The Cunning Linguist of KU)
Apathetic Desires:
guiltless appetites, consuming neophytes
consumptive apathy, reductionist strategies
messianic deliveries in the church of greed
emotional bulimia succeeding gratuitous feed
antipathetic collectivists, antiseptic strategists
hygienic demagogues white-washing moral fabrics
prophesied enlightenment? heliotropes are morally anemic
cathartic practices oxygenate while you morally asphyxiate
guilt subsumed within the democratic machinations
squeeze the lungs tighter constricting inhalations
air pressure rises and release becomes imminent
consumptive fires spread through the bellows exhalations
omniscient eyes prime
seismographic paradigm
more, but why?
pandora’s box opens
unfulfilling prophecies
dreams startled awake
the omniscient eye of a free-market conspiracy
emblazons subliminal visuals inside and outside the enigmatic psyche
mass-produced psychology syncopating automatons’ rhythms
producing mechanized didacts propagating cloned seeds
guilt at the vanguard of the battle scence
white-washed stigmas legislate proper hygiene
pseudonyms make the planet shine - they wanna keep the race clean
kaleidoscopic imperialism shining underneath the green
supplemental cultural narratives are replacing moral imperatives
hermeneutic context is industrial appeal
unsung questions capitulate to tyrannical prerogatives
get past the mask to find what the subterfuge reveals
helplessly we wait
apathy consumes action
guilt sheds like snake skin
manumitted emotions enslave sovereigns’ burgeoning potential
inaction fuels the embers of the fires
what refuge remains is ostensibly inconsequential
the appetitive gluttony of apathetic desires
AMP is new to the Black Tuesday Collective. Bringing an Environmental/Literary/Activist approach to the African American experience, AMP is a true scholar and gifted linguist.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Guest Poet Coming to the Stage...
Real Talk Vol.3
I was birthed to a generation that has conditioned itself to promote selfishness
A generation that prides itself in screaming "look what i got!" and broadcasting what you dont have
Flossin
And instead of seeing that we all struggle
We steady tossin ourselves to the sharks of vices and big businesses
When what we missin is that our culture, in itself, has become big business
See execs sit at long tables, debating over ways to maximize their profits off of our ignorance
And we let em
We’ve divided ourselves senselessly, a people that once had the
Potential to be the supreme example of unity
Now, black youth grow up with a distorted view of "by any means", coming up with dreams of cars and big necklaces that, to me, resemble slave chains
Something went wrong
Somewhere in between all those old church songs and today's 50 Cent
We lost our common sense on how to maintain
But honestly, who do we blame?
Cause I dont think its just rap music
And hip hop never asked to raise our kids
So maybe we should step up and take responsibility for our own, or we'll keep missin out on what the real problem is
Understand that before all the Don Imuses and Micheal Richardson's, the problem still remained
And if every rapper in the world disappeared today, things would still be the same
But, this game has never really changed
Way back, slave masters use to put us to shame by tearing apart the family
Removing the male and disrupting the mother's sanity by forcing her to breed more workers
With no man in the home, women were left alone with the task of raising boys into men who would one day grow up to be fathers
And today, black fathers are now viewed as an endangered species
Standing as a testament to Willie Lynch's means of destruction
Corruption now sweeps through our neighborhoods
Leaving no trace of name or identity
And it leaves me to question if this is how God meant it to be
Because, how could a people so beautiful and gifted, so easily be lifted out of our natural course
I dont have all the answers, but I do know that, unless we force ourselves to become our own biggest critics, then young black boys and girls will continue to turn up as statistics on the daily news
And we'll continue to be misviewed as a people without hope
...But I'm not having it
Because for every drug advocate, there's a college graduate
And for every pacifist, there's an activist
We just have to decide that we will no longer hide behind the shadows of self-destruction
Because somewhere, there's and 11 year old child who's silently screaming for instruction
His eyes are as big as the Moon
And his imagination has the type of innocense that would move masses
As he sits in his room, he slowly puts on his glasses and his backpack to get ready for school
In his left hand is a revolver and in his right hand is a textbook
And if none of us are strong enough to stop him, we'll look up and lose this child who used to believe that he could grow up to change the world
And I cant live with that on my conscience
....Can U?
David Abdullah Muhammad aka "Brotha Newz" 2007
David was born in Kansas City, MO and currently resides in Overland Park,KS
He is a Senior at Emporia State University, majoring in Secondary Education (Social Sciences). David has aspirations of teaching high school and running a successful martial arts school. Beyond that, Brotha Newz continues to write dope pieces, make Hajj, and search for a woman who will be his queen, mother, and father.
