Jazz Stanzas

Jazz Stanzas

The wolves may huff and puff
but they ain’t got nothing on
apple sized cheeks
that blew sounds just as sweet
as the juice.

It don’t mean a thing
if you don’t take the A train
and hear the lady from baltimore
with the sanitizing stench of bleach on her
from scrubbing those damn white steps.
From lady’s maid to lady day
from the whorehouse to
covering the waterfront
until finally
it was heroin, not her man
that had lady singing the blues.

A trumpeter walks in front of a horse
leading a perennial procession for you.
That’s the image that comes to mind
when I think of you.
Your smile derided.
Your character declared a caricature
but Ghana loved you.
You were pops to the world.

In a mining township
a hundred miles from Johannesburg
exposed to jazz, traditional music
and apartheid
a horn player was growing up.
In a jim-crow dominated township
it was designed to be impossible
to graze in the grass
but somehow
you did.

And now, it is said
we don’t love the music.
Our faces are not in the audiences
of those who carry it on.
Our dollars aren’t spent on it.
We have allowed it to leave
and because of that
it no longer belongs to us.

But this is simply not true.

© 2004 Tichaona Chinyelu

Dance

shavon71@yahoo.com

Dance.
Dance a dance where your back arches and your legs prance,
where your arms span outward from your body’s stance,
yes-dance.
Make your fingers clinch and spread again,
dance that dance that calls for eternal sin.
Throw your head back experience extreme pleasure.
Wind your hips and call to me with every gesture
yes- dance, dance.
Yes
yes,
lay on your back and let your eyes draw me in
lay on your back and call me in.
Vibrant eyes move to the rhythm.
Sensual eyes capture me in them
and now I dance the dance in your eye’s reflection
now I move with your body’s conception.
Can I dance
expose how I’ve been instructed
contour to your art,
at best be inducted
into your
dance of divinity
your prance of passion
heal to head disclose esteemed satisfaction.
Your actions elaborate songs of life
it is your actions that erase trial and plight.
and looking on I too want to undergo the skill
I too desire the touch less feel,
I too yearn to elude the day
and dance,
the dance
your skill conveys.

Me, Myself, & I

by- B.Witherspoon – brittany_witherspoon@yahoo.com

All threw the years i have held my peace but i can’t no more
some one done came to my rescue and unlock the door
it took me some time to realize
what happened in a flash right before my brown eyes
now am standing on the outside trying to realize
what’s up with these rymes?
take a look at the time
and ya’ll critize every word i throw at you every word i say to you
but can’t you see that my words mean something not just to me and you
but others just like you that act just like you
but you don’t understand the concept of little things in life…(STOP)
no move over you’ve just been kidnapped and so i just snapped
and the kidnappers are driving a Black Rover
little kids outside in the yard playing “red rover-red rover”
now everyone from every diffrent angle
come together and make a triangle (what!?!)
a circle or whatever change the weather
from a storming day till a sun shinning day
now let’s pause for minute
calmn down think about everything that has happened in your life for a minute
from begining to the end now count to 10, brittany
look within yourself and show n tell everyone what you can do
’cause you can do anything that anyone else can do
so just put your mind to it and pursue it
ya know just do it like nike!!!

True Hip-Hop

by sim-pli-city – octavia172003@yahoo.com

From a simple head nod to tapping your feet.
phenomenal artists with an unspeakable flava.
Different beats, the truth speaks, and the harder your heart beats.
Eyes close.
mind focus, on the words that sticks you like the sharp thorns of a rose.
It is put together so sweetly with the tip and tap of the beat.
That your eyes close tighter.
Your soul begans to rock.
Your hands silently clap together,
and the head nodds even harder,
until the only word can come out of your mouth is “damn”.
Song goes off.
then you rewind it just to hear it again.
True Hip-Hop

