Don’t Steal My Art

I stand before you grounding myself

Planting myself in this spot.

Not like a seed in Mother Earth

Not like a man’s seed in the womb of a Nubian Goddess

I am standing here before you.

Physically speaking.

Man.

Physically speaking.

I am not the person who shouldered a nation.

Not one whom has picked up arms against the White Devil Establishment.

I didn’t bring with me tools from the Motherland

Or awoke with nightmares of being chained with my African brother’s songs keeping me alive.

Or having the spirit endowment of a continent that is in fear of castration.

Nope.

I’m just a Black Man, born in Harlem, to a teen-aged mother

Who’s father was too caught up in irresponsibility and fucking other Ho’s to stick around.

So why am I up here before you?

I’m here to inundate whomever listens with

words of metaphysical expletives,

then have those words bounce back many times

thus giving me a semblance of a room full of self gratification

and maybe,

just maybe I’ll get it through to a third party.
Become bought.

Finally understand the voices of  Black Poetry.

I mean, I saw the pyramids of Egypt and they didn’t call to me.

I felt the sands of my African ancestors between my toes

…. and by the way, it did more to burn my corns than emotions of traditions lost.

I saw the chains that were used to bring my ancestors to the shores of America.

Ivory Coast to Plymouth Rock.

And I wasn’t mad.

I was more informed if anything else.

Milk and honey that fed mankind,

Rice and beans the food of a nation.

Goya … Oh Boya and 2 for $2.99.
I had food for thought and on my table.

What I guess I’m saying is that I know where I came from.
I know where I am.

And with the resource of mind, body, and spirit, I know I’ll be all right in the future.

I am not lost.

So I ask,
where is my Black poetry?

Where is my hate.

Where is my poor.

I know my History first hand.

I haven’t been whipped, stripped, dipped, raped, castrated, or fucked over.
I don't sing the Blues
and Rap in Rage.
My soul music sooths
and my Jazz music grooves,

so where is my Black poetry?

I can’t see a Celestial Gate held open by a King of Kemet

Or the ancient embodiment of an Isis something or another.

I don’t see African blood washing to the shores of an evil nation,

Or the bludgeoning of a young mind by a legion of devils who fear my penis when I walk into a room.

I never felt it, never saw it, never really cared about it like that.
My conversations with GOD is loving.
My kisses with my Mother loving
and I have my father's eyes.

So where is my Black Poetry?

I am a Black Man

That I know.

I know I can’t escape that shit.

Call me African-American,

call me Nubian,

call me Hemetic,

call me a Warrior,

call me a person of color,

call me a Son of Shabazz,

call me a Son of a Bitch.

But if you have an issue with any of that, I have a Ph.D. in Psychology
so you can call me direct too.

I’m paid by the hour and I round up for the extra minutes.

First initial visit is free
cause I know how you all like the free shit.

Ignorance aside,

I am Black.

Darker than most, privilege even less.

I know I lost 10 cool points from birth

And you know what?

I’m not pissed off cause I always liked being the underdog.

The underestimated.

In me, in you, in her, in him, in us.

Minus 10 cool point for everyone.

We all live in a minus 10 cool points of society.

We are a family of Underdogs.

Minus 10 out of a scale of 1 to 10.

And speaking of Dogs, I’d like to tell you that I cheated before.

I cheated several times.

And did that shit come back on me like a wave of Bad Karma.

You damn right.

Put my Black Ass in the hospital.

So now that I suffered,
I felt that pain.

Where is my Black poetry?

I live alone.

Up in Harlem.

And since then,

I’m still waiting for it to come back.

By the way of time I’ll reach an over ripe, lineal age of half over the hill

Eating cat food,

piss poor health care,

Clintonized ……

and living in a building full of White folk.

Yeah, that’s when Harlem will be back.

I can’t wait.

Along with that last living Black poet.

I missed the Million-Man March

But I sucker punched a cop at the Million Youth March.

I got back 1 cool point for that.

Now I keep thinking “They got my ass on video.”

Like that show on American’s Most Criminal or something.

Yeah, then I’ll get snatched up and serve 40 years for a crime I tried to lie about and said I didn’t commit.
And still I won't get it.

