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Below is a selection of poems, verses and free expressions that I have shared on social media platforms within the past 10 years. The 10 writings below are not all my best works but they are great shares, I hope you like. If you want to see/hear my best works I am sure you will want to purchase my book when it releases in 2022. Please check back here for updates and the release.
~Cre8iv1
“Paragraph. Period.” (9 out of 30 National Poetry Month)
I wish I could paint a pretty picture and pretend I perform perfectly but I am a partial person and I don't presume to be pretentious about my problematic past or present. Nor does it bring me pleasure to posture like my position is far above par. Previously I plagiarized importance and penciled my pontifications on practically everything and I would probably still promote a preposterous pattern of permanent precision if I was still practicing pumping my own pom-pom's. So that my self perception is practical I am now policing my opinions, posts and public participation in order to prevent upholding false presentations of myself and not a pedal a putrid persona that pushes my off my pitiful parts as precipitation when they are essentially as poisonous as piss. Period.
"Day two" (2 of 30 National Poetry month)
Barely day 2,
Moments after day 1,
20 minutes past to be exact.
But what can change in 20 minutes?
Maybe nothing,
Maybe everything.
Maybe her mind,
Maybe my mind.
Or maybe the moon just falls and the sun just rises,
After midnight.
But there's something special about midnight.
Midnight the time of day,
And midnight the permanent address.
There's something truly depressing and something profoundly inspirational occurring at Midnight.
Then reoccurring at midnight.
At the time I should be asleep,
yet the time I am most awake.
My pen scratches pages, my thumbs scroll,
Or my eyes stare up, projecting daydreams on blank white ceilings. Right before my eyes close and my mind stares up, projecting nightdreams on deep black infinite spaces.
Midnight; the black space at the intersection of my right and left brain, at the center of the roundtable where my inner Democrat and inner Republican argue or the center of the ring where my inner balance puts them both in a headlock. Midnight my healthy dose of reality, my teacher. Because something about the friction of change makes midnight my torcher chamber and my torcher chamber my creative space.
Midnight.
Midnight, either an ugly war,
An indifferent parallel
Or a beautiful marriage!
A weird contrast between an infinite darkness and a rising sun.
With me in the middle choosing between freezing black or burning white. Wrestling my belief that one side is better and wondering that if I shake my tendency to lean would either freezing or burning become either warm or cool.
Here I am between standing and leaning, between the black and white veil.
Confused as all hell yet aware as all heaven.
There is nothing like change to let you know you have a pulse. And there is nothing on earth that doesn't have its 12:00am.
Right between goodbye and good morning
Right between picking up and hanging up
The point where you realize you are never either coming nor going, neither leaving nor staying rising nor falling nor any other absolute. When you realize you are not one or the other but just one another. When you realize there's something home about midnight.
The point of contact
A point of friction
A point of separation
A point of clarity
An intersection
An intercourse
A death
A birth
A reincarnation
A synapse
A sin, a saint
A center
A balance
Both grounded and flying
Midnight
Poem: TREASURE LIES BENEATH
Everywhere you look, treasures lie beneath
Did you know there is a message in silence,
opportunity in defeat,
Truth in lies and that action is a speech?
Are you aware there are diamonds in the dirt
worlds inside you
poverty inside money
and richness in your view
do you see there are promises inside nothing
and potential inside empty
do you sometimes hear devil in the word development
can you believe sometimes its more advanced to live simply
and there is more power in people than in the people of power
did you know imperfection is perfect for you
And you can see a reflection of god in your mirror
can you believe darkness is a form of light
death is a form of birth
and a rock is a form of life
have you seen the adults inside children
and the children inside adults, and the innocence inside everyone
look close enough and you will see rises in falls
ups inside downs
and rainbows inside storms
everywhere you look; know treasure lies beneath
and even in poop you will find fertilizer
Poem: MISSING MY CHILD
I had my child but now I've lost him.
