SONNET 'Granddaddy' by Trinity

My soul is weary ‘cause my heart does mourn

for granddaddy, my most dearly beloved.

I feel as if it’s been ripped out and torn

because he lies still like he never was.

I will lay his heart right next to mine

so that where his leads mine will follow.

I hate the fact that we ran out of time

for now my soul is a friend of sorrow.

My heart once beat from the love he had shown

unconditionally, no strings attached.

But now my heart has been left so alone

because no one compares, there is no match.

More days shall pass when my heart beats sadly

‘Cause my heart will beat, but not granddaddy's. 

POETRY: 'Poker Face' by The Trinity

The sight of a

new woman

impairs the heart,

but one cleans

obsessively to erase

the tracks of all

tears, making

sure there is

no way to detect

the broken heart.

The main objective is to

deceive the opponent.

Cry silently but

bluff aloud.

 Don’t be foolish

enough to throw

all cards on the

table, for that

mistake was made

before and everything

that was once

possessed was taken

away. Though one

may hurt, the m.o.

must be kept in place.

POETRY: 'Photo' by The Trinity

The past caught in a frame.

A moment frozen still,

never to be thawed

again.

One’s history in a square.

A monument that never

crumbles.

Former times dwelling

in the latter days.

A resurrection of memories

on what used to be.

A reminder of who once

was.

The one thing that can

make time stand still,

a necessity, since time

is what takes away the

dearly beloved. 

POETRY: 'Kansas' by Kabriel Moorehead

Kansas
By Kabriel Moorehead

Born of tradition that you’ve since rejected

Leaving behind the only thing you’ve ever known;

Home

Fleeing safety for the bright lights of the city.

In an attempt to become individuals we mature into a million moths,

All attracted to the same bulb

And damned to the same destiny

You could have been different.

Slowly accumulated wisdom

And waited for the right moment to announce your arrival

You would have had the world bowing at your feet.

Now you bow in deference to the captain,

No longer in charge of life’s journey

Your fate is held in another’s hands,

Slowly crumbling from lack of care.

Or did you crudely rip it apart,

By attempting to fly too high to soon?

Maybe one day you’ll snatch it back,

Once your heart holds reverence for tradition again.

But not today. 

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: My Spiritual Cadence By Cheryl A.Baldwin

Cuz you were my therapy when I needed you

My scapegoat and I was feeding you

Lies from which my soul weakened to

Repress…

…the truth untold

Hidden beneath my soul

The spirit inside of me.

            Stressed

Depressed

Oh Chicita my life has been such a mess

And you didn’t even know.

Innocent to the fact that You were helping Me

Your words…

Soothing the psyche

The medication to my soul

Helping to mold…

The person I am becoming.

Your goodness and your favor intriguing to the heart,

The mind,

The body,

The fruit of the Spirits.

Showing me that God works in many ways

            And when I was feigning for some affection

You satisfied my hunger with your love, and your warmth,…

…and you comforted me.

I remember that moment. 

Reminiscing on a time when you wrapped your arms around me and held my soul together

                                                Embracing, the spirit inside of me.

Reminiscent of a time from the past

Oh you will never know how much

                   …you truly mean to me .