So somebody tell me,

Where is my Black poetry?

 Cause I ain’t got that much time.

Work is the sole property of Shazza Nakim and is published with written permission by the artist.

 (c) Copyright 2013

REVOLUTION

I’ve seen sparks flare and rocks fly

Crashing against brows that pulsate blood

feeding

Knowledge and pride

for a tribe.

my Home,

our family.

It’s a light,

like stars,

that dance

Smack

HARD

And wakes the senses

allowing you,

and everyone present know

that THIS is reality.

Be it live or recorded

you now stand at the front line of the Revolution.

I took a side and it is Hot, and Violent, Physical

Wonderful.

This will be the re-start of that circle in Mayan history

where everything repeats because as Man and Men

we keep forgetting the struggle

That life, liberty and the over pursuit of prosperity

eventually and ultimately

kills us.

Bible Qur'an Torah taught us,

this.

We have embraced humanity’s less exorcised

and re-swallowed pea-soup of bile and blades

served up on money green platters and platinum card dreams.

Swooned and swayed to diamond jingle bells

and shook bags of sugar ‘till it dropped like its Hot.

Cars like deadly caterpillars munching on black filled pipes,

sucking hard on the excremental breast milk of Mother Earth.

People followed and realized that the beat they heard was not of the heart

but of the cellular ringtones from bill collectors calling

cursing your ass out to pay your bills.

It was a beat that burped and belched that your stomach is tight and empty

It was a hollow treble that echoed from your foreclosed home

And the hammer knocking in your neighbor’s lawn

signs reading,

… AND YOU 2 GET THE FUQ OUT.

Here everyone in the land is looking to the sky for a Superman

while rocking back and forth counting beads and molesting crosses

with dirty fingers that once traced remotes that channeled every talk show created.

in this reality sits a people who

stopped singing Negro spirituals praising Jesus …

a long time ago,

and replaced him with Pink Floyd

The gospel:

“We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the class room
(yells) Hey, teachers! Leave those kids alone!”

Because the man got it right:

I and we were just another brick in the Wall.

Praying for simple solutions,

the devil in us turned GOD into DOG

And in return

got a nation that shit and pissed all over each other.

Funny thing about shit and piss,

it is the one true method that dogs communicate

and the World made sure we did not become pedigrees

living in our own American backyard.

Unlike thunder or like lightning, the rumble in the distance

is missing.

No more can we count on the people to carry pitch forks

German Sheppards and high pressure hoes,

or spit and slur words of hate.

This is a different time, a different place

This whole party goes beyond Race.

Mutts, junkyard and strays in our own diversity

where television sells us on the notion that Poor is Fashionable and Cheap is Cool

SPAM is caviar and Ramen noodles is part of the 4 basic food groups.

Holy Men dancing with baby boys and Women becoming famous for their anger and pain,

who could ever image a bunch of dirty kids from New Jersey’s shore

would be the welcoming ambassadors for a generation.

We look around

 and become rabbit when what little is left is thrown in the middle

of a hungry pack,

and we draw blood.

Ethnic blood

 in a frenzy, and we still can’t see that it is all Red.

Because in truth, we are dead inside.

Hollow.

A cesspool of mediocrity and mendacity.

Dank and dark even in our most enlighten moments.

Complacent like meat fried up to give the next generation heartburn and diabetes

We medicate on the idea that we are great only because we are American.

And if we turn down the music, just enough

we just might hear the scant chuckle of Shaitan

and the quite tears of GOD,

opposite ends,

opposite sides of Ying and Yang.

Like the center of the circle in history,

 this is now cause,

 this the catalyst

for

The Revolution.

Work is the sole property of Shazza Nakim and is published with written permission by the artist.

 (c) Copyright 2013 

DEDICATIONALESS

 
 



Jay-Z goes in on Mandela lyrically? Nope. http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/news/jay-z-dedicates-song-to-nelson-mandela-in-la-8997383.html

R.I.P. NELSON MANDELA

BEYOND MYTH AND AND FOKELORE

Why America needs to move through 9/11

OLD HARLEM NEW HARLEM PHOTOGRAPHY EXHIBIT

Harlem, USA: the gentrified forest

by BEVERLY TERRY

When I first heard about the Old Harlem/New Harlem art exhibit, I thought it would display images of old Harlem haunts and residences that no longer exist due to the mighty Gentrification eraser that has been rubbing out mainstay businesses and it’s owners, low to mid income residential areas and the uniqueness of Harlem culture for the past several years.