I was birthed to a generation that has conditioned itself to promote selfishness
A generation that prides itself in screaming "look what i got!" and broadcasting what you dont have
Flossin
And instead of seeing that we all struggle
We steady tossin ourselves to the sharks of vices and big businesses
When what we missin is that our culture, in itself, has become big business
See execs sit at long tables, debating over ways to maximize their profits off of our ignorance
And we let em
We’ve divided ourselves senselessly, a people that once had the
Potential to be the supreme example of unity
Now, black youth grow up with a distorted view of "by any means", coming up with dreams of cars and big necklaces that, to me, resemble slave chains
Something went wrong
Somewhere in between all those old church songs and today's 50 Cent
We lost our common sense on how to maintain
But honestly, who do we blame?
Cause I dont think its just rap music
And hip hop never asked to raise our kids
So maybe we should step up and take responsibility for our own, or we'll keep missin out on what the real problem is
Understand that before all the Don Imuses and Micheal Richardson's, the problem still remained
And if every rapper in the world disappeared today, things would still be the same
But, this game has never really changed
Way back, slave masters use to put us to shame by tearing apart the family
Removing the male and disrupting the mother's sanity by forcing her to breed more workers
With no man in the home, women were left alone with the task of raising boys into men who would one day grow up to be fathers
And today, black fathers are now viewed as an endangered species
Standing as a testament to Willie Lynch's means of destruction
Corruption now sweeps through our neighborhoods
Leaving no trace of name or identity
And it leaves me to question if this is how God meant it to be
Because, how could a people so beautiful and gifted, so easily be lifted out of our natural course
I dont have all the answers, but I do know that, unless we force ourselves to become our own biggest critics, then young black boys and girls will continue to turn up as statistics on the daily news
And we'll continue to be misviewed as a people without hope
...But I'm not having it
Because for every drug advocate, there's a college graduate
And for every pacifist, there's an activist
We just have to decide that we will no longer hide behind the shadows of self-destruction
Because somewhere, there's and 11 year old child who's silently screaming for instruction
His eyes are as big as the Moon
And his imagination has the type of innocense that would move masses
As he sits in his room, he slowly puts on his glasses and his backpack to get ready for school
In his left hand is a revolver and in his right hand is a textbook
And if none of us are strong enough to stop him, we'll look up and lose this child who used to believe that he could grow up to change the world
And I cant live with that on my conscience
....Can U?
David Abdullah Muhammad aka "Brotha Newz" 2007
David was born in Kansas City, MO and currently resides in Overland Park,KS
He is a Senior at Emporia State University, majoring in Secondary Education (Social Sciences). David has aspirations of teaching high school and running a successful martial arts school. Beyond that, Brotha Newz continues to write dope pieces, make Hajj, and search for a woman who will be his queen, mother, and father.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
For those who don't know me, I spit. When I say I spit, I mean I rap...on occasion. And, I'm not bad. At least I think I'm better than most of the people you hear on the radio. Needless to say, when Docta' Carter invited me to write on his blog, it was perfection. It fit. But as of yet, I have not placed any of my work on here. I'm usually afraid to. I like what I write and have every intention of using any worthwhile bar I put together. However, I wrote a set the other day. It will inevitably be an album opener in the future, but I wanted to put it on here. So, as Missy Elliott once said, "copy written so don't copy me." I can't stand biters, as if anyone on here is prepared to take on my lyrics in a public arena. You'd have to be an idiot. Thank God I am.
There's a title for this, but I'm never going to say it outright. I want people to choose their own titles. It will mean different things to different people. Any questions, just ask:
There's a title for this, but I'm never going to say it outright. I want people to choose their own titles. It will mean different things to different people. Any questions, just ask:
I pledge allegiance
To the salvation of the nation
The end of brown incarceration
To the death of assimilation
I swear my dedication
To equalitarian integration
Even if it means separation
Cause I will neither hate
Nor wait
On any caucasian
For my emancipation
My soul's vexation
Is false representation
Borne of ofay media motivation
H.E.R. commercialization
A product of capitalist dollarization
My persistent dis-representative spiritual taxation
Will only turn this slow burn
Into a cultural conflagration
My small ax
Will fight back
Without the slightest hesitation
I embody individualization
But have never forgotten my communal originations
Though you attempt my homogenization
I will not fall prey to your monolithic presentations
Force fed criminal acculturation
And societal dreg inebriation
I will not be your photo negative imitation
Nor your self-indulgent propogandation
Through our collective demonization
I will uproot the very foundations
Of your glorified civilization
Not liberal but independent
Revolutionary 'til we finish...
~Complex
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