POETRY: The Revolution will not be televised by Reggie Drake

I was told that,
The Revolution will not be televised.
Only prophesized in street sermons
That leaders feed us through tubes connected to cylinders
That pump philosophy into our veins,
The New Age Enlightenment,
The Revolution will not be sponsored by coke or state farm,
The Revolution will not be seen on BET,
NO broadcast interrupted,
NO streets eruptin',
It will come like a thief in the night
Stealing away your false securities
You will not be able to stay at home
Because your homes will be bonfires
Lighting sparks in the hearts of,
NBC and CNN newscasters
That propagate our disasters,
Showcasing crooks in suits
That feed us lies on the same worn out platters.
There will be no make up artists,
Sound directors,
Tech teams,
Plots and schemes,
There will be no gunshots and mass killings shown on the instant replay
There will be no gunshots, screams, and mass killings shown on the instant replay
Oh no,
Because this shxt wont be on tv,
Our Revolution will not be televised.
I used to sit on church on Sunday
Pondering my philosophy drenched in God,
Thinking back on wise words told in verses,
"Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep,
For salvation is nearer to us now then when we first believed"
That means our time is coming
That means our time is coming
So dont sleep,
Because it wont be televised,
It will be LIVE
For the whole universe to see
Bigger than the worlds greatest symphony
Doors will open to see the spectacle,
Marveled by the brilliancy,
But then they'll turn on that tv
And the government will tell them
"Dont believe what you see.
Its a trick , its a trap"
And brands hotter than the core of venus
Will emerge like a three letter codon
On skins that reject truth and obey whims,
While we,
Dance our tribal dances
In white liberation outfits that we prepared just for the occasion,
And we,
scream in these megaphones
That we prepared just in case
Our voices arent loud enough to say
"Our revolution has come"
But some,
Will still be watching re-runs of Martin.
Hoping notices pop up on screens saying
"Our Revolution is here"
But it wont be here
For those that cant hear us over the rumblings of an old spice commercial
The Revolution doesnt care about what new hairstyle Beyonce has or,
What combination of numbers will net you once-in-this-lifetime wealth
The Revolution will not be back after a warning about some hurricane
The Revolution is not some uprising in the Middle East
The Revolution, will not have to be authorized by Obama
I was told that it wouldn't be televised,
So I sat in church in waited
Ponderin my philosophy on Sunday
As that offering pan circulates
The ching of alms hitting metal reverberates
Inside our cathedral creating sound waves loud enough
To revive Moses and,
Put his holy spirit inside our preacher,
Who poses,
As Gods confidante
Confidently regurgitating scriptures
Instilling faith in believers
I see Saul Williams,
Over there hustling culture
Standing on the corner of the block slinging amethyst rocks
Drinkin 40 ounces of Mother Earths nectar stock,
Public Enemy #1
To the man who forbids you to be real and feel
You cant find the truth with an ax or a drill,
Its buried,
The Revolution doesnt start till u find it in your heart
Theres no repentance for sinners
Their bound to live infinitely in executive life sentences
So while your stuck behind bars
Bombards of life explodes from our revolution
And they'll prey,
They exist like hungry vultures preying on our weakness
But in my rarefied mirror im flawless
These vultures dont have enough spirituality to really know how to pray,
Like we do on Sunday
So that one day we would be there when the revelation came ,
So that one day I would here,
At 5:30pm,
On this land,
In this city,
On this rock
When the Revolution...
Was LIVE.

POETRY: 'The Strongest People' by Jazelle Handoush

The Strongest People

By Jazelle Handoush

The strongest people are the ones nobody realizes are fighting.

They wear masks to shield their pain from other eyes, 

stretching lips into convincing Cheshire cat grins 

and eyes wide with wonder. 

These are the people who step in to comfort you, 

though no one notices the scars they wear on skin, hearts, and soul. 

They make up a race of survivors, 

of spirits too often put down and trampled on. 

Yet they stand back up, never allowing another pair of eyes 

to see the stampede’s footprints on their backs.

The strongest people are the ones nobody realizes are fighting, 

bleeding, screaming silently, and yet still living.

They suffer in silence, 

instead of shouting to the cosmos of all the ways 

they’re scared and scarred. 

When other’s expect society to run towards them with open arms, 

to heal their wounds and scatter their tears, 

this unseen population of Strong and Silent remain zip-lipped. 

They believe that backbone and tough skin will get them by, 

help them survive, 

and they’re unaware that it’s a lie.

The strongest people in the world have scratched up souls, 

but they don’t allow anyone to see.

Its a population of you, them, and me.

And we’re convinced we need to suffer alone, 

in the shadows. 

We’re not hiding, 

we just don’t want to be a burden. 

We sit in silence while others suffocate us with their woes, 

though they don’t listen to ours.

They don’t ask.

So here is to ever member of the Strong and Silent. 

Here is to the boys and girls who think they are alone, 

unknowing we are a full society of secret keepers. 

Here is to those of backbone and tough skin, 

too often reminded of the painful world we’re in.

I’m here. I’ll listen. I’ll see your scars and try to heal them with my own.

Just know…you’re not alone.

Copyright 2013 | Jazelle Handoush