Instead, what is on display is a photographic story book of Harlem’s human connection, past and present. Exhibit coordinators Lisa Dubois of ’Dubois PhotoArt’ and Renaissance artist, (the poet Shazza) of ‘Peace Of Mind Publishing’, procured 17 photographers, in addition to themselves, to create this homage owed to the many lives that were and are woven into the fabric of what Harlem was and is still striving to continue.

The exhibit encompasses a collaborated body of work that exudes emotion, passion and the true essence of Harlem’s community of old and new.

The artists’ works included are explosive and rendering of heart and soul. Throughout this eclectic exhibition you are met with the diversity that is truly Harlem. This much needed show includes artists from the well-known Harlem and Bronx based photography cooperatives, Kamoinge and Enfoco.

The legendary Kamoinge artists exhibiting in the show are Anthony Barboza, Adger Cowans, Jamel Shabazz, Shawn Walker, June DeLairre Truesdale and John Pinderhughes; they have all provided very moving and enveloping images that take you on a journey through Harlem’s space and time.

Mr. Barboza also helped curate the show along with Ms. Dubois. I caught up with Anthony Barboza, during the opening night of the exhibit.

I asked Mr. Barboza about his style of documentary photography, he replied: “My style is about feeling, feeling of others and feeling of self.”

When I asked Shawn Walker about his style of photography and what keeps his creative energies flowing, he explained: “I ceased calling myself a photographer years ago, I consider myself to be a cultural anthropologist.” He went on to say: “I am an artist, and there is no time when you sit down and say I am going to stop creating art.”

The show displays images from circa 1960’s to present day, every image in the show speaks someone’s life in Harlem, USA.

Also on the roster is former President of the National Conference of Artists (NCA), Kwame Brathwaite “The Keeper of Images”, and his younger brother John Brathwaite. Enfoco’s Sonia Louise Davis and artist, photographer and educator; Dr. Deborah Willis also have work featured in the show.

Kwame Brathwaite's image of the "Godfather of Soul' James Brown on his knees at the Apollo Theatre symbolizes the soul singer's passion and depth.

Rounding out the list of exemplary photographic artists are Harlem Documentarians, Klytus Smith, Lewis Watts, Lenore Brown, Lee White, Burroughs Lamar, Ocean Morisset, Adriana Lopez Sanfeliu, Lisa Dubois and (the poet Shazza).

The spectators included a list of who’s who as well, Senator Bill Perkins and the revered master of Henri Cartier-Bresson's "Decisive Moment", legendary documentary photojournalist Elliott Erwitt was in attendance, Mr. Erwitt expressed that he enjoyed the exhibit. Grand Master Kham, Poet Don Raphel and writer Playthell Benjamin and Wynton Marsalis’ road photographer Ernest Gregory was also in attendance. Also in attendance was Renauld White, the first African-American model to appear on the cover of GQ magazine.

Although the show is filled with iconic Harlem images from Barboza, Walker, Brathwaite, Shabazz, Lamar, Pinderhughes and so many others, the one series that stands out in my memory were the images captured by the Barcelona, Spain photographer Adriana Lopez Sanfeliu. In her still documentary, 'Life on the Block' the study of young Puerto Rican women and their families living in Spanish Harlem, she documents the family in its natural emotional life setting, no frills at all.. In addition, Lenore Brown’s images encourage you to explore beyond the photo and seek the actual story living within them.

Ms Sanfeliu stated: “Although the family allowed me to document them, early on they would refer to me as the feds, (laughs) despite my Latina heritage.”

We must commend these artists on their commitment to documenting and preserving these images of the human connection of Harlem, every photo represents the embodiment of an exclusive part of NYC that produced the Harlem Renaissance, the Apollo Theater, Sylvia’s soul food restaurant, the Cotton Club, and Harlem’s diverse community of people who brought and brings life to the Harlem kaleidoscope.