I remember my child would dance in the rain
And to him it was fun and exciting
I need to find him so he can remind me that it is not wet and cold
Thunder wasn’t loud to him it was awesome
And a storm meant maybe he would see a rainbow
I need to find him again because only he could turn my life into an adventure
Reality into fantasy, an object into a toy, a task into a game
And a space into anything he imagined
I wish he was here to make this moment into a jungle expedition, an underwater excursion, a treasure island or a battle coliseum where good triumphed over evil
Cuz now that hes gone all I can see is a large room
Its like on my path to educate my brain I went too far and educated my heart
And now I make too much sense,
and trying to make sense out of everything is nonsense
my child had the purest heart
he could smile through anything, he ran everywhere, jumped on everything
and the best thing about him was when he would fall
that sounds like a funny thing to admire but it was such a gift
he would always learn so quick, and he would always bounce right back
he wouldn’t make a mistake the same way twice
but to him mistakes were okay and they were normal…to me that was so healthy
I cant wait till I find my child again
Cuz I cant remember the last time I fell
Poem: Sister Lock’s
I want to tell you a story about my sister’s and the strength of black women united.
But first let me tell you a story about my sister locks...
My sister locks are always on my mind.
They are more than an accessory,
they give me more than style.
My sister locks are part of me, inseparable.
Where I move they move.
They don’t look good, we look good.
They don’t smell nice, we smell nice.
And since we have expensive taste...
these are not just any ole sister locks,
these are the most fabulous sisters around…
I mean sister locks...around.
My sister locks are brown, just like me.
But it’s not just about how fly they look,
it’s about what they represent.
Each hair telling a different story,
originating from separate points,
yet sharing the same foundation.
These locks we’re always sisters,
even before they were locked.
Always thick and reaching for the sun.
Always African, Yyaaasss always African.
So maybe these sisters were destine to lock,
Because like the old African proverb says;
sisters....oops I mean hair…
can grow far alone, but grows farther together.
Stop me if I go too far, but before I tell you about my sister’s and the strength of black women united, let me tell you a few more thing about my sister locks.
These locks dance with me.
They know my moves, they share my rhythm.
They are free, they freestyle .
They are as poetic, as the idea that *locks,
can also be keys.
These locks have been with me for years.
They have seen tears no other eyes have
seen and they will see smiles wider.
These sister locks are rooted deep in me.
Extending from my head,
and from my heart.
Even ones it seems I have lost,
I can still feel bouncing when I walk,
each strand remembering each by nay’me,
each standing in support of their fellow sister
…...lock.
Sorry, I really wanted to tell you a story about my sister’s and the power of black women united, but it seems I am out of time. This time, you will just have to trust me when I say;
“if you think my sister locks are tight…
wait till you see me and my sister’s.”
Sister Locks: A Poem/Holiday gift for (NAY’s girls)
Secret Black Safe!
You create a place
where black is safe! where black is safe!
where black is safe! where black is safe! Yo!
you create a place
where black is safe! where black is safe!
where black is safe! where black is safe!
I swear I'm looking for a place, where I aint gotta wear a cape
or be the fastest in the race, to ever come in last place
Damn can I feel safe, and not an option on a plate
trapped, physically encased, being spiritually chased
......, im not the only one I know it
unraveling but too proud to show it
they wouldnt judge if they knew pride was heroic
and it saved us, but its hard to outgrow it
So im, half wrong, all guilty cuz im minority
society and myself is at war with me
& this mask is the only thing thats guarding me
& it also be their excuse to not acknowledge me
....., Lets focus on my mask,
im overcompensating for these whip marks on my ass
yeah I know its hard but but please consider my past
& know its just as hard for me to accept my half & still laugh
learned to survive alone, on my own, free to roam
& i know that dont make for a happy home, thats shown
excuse me for what ive never known, now known
not much excuse for things that i prolong cuz im grown,
I just pray you see this eagle mask aint me
& That doesnt mean i get to cop an innocent plea
but that some of my wrongs arent between you and me
know its alot to ask but ill still ask you see
even the day we first met i was fighting me
Poem: Chande.lie.r
No forgiveness
For those who offend privelage
So your cry for help better not tarnish my image
And your gasps for breathe better be silent as the wind is
Or ill be forced to keep you quiet no matter how light your skin is
This is not your democracy this is a demolition
You are vacant and your house is mine for the acquisition
You call em nightmares those are just my traditions
And what I feel at the moment determines my jurisdiction
You are not a person your just a puny extension
Of my alter ego you don’t have rights just permission
Ha! I am your teacher, your doctor your politician
I will dictate your life from a room you will never sit in
From way up here just know that the air I piss in
Will be just a yellow fog by the time it reaches your vision
Breathe!
