Saturday, May 5, 2012


This whole movement is everything to me right now,  check out the tribe here or on Facebook

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

7/30 - Do it

As expected, i have not committed
I am day 7 on day 9
I am more excuses than action
more procrastination than passion

The past couple of days
I have been Shots and Slots machine
Bright lights and Fine Cuisine
Not writing, and editing
moreso drinking and betting

I plan to finish what I started
Plan to commit to the purpose
30 poems in thirty days
I plan to write with purpose
catch up grind time
I will finish line.

I will game winner this

To be honest, when it comes to my art
It's always been hard to commit, in fact
The only thing in my life
I have ever fully committed to,
is laying right next to me
And I'm okay with that

Monday, April 9, 2012

(6/30) love letter of sorts...

On my flight to Indianapolis
I arrived at the gate
grabbed my briefcase navigated my way to see you.
Imagine my face,
shocked as your peers kept passing me by
taunting me as if to say
we are exactly as we should be..and you were not
I waited 15 minutes,
until the conveyor belt stopped moving...
and the reality hit me that you were not coming
at that moment I got so worried about you
I imagined you all alone on the Tarmac
wheels locked in fright
unable to roll to me
with a flare in your right hand.
Desperately asking to be collected,
at that moment,
as is human nature in moments of tragedy like this
I started thinking about the worse case scenarios
what if you were bag-napped
and now on your way to china
to be sold into the international bag trade...

I imagine a shop owner in Beijing...
running his hands against you
trying to decide what pile to throw you in,
I can see the mans face that will find you
digging thru the rubble of our broken love..
and pulling you out like he just won the bag Olympics...

he will not love you like I do...

I start thinking about all the good times we had...
remember that trip we took to Vegas??...
we were in Planet Hollywood at Earl of sandwich...
That was the day I nicknamed you bag-ette...
I wonder if you will send me postcards
of all the place you and your new man will go...
will he treat you as good as I,
will he tie ribbons on you
letting everyone else know that you are unique
that we belong together
will he let you lay across the sheets as he unpacks you,
like I do,
or will he think you are too dirty for the good linen.
And put you in a corner to sit until he needs u again
I imagine me tracking him down and busting in
just in time to push him over
and shout from the sharpest edge of my voicebox...
nobody puts baby in the corner!!

I can't believe this is happening

I gathered myself
walked up to customer service
said that I could not find you...
she's says are you Mr Simms I said yes
getting anxious - she said we found your bag...
my knees took a deep breath
my heart wiped it's forehead,

But the next words she would say
the next words that backflipoed of her tongue
would slice my heart into pieces like
sushi night at a yakuza birthday party

She said that they found you in Miami
I connected the dots like an ip address...
out of all the cities in the world you ended up in Miami?!?!?
Your favorite city?
Do I look stupid to you baggie,
here I am worried sick, and you got missing on purpose...
I imagine the baggage carts intersecting...
I imagine you James bonding yourself onto the cart with perfect timing,
the baggage handlers probably were never even on to you,
did you put on a reflective jacket
grab one of those light sticks, as a cover..

Did you look both ways
as you rolled across the street at Miami international,
I already know how you did it,
blended in with a group foreigners,
I bet you wore those ridiculous shades
I bought for you in Australia, to try to blend in...

Did you make it to south beach baggie,
sitting in a beach chair eating a Cuban sandwich and sipping a mohijto...

how dare you,
after all we been through...
I know you did not like going to Indy,
I did not either but I told you it was just a means to an end
but in the end you made your choice didn't you,
so now I will make mine...
I'm done with you cause you have treated this love so savage...
And at the end of the day this entire relationship
you have just been so much baggage

Thursday, April 5, 2012

(4/30) A poem for Craig Sonner

(craig Sonner is Zimmermans lawyer, defending the trayvon case)

I find myself wondering a lot about you,
I wonder if – your human
conflicts with your occupation,
under your cloak and daggers
I hope your heart is crimson
even if your pockets are money green
do the scales of justice
leave your skin leathery in the morning
leave your coffee curdling in your stomach
I wonder if you are conflicted

I wonder about your dreams
Are they Barb-wired
hunger gamed
do they kill kids for sport
kids, that did not ask
to get caught in your circus of a system
Do you dream in color,
All Gun metal and bloodsport

Does your guilt have teeth
does it gnaw at your conscience
Does it raise the bar
Next to your test scores and degrees,
is it hollow or quarreled
empty or clashed
Craig, I want you to know,
either way, this ends badly for you

Do you think of his girlfriend,
the Gun shot bouncing around
her panic room ear drums.
Her locker room of cold sweats
the scream for help
she will never be able to forget.
The taste of her choking back tears - is so for real
she will always dream of candy coated raindrops
Cause that night her rainbow was stolen
muzzle flashed
what images do you conjure in your brain
do you think,
what does gunpowder know of swimming
what did the shell casing say to the pool of blood