The Old Harlem/New Harlem Photo exhibit will be on display through August 31st, at the following:

The Rio II Gallery, 7th floor – Penthouse
Broadway Housing Communities
583 Riverside Drive, New York, NY
Gallery hours 10:00am – 5:00pm Mon – Fri.

Facebook: OLD HARLEM/NEW HARLEM EXHIBIT

OLYMPICS 2012 - AN EXERCISE IN WHITE BREAD ... NO BUTTER

WHY GABBY THOMAS MATTERS

http://news.yahoo.com/the-white-world-of-sports--what-gabby-douglas%E2%80%99-vault-into-olympic-history-means.html

Tribute to the Ancestors Coney Island 2012

THE LOSS OF INTERGITY AND ACCOUNTABILITY

Gil Noble

Mike Wallace

WHY EVERY BLACK CHILD IS TRAYVON MARTIN

There is the Truth and the Bold Lie. Florida, the Media (paper, local and cable) and those that just want to oppose what is obvious have, since the day of the shooting, been trying to find justification and (fictitious) evidence to exonerate David Zimmerman. The events and actions were clear from the start. It was very cut and dry. The more the other side pushes with their desire to apply justification for an innocent child's murder, the more uber-evidence comes to the surface. Almost like an erupting volcano. Just this video alone shows that the reports of a "life-and-death" struggle fall flat.

There is one thing about having an open mind and another to look for reasons to reject the truth. THIS IS ONE OF THEM. What the nation (Florida) is struggling with is accepting that not only was this a CHILD but a child that did not fit the psychological profile that has been brainwashed into its psyche ... the THUG, the Criminal, the Dangerous Boogie Man-Child. It speaks to proving that this nation has a deeply rooted psychological "need" to categorize and profile based on looks, dress and mannerisms. Whites are even (slowly) starting to acknowledge that if the role/races were reversed, Trayvon and the nation would be calling for the DEATH PENALTY. This even exposes how People of Color, Creeds and sexualities have to exercise CODE SWITCHING so that they can function in society. When Black families have to TEACH their children how not to walk, talk, act, dress, eat, sing, dance, play, respond, stare, smile, associate, travel, drive, shop, study, write, work, travel, worship, vote etc. for fear of being "misinterpreted" ... how any action or normal behavior will be subject to an error in judgement or confrontation ... or the end result will be adding them to the thousands of Black and Brown children being shoot all over the country ... you don't pull a Rick Perry and say, "Opps" and keep it moving. This is what the Florida police tried to do and found out that Black people were not going to let it happen.

The media tried to ignore it and deem it as "another common Black child shot" story and they were in error. If the police and media had done their job, there would not be the national rallies, social media barrages, community marches, Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson on call. But when you ignore the facts and ignore the reality of murder, looking for "another truth" , you are simply copping out for not wanting to take off the Rose Colored Glasses and seeing the events as they are.

Geraldo Rivera is catching Hell for his statement that it was Trayvon's hoodie and or his parent's fault for "allowing" him to wear Thug Clothing ... the same clothing that every college and university child wears. Even worst, the police did a FULL toxicology and autopsy and found NOTHING. Where was Zimmerman's tests on that day and a "citizen who killed someone? Now they are trying to brand Trayvon as a school trouble maker and drug user/dealer. NOT TRUE.

Stand Your Ground is a law that was to protect innocent people attacked within their homes, businesses or in protecting their property from an aggressor. NOT a person looking to play TOP COP with known psychological issues. Maybe I have dedicated myself to gathering all the information I can on this case and trust me, the evidence from the other side is all weak and non-existent. But for the idea of two truths ... there is only one and all the evidence points to it. Now its up to Florida to show its TRUE COLORS.

THE PASSING OF MY MENTOR

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had the great honor to salute my mentor's time on this Earth and give condolences to the entire Payne Family for their loss. God give save passing to the soul of Donald Payne and thank you for all the work you had accomplished as a politician in Congress. 

 http://politic365.com/2012/03/06/kendrick-meek-reflects-on-passing-of-rep-donald-m-payne/

 

 

 

http://www.theroot.com/blogs/blogging-beltway/new-jersey-rep-donald-payne-has-died

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/06/donald-payne-dead-new-jersey-congressman-cancer_n_1323513.html