A BLACK MAN

The Poet Versifier, Lyricist and Creator. He... Wields the power of a pen capable of defying time. Capable of sitting by the knee of God and nicking the head of Satan. The Poet. The ink flows from his pen, a jet river of mysteries, redemption, salvation and eternities. He writes in infinite possibilities, drinking from a chalice of infinities and eating the fruit of fantasies. He is reality. The Poet. The power of Life and Death in his pen. His prophesies stand for ages. The Poet Copyright 2004 PropheticNsyght

Monday I sit deep in thought, watching the rain fall. Drops of silver and glass cascade down my window. Contemplating,pondering, and Just good-ole-thinking. 'What is the meaning of it all?' I ask myself as the wind picks up and the rain shifts. I can see myself in the window, the look mirrored in my face; in my eyes. What is it? I can't even seem to put a name too it. Sitting by my window, lost in thought, raindrops and windfalls gather quickly. Whispered thoughts flirt with my ears and I resign myself to the sun hiding it's face. Today is a rainy, bleak, and empty Monday. Copyright 2004 PropheticNsyght

Sistah Jazz... Sistah Jazz, groove me! Girl you flow in my ebony sea, You feed my impossibilities Breath, and I will Breath. Sistah Jazz, burn me deeply! I burn completely From my head to my bare feet Rhythm holds me tight Feeling all shades of love's delight You are my black anthem In the key of royalty Smooth and mahogany sea Swim and I drown deeply Sink toward the vast heart of yours You give me fresh life Sistah Jazz you are. Copyright 2004 PropheticNsyght

Up On The Roof Inspired by the Bronx Ophelia, singer, Laura Nyro I thought of you today. Nothing really serious, just how much the thought and image of you seemed to illuminate my dark. When things just seemed to get me down, I climbed up the stairs and all of my cares seemed to drift right into space. The thought of you... I go where the air is fresh and sweet and get lost in earth tones of pure feeling and delight thinking of you, my friend; up on the roof. So today I decide to escape the hustle of this rat-race and let the image of you shine on my face. So when this life starts pushing me in circles, I escape with my thoughts of you up on the roof. Copyright 2004 PropheticNsyght

Whiskey In My Cup Whisky in my cup Tweet's song plays in the background I stand all alone With a glass of dark whisky, And worries in tow A bit of sorrow and pain Accompany rain And it fall's while my sorrow Drowns in my dark cup, Full of pure whisky. Copyright 2004 PropheticNsyght

On some other stuff. Can't really explain or define it. It just is. Look at ya boi and realize that I am indeed on another level and apart of another world. Existing on the tip of incense smoke and breathing in deep shades of earth. My ears filter beautiful soul music that causes my fertile spirit to grow. My vibe is clean My flow is gleams, catch me in the morning bathing in dew and drying off in taupe-colored sand dunes. Watch me wear Autumne and hypnotize you with my Winter. My breath is fresh and Spring. I walk in serenity and summer dreams. Man, being me is like, A complicated, yet simple painting. Original Oranges, Rustic Reds, Magnetic Maroons, Beguiling Browns and Space-kissed Blacks. You breath in my essence and If you lick the air just once, you might taste my presence. Look in the surface of water and see me in my element.... Ya boi, the handsome and eccentric brotha to the earth. Insightfully organic, and Prophetically fanatic; My world, my purpose, my life seems infinite and all-stretching like the Atlantic. MAN...I'm telling you, I'm on this other stuff. I'm sitting here high and trippin' off of this potent 'Hehven's Dust,' Liberated, chosen, appointed and annointed by God! I'm sittin pretty on this divine voyage. So you can't really understand me? Can't really accept me? Think I'm too un-conventional? To feminine? To this or that? Its cool, ya boi got it under control... I've been released and delivered from people! Man, its kool if most of you kats and felines can't jazz with me.... I'll make my own music like I do in the key of solo originality. See, people don't phase me and they take a back-seat to my duty to God, purpose on this earth and my creative and poetic mission that must be released from the inner me. I'm feeling so...so... sweet and psychedelic, mellow and prolific. I'm feeling too many shades of bliss and Godly-serenity. I mean ya boi is feeling complete and at peace. Bohemian and Vintage, a psalmist, musician, poet and chyle of God! Composed of insight, divine peace and love, and the sweet sounds of Neo-soul, big bands and worship tunes. Breathing creativity in line with my heart beating purity and delicious poetry. I am who I am and will remain as so. I'm on some other stuff and it ain't no way you could comprehend, contain or castrate that from me. Ya boi is on some other stuff and this joint is purely heavenly. This is me. A self-proclaimed... FLOWER CHYLDE Copyright 2004 "Flower Chylde" Publishings ~PropheticNsyght "Poeta Nasciture, Non Fit!"

From the Balcony

Nothing more than
players marching on the stage.

Scene after scene,
lines after lines and the
monotony of it makes me want
to release a scream.

From the Balcony...
Observing
Never-conforming,
they claim that I need a
reforming.
"Change who you are and become this?"
They say.
"Fit into this mold and you'll be better in the
morning."

From the Balcony....

Clearly able to see,
how manipulative and
destructive this contingency.
I look within the mirror,
the close of the second act.
I want nothing to do
with accepted fallacies
or with this dry a** reality...
A mere temporal fantasy that
means ceasing to exist as
the individual me, and loose out on the
potent viscosity of my
Mahogany-colored sea.

PLEASE!!!!

From the Balcony...

Accept me for who I am.
Accept that I am both
Playwright and Actor,
and God; he's my all and Director.
Ask, What type of Factor ?
Hmmm, its easy, he's my only patron and
benefactor,
I've broken through the plaster.

Siskel and Ebert give me two thumbs up....
But upon this stage the cast wants to
serve me pure poison in a silver cup.
Mirror, mirror reveal some clearance,
Now they try to change my appearance.
Place me in a stone cold sepulcher and
lock me in a vault...
No creativity or the beauty of my
own individuality.
I break free...
Heeding the wisdom of clarity and
allowing my cocoon to blossom into a new me.

From the Balcony....

I no longer see with
my eyes, so clouded by this world
naturally,
but instead the last act comes around...
I, refuse to be typecast and I stand my
ground.
Move around chump...
Don't expect me to be nothing more than
a dry hump.
Prostitute me in the image of societies HO;
Leaving me at the mercy of every Tom, D*** and Joe
Blow.
I retreat into my inner glow...
Taking my identity from the beauty of God's
special flow.

I sit and stare,
my time upon the stage soon
to come...
a time when I will act out MY
monologue and not some
pre-written slum.
But until that time,
this brother of divinity and earth
will sit and watch quietly...

I'll sit in peace and contentment
in my place...
From the Balcony

Copyright 2004 ~PropheticNsyght


"Poeta Nascitur, Non Fit"

Poets are born, not made"

Sea-Side Magic

Waves crashing against the rocks.
Serenity
Peace
Tranquility
a little taste of Serendipity.
You guide me.
Swim in my sea.
When you breath, I be.
From the moment of inception,
you were their and we loved.
Come back to me, come back...
Inclining my heart to yours,
my words to your soul.
Please ring the bells and return.
Return to a place where the waves crash
against the rocks.
Where you made me "Say Yes."
Where you said "Hey You."
The feeling was so appealing, but fleeting.
Let's recapture that sea-side magic.

Copyright 2004
PropheticNsyght