Justice is blind
but on February 26th 2012
reality carried a firearm
and Kurt cobained
a black boys teen spirit
there is not a knife sharp enough
to slice this any other way then wrong

I imagine your opening statement
Your court room cool
as you convince a jury of my peers
that Zimmerman was acting in self-defense
will your heart get nervous
will your soul be butterflies or chisels
will your chain-link smile
drag you to drinking
Drive you to ambien
how will you muscle relax your heath ledger
Will your daughter still think you a hero
or will you live long enough to see yourself become a villain

I researched you,
The Orlando Sentinel said you are active in your church
a Cub Scout leader, who raced sailboats in your youth
will you pray before you enter the court room
“dear god, allow me to help this murderer go free”

It stated that you are a black belt in aikido*
the irony in that could write its own poem
you have 2 kids - 1 boy – age 7
in the snake pit of your stomach
do you really feel that this has nothing to do with race?
In 10 years your son will be scouts honor and scholarships
he will not be wrong place wrong time
will you fear him walking to a friend’s house
wearing his Harvard hoodie?
-you won’t-
due to the pitch of his skin tone
the Neighborhood watch man will not bat an eye
will not think him dangerous
Can you see treyvons face in your sons pupils

I wonder about your resolve
in the board room of your brain
do you have meetings with your morals
do you feel like what you are doing is right.
Or do you not care
After all
he’s black,
No use in crying over spilt tea

*a form of self-defense that allows practitioners to defend themselves without injuring their attacker. He teaches classes in it twice a week in Orlando.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

anonomyous (3/30)

A poem that i liked by an anonomyous author

If I had a boat
I would sail the sea
And dream of an ocean
so it could understand jealously

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Sasha fierce, Clark Kent, or other alter egos (2/30)

I work for a consultancy on Wall St
The next few lines are for context, not for boasting
I am not part of the 1% but I am not far away
I build Derivative trading platforms for people
who don’t give a fuck about you
I pay more in taxes a year, than most of my friends make
This is the truth, not conjecture,
not gratification for the hip-hop culture in me
I try not to be Righetous - of - self
Sometimes I fail in this...
I don’t go to clubs if I am not buying a table
I am running out of room for stamps in my passport
I understand the privilege in my problems
my 1st world-ness

I struggle constantly
about feeling proud of my accomplishments
or guilty
I am a black man, first generation college student
my mother is proud of me.
There are hollow voices that echoed in slave ships for me to be here
My great-grandfathers withered hands
My grandfather’s worn knees
My father’s wandering mind
All scream for me to be here
Don't they?
I have worked so hard, to be right where I am
for you to read my rights
and my wrongs
truth is...
I want to be rich
I want a big ass boat
A house with a gate, to keep you out
And a phantom in the driveway

I am a writer
I write poems and shit
One time, someone said
“after listening to you I don’t feel alone anymore”
I give of myself, I give back to the elements
that weathered me here
I wonder if I am balancing the scales
if my Clark Kent will be enough for heavens gates.
on judgment day
will my evens outweigh my odds
to put it in plain speak,
the reason I am conflicted is this

I know I could be doing so much more
but so much more...does not pay

-This is my reality, one that at times i am not so proud of-

This weekend I am going to Vegas
to blow some money
Just because


I don’t normally write about you
but you are forcing my hand
I still harbor views about you
Your key turning me circular
We made love for 11 months and 19 days
And I am still left curious George - street
running to get past you, over you
I imagine one day we will meet again
in your new-town of chaos
in your darling harbor of light
I would gamble away this star city
for another chance to nestle in your palm beach
salsa dance In your establishment
Sink into your views of vancluse
Your Bronte waves crashing into me
I will be Indy 500 for you,
If you would only send for me
I will fly back into the future for you
I have not said this publically
But I am truly sorry for how we ended
All rush
All urgent
I now know I should not have been in such a hurry
to destroy what we built
I admit to you
from this glass house of a man - to the shorelines of your beautiful spine
I miss you

APRIL is National Poetry Month

So alot of poets do this 30 poems in 30 days thing during the month of April, I have never done it cause I am whack, but I decided to do it this time. I will be posting all of my poems here. you can comment or not, the idea is not for them to be perfect, just to write them and post them raw-ish

I would be very suprised if i post 30 poems, I will more than likely crash and burn, but we will see, there is always hope.

here is the official website...

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

So its been a while.........

I am dedicated to start blogging again, since i last blogged, I moved back to the states, got married, and got a job on wall st. I am regrouping, and am in the process of revamping this blog...

I will start uploading some fresh content, promise, Chea!