Don’t try to struggle that venus fly trap you live in
Will tighten around your freedom like all the oxygens missing
Ha! I let the middle class, taste some of the filling
They want to eat their cake too, their sharing it with their children
Then I slip in and blur the human condition
You’ll all forget that im pimping, you’ll kill for higher position
As long as I keep the blood out of your vision
so what you do indirectly dont interact with your feelings
Your heart will bleed empty before you know that its dripping
And all those familiar faces you used to see as your siblings
Will be unnecessary traffic you see as blocking your mission
Now your armed and you’ll aim at anything different
ill give you some propaganda to help fan your division
your income matches your media, I’ll provide contradictions
so you can fight over chitlains
And with big brother blurred you’ll serve eachother convictions
The middle will kill the low, by first creating the distance
Using massaa tools for division not seeing their bottom bitchin
Truth, we hear the whispers and never sniff out the difference
Between Gods voice and devils in ear whispering
Vain would they hear a poor righteous premonition
As loud as their chande.lie.r glistens
The First Stone
LightSpeed Morning reflection 11/19/13:
People are forgetful.
And the ego loves when we forget.
When we forget the people and the circumstances in our life that helped to raise us as high as we are.
And then with our head in the clouds we attribute our success to ourselves, as if our greatness was as simple as a choice that we made.
Those are the invisible works of the ego, whispering subtle delusions.
Subtle delusions that are as invisible and as deadly to our humanity as carbon monoxide.
From this self-made pedestal of delusion; we stone any and all we imagine as below us.
failing to remember we traveled paved roads of friends, family, teachers, and inspirational experiences.
We were guided through channels of pain and love, some of which we had no control or choice over.
Failing to reflect and accept that we climbed up supports, ropes and ladders to get this high,
Hence failing to become the pavement, ladder, rope or voice up high for the "lower classes" or unguided travelers.
Our ego whispers “We chose…..So why don’t they” though even for us it was never that simple.
The commands of our ego are silent but deadly. As powerful as a tsunami, yet as quiet as sign language. So easily we are washed away by forgetfulness.
Failing to remember that we had a support system, hence failing to become a support system to those who need us most.
And we are in no position to judge, and we shouldnt look at those we deem low; except as ourselves under different circumstances.
In reality we should be humbled and challenging ourselves to the questions;
What makes us so separate?, which one of us is self sustainable?
Self made? Who are we kidding?
What kind of ropes will we throw?
An uplifting rescue?
Or a judgmental noose?
Welcome To Roxbury!
Where is Roxbury?
The valley of the shadow? A short fall from the Stony brook? The soil below Jackson Square, the dark side of Roxbury Crossing, OR…. in the terms coined by a rose named Ashley; “the other” Side of Ruggles?
What is Roxbury?
A bunch of streets? Columbus Ave, the Fort Hill area, Dudley Square, Dudley Street, Elm Hill, Humboldt Ave, Seaver, Warren, Intervale, Quincy, Washington , Blue Hill Ave, the Grove Hall area? What is Roxbury?
Is it the Projects?
Madison Park Projects, Orchard Gardens aka OP, St Joes, Charlame, Mission Hill, aka Mission Projects, Bromley Heath aka Heath street Projects, Academy Homes aka “the A” the light side and dark side, Egleston Square aka Eggie; can they stand forever, were they ther forever? What is Roxbury?
Is it connections established?
Goods exchanged, smiles returned at A Nubian Notion, The Dudley Library, the Geek Squad, Joes, Ujis, Everything Isreal Barbershop, Silver Slipper, The Freedom House, Merengue, Mr. G’s Plaza, Haley House, The Shelburne Center, the lady who sells slushies at Malcolm X park and all the local businesses that share Roxbury history.