THE POETRESS AND THE SAXAPHONIST

by- wonderment – wonderment@poetic.com

SHE TAKES HER USUAL SEAT AT THE RESTUARANT
TAKES A GOOD LOOK AROUND TO SEE WHO IS HERE TONIGHT
HER EYES FELL UPON THIS MAN WHO IS IN THIS JAZZ BAND.
SHE LISTENS TO THE SWEET EMOTION AS HE MAKES LOVE TO THE SAXAPHONE.
AS SHE SETTLES DOWN IN HER SEAT WHICH IS A STOOL ON STAGE, SHE BEGINS TO
MAKE LOVE ALONG WITH THIS MAN BY DOING A FREE STYLE POETRY
SHE GETS IN THE MOOD IN THE GROOVE
SHE DOESN’T CARE WHO SEES OR LISTENS
SHE CLOSES HER EYES AND BECOMES ONE WITH HIM FEELIN THE RYTHM
THE SOUL OF HIS HEART.
THEY SHOW THE WORLD WHAT LOVE REALLY IS BY POURING OUR THEIR EMOTIONS AS ARTISTS.
SHE IS NOW IN HER OWN LITTLE WORLD CAN’T STOP
NOW SHE IS ON A ROLL.
SHE IS FLOWIN FROM HER HEART, BODY, MIND,AND SOUL,
SHE OPENS HER EYES TO FIND THE CROWD ON THERE FEET GIVING
HER AND THE SAXAPHONIST A STANDING OVATION
SHE TAKES HER USUAL SEAT AT THE RESTAURANT.

Music

by bcpoet33 – bcflippin@yahoo.com

it’s the way my heart beats
the way i skip my feet
it’s the way the birds sing
the way your voice rings
it’s being caught up in the 1 and 2
when the notes have left
and we’re still caught up in the groove
it’s the slow drag of the needle
across the vinyl 45
the way your hips move and hypnotize
it’s the way i watch you
and feel the pulse rumble below
the way you cause me to move to you on the dance flo’
music is alive
and it does for me
what love does for us

This Is Life

byYoungSquire – 4438509040@tmomail.net

I got folks that never made, so you can hate it, debate it or do what ya like.
But player this is my life.
Short days long nights.
Smoking blunts to the roaches but still I’m focused on getting my paper right.
I’m a keep it gangsta like, that’s all that I know.
Smoking dro’ slanging blow like that’s all that I know.
Cash flow asshole, see that’s all that I know.
Blessed I made it, so I dedicate it all to my folks.
But hold up wait a minute; you talking bout it while I live it.
You think just cause you seen it you did it; quit it.
I was born in it, bloodline filled with crime.
That’s why I leave ‘em tormented for fucking with mine.
All right!
I aint new to it I’m true to it.
Examine my stee and next week that be how you do it.
I put over a dozen of these niggas in the game.
I switched states and they still speaking on my name.
Still hating on me man, but it really aint nothing.
You know; two to the face is how I say fuck ‘em.
So; love me or leave me alone I aint gonna change.
I’m still deep in the game; you still sleep in the game.

Copyright 2004 (C)
Game Related Enterprises LLC

Heart Monitor (For Hip-Hop)

by: blackbutterfly87 – blackbutterflypress@hotmail.com

HEART
MONITOR
/a poem by Brent M. Barnett
Beatbox, the big clocks, the needle drops,
wonder why I live and die for HIP-HOP.
I met a breakdancer, named Crazy Legs.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
He was spinning on his head.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
Beatbox, the big clocks, the needle drops,
wonder why I live and die for HIP-HOP.
Went to the laundry mat, saw Tupac.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
He made me promise that his art form would
Never stop.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
Beatbox, the big clocks, the needle drops,
wonder why I live and die for HIP-HOP.
Went to lunch with KRS, we met Scott La Rock.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
The teacher spoke, “The Bridge is Over” and we pop-locked.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
Beatbox, the big clocks, the needle drops,
wonder why I live and die for HIP-HOP.
Ran to Bowling Green, chilled with Nappy roots.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
Said it was good to see Kentucke mud on Tim boots.
It’s been a minute since I had some real
HIP HOP.
Beatbox, the big clocks, the needle drops,
wonder why I live and die for HIP-HOP.
Wonder why I live and die for
HIP-HOP.
© 2004 Black Butterfly Press