What is this Roxbury? that it was worthy of minds like Malcolm, Martin, and other great leaders?
Where is this Roxbury? that Elma Lewis would serve there and Chuck Turner would defend it?
Who is this Roxbury? Brother of the human rights struggle, gentrified cousin of the south end, Neighbor of Dorchester, friend of Mattapan. Who is this Roxbury? enemy of news reports, stepchild of Boston, stone the builders rejected, neglected, and arrested before they invested in that rock buried in their dirt done.
Roxbury!
To them a welcome mat, A flower to pluck
To me a backyard, a front yard, a playground, a 1st school
A temple, a masjid, where my friends churches are
Where my knees scraped, where my tears fell
Roxbury!
Where I learned my own name where I climbed trees
I joined my first team there, learned to take the right shot, share the ball
To not play foul, and that good defense will beat any offence against me there in…..
Roxbury!
Ground of my mother’s footsteps, Porch of my elders, home of my childhood memories
Fresh Air after my 9 to 5 shift
Place where I am called by my name, in a world where I am a stranger
That Roxbury!
Our Roxbury!
Have you seen him lately? Was his face redone?
Are his kids okay? Did you ask him?
Was it the right Roxbury? The one that is larger than numbers
You Know! the one in the heart of the Boston that is not just 857 or 617
You Know! the Roxbury that is not just 02119
The one that is not just a luxury apartment
… worth more than a million dollars
… more than prime real estate
The real Roxbury?
Have you seen her lately?
Was her face redone?
Are her kids okay? Did you ask her?
The buildings or the person?
Who Is Roxbury?
Not the miseducated and mislableled one
Not the one that was red lined, not even the one that runs along the orange line
Not the one that was incarcerated then released against itself,
In the 80’s, then again in the 90’s then again in the thousands, not that one
Not the one that was economically punished to later be affordably purchased
Not the one you heard about in the news, not the one you met on the new streets
Not the one that could no longer afford new Boston
And so moved to respectable communities like Quincy,
Chelsea, Revere, Saugus, Worcester, Fall River & Brockton
Im talking about the Roxbury those communities fell in love with
The seeds of Roxbury, the fruit of Roxbury
That grow roots and blossom everywhere we are
The ones that can never be gentrified because…
The minute you look our eyes
You know where is Roxbury!
& You know what is Roxbury!
& You Know who is Roxbury because..
I….am….Roxbury!
We are Roxbury!
We are Roxbury!
(We are Roxbury!)
Welcome to Roxbury!
Morning Reflection: Ego Whispers
LightSpeed Morning reflection:
People are forgetful.
And the ego loves when we forget.
When we forget the people and the circumstances in our life that helped to raise us as high as we are.
And then with our head in the clouds we attribute our success to ourselves, as if our greatness was as simple as a choice that we made.
Those are the invisible works of the ego, whispering subtle delusions.
Subtle delusions that are as invisible and as deadly to our humanity as carbon monoxide.
From this self-made pedestal of delusion; we stone any and all we imagine as below us.
failing to remember we traveled paved roads of friends, family, teachers, and inspirational experiences.
We were guided through channels of pain and love, some of which we had no control or choice over.
Failing to reflect and accept that we climbed up supports, ropes and ladders to get this high,
Hence failing to become the pavement, ladder, rope or voice up high for the "lower classes" or unguided travelers.
Our ego whispers “We chose…..So why don’t they” though even for us it was never that simple.
The commands of our ego are silent but deadly. As powerful as a tsunami, yet as quiet as sign language. So easily we are washed away by forgetfulness.
Failing to remember that we had a support system, hence failing to become a support system to those who need us most.
And we are in no position to judge, and we shouldnt look at those we deem low; except as ourselves under different circumstances.
In reality we should be humbled and challenging ourselves to the questions;
What makes us so separate?, which one of us is self sustainable?
Self made? Who are we kidding?
What kind of ropes will we throw?
An uplifting rescue?
Or a judgmental noose?