Black On Black Rhyme Poetry Community

Im controlled by your thoughts

TheMouthpiece — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 23:38:14 GMT

im controlled by what I think you're thinking
not by what you do or or say because Im a man and when you are talking, its like im in an invisible sound proof booth with big ass earphones on and can't hear shyt you are saying
When I see you, I instantly begin to wonder what you are thinking, from across the room we lock eyes, and I wonder are you thinking that I should come over to you, when I speak I begin to be at a loss of words wondering if you're thinking im feeling what he's saying
If were at the bar, I wonder if you are thinking i should buy you a drink, and if I do, are you thinking Im just trying to get you drunk
While we are dancing, and I bend you over, I wonder are you thinking, that im thinking that you're a hoe, because I don't, I just want to fantasize about hitting it from the back, or If I touch your ass, are you thinking that im trying to degrade you, because im not Im just an ass man, and like touching a nice ass from time to time
When I ask you for your number, because after a couple bought drinks, and some dancing you know Im going to ask, I begin to wonder if you are thinking about giving it to me, or not giving it to me, or if you actually want me to call
And when I call, Im thinking do you think I just want to smash, because sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't, but you really don't know, but if you are thinking that I do, I gotta find a way to make you think that I don't so I eventually can
When that time comes I wonder if you are thinking that you are just going to tell me you do, to see what im going to say or how Im going to react but you aren't really ready
But when you really are ready, im wondering if you're thinking, if i know what im doing, how big it is, can i handle you, how long will I last, will I find your spot, will I eat if first or just beat it up, will I pick you up, hit it from the back, legs on my shoulders, will I dominate or be passive, will I long stroke or short stroke ( u know how ya'll think )
All these things I think before I ever make the first move, because your thoughts control my actions
So when Im putting it down because that's what I do, I find myself wondering are you thinking how unexpected this infinite pleasure is, and he can can do it to me anytime he wants
After you climax 3 or 4 times depending on how much time I have, I begin to wonder again are you thinking if you want to continue or if your body has had enough, because now im thinking if you're thinking you are just waiting for me to be done
I get my issue off and now im wondering if you are thinking if you want to cuddle or if you are just ready for me to go
The next day I see you and now Im wondering what you are thinking, because this is the one time in which I have no idea what you are thinking, until you speak, and we start all over again, because Im controlled by your thoughts............ 2

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Diamond in the Ruff

HoneyLEE — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 17:43:08 GMT

Every curve every line cut to perfection she's too fine. Her eyes glitter like a sunset reflecting off of a deep blue sea. She has the hair of a goddess that glows with the windy beat.
Yet but so she lies in the midst of an ugly beast.
He smells of liquor,beer, tobacco and weed. With holes in the depths of his heart as far as thine eyes can see. He mutilates by his words and piercing eyes of deceit. He carries the low-life non-moving productions of a man you could ever meet.
To her eyes this is no surprise
to be living in disgust, frighten by every word, every look, every touch, wanting to move but it's too much, it's too much, it's t-o-o m-u-c-h
to walk outside into this living hell hole of hate, lies and lust
so yet and behold the Diamond in the Ruff.

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

She is 13

DaGifted1 — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 07:29:19 GMT

She is 13
Stomach swollen into a cylinder filled, adolescent mind,
Covered in the skin of mistakes born wrong.
She is backstriken spinal cord bent in weariness
From walking the Earth older than she.
Made to depend on the only soul not guaranteed to break her stride
Herself!!!
But it was the harsh and frequent lashes of her stepfathers hand
That led her down this crippled and weary road.
She pushes cracked and battered toes across Columbus stolen,
Formerly Native owned lands.
Journeying through life crossing roads paved
On top of the unmarked graves of former ancestral slaves.
Beaten and bruised feet from wood crafted footboards,
Bathroom stall floors, and broken alley bottles
Where she was made to earn a few dollars.
Left with no options and zero role models
She looks toward Dead Presidential faces to be her fore fathers.
Following their In God We Trust motto
Till they speak hymnals in her eardrums and pockets.
Penetrating the very depths of her sleep
While she clinches pillow covered sheets.
Jolted from her slumber by the electric convulsions
Of her own muscle spasmd seizures.
Remembering the timeless mornings she has awakened
To a blood soaked Jersey fitted sheet purchased from IKEA,
Not knowing if its her nose or her womb.
Made from cotton, crafted in a factory
Where more workers lose jobs than dreams, fabricated
From 50 plus years of bloody harvesting fields.
And you can still hear in the distance the shrieking sounds
Of connected chains attached to whip inflicted mahogany bones,
Dragging decrepit punished souls,
But she never feels their sacredly concealed spirits
Evaporating from the very sheets on which she exchanges skin for meat
Until she awakes into a pool of disappointment.
With each step and breath she regrets the life she leads.
Trying to carve her path through the stone and cement reality of life
But instead she creates a dysfunctional seed.
Posted on street corners where his congregation consists
Of other euphoric minded souls.
Trapped in this state of nirvana, these future kings and queens
Crowd the crack houses like fools to gold.
Caught in a vortex of volcanic reconstruction
Where teenage women conceive children because of un-parented decisions.

For she is only 13!!!
Descendant of the Royal Bloodline where 13
Was next in line to be crowned Queen.
Traveling through life lost, her cost paid to society with her payment
The sacrifice of her child to these unforgiving streets.
Until her number is tallied along with the warrior women that came before her
As it totals the projects current status quo.
Her CD player worth more than her fractured
Self-concept, crushed into hieroglyphic snapshots of struggle.
Her pain echoes a song like psalms,
Playing on the soundtrack of her subconscious.
Her stomach, swollen into a cylinder filled,
Adolescent mind, covered in the skin of mistakes born wrong.
Stretch marks resembling lifes cold,
Callus grip, tearing at her pregnant belly.
Shes an empress turned prostituted drug fiend.
Descendant of a Royal Bloodline.
Where 13 was next in line to be crowned Queen.
Although she will never be

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Rhyme Against Domestic Violence

bobrhyme — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 03:04:06 GMT

RHYMES AGAINST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

Refuge House and Black on Black Rhyme are joining forces to host a poetry slam on October, 24th at Florida State University's Law School Rotunda. 

The slam is the showcase event of Refuge House's Domestic Violence Awareness Month and is intended to increase community knowledge of the societal impacts of  domestic violence.     For more information, contact Erin Carr at  ecarr@refugehouse.com.

Event: "Rhymes Against Domestic Violence"      Poetry Slam
  Date: Friday, October 24th;
  Time: 6:00 p.m.-9:00 p.m.; 
  Location: FSU Law School Rotunda;
  Admission Fee: $5 Donation.   
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    Refuge House (www.refugehouse.com) And Black on Black Rhyme  (www.blackonblackrhyme.com) Present Rhymes Against Domestic Violence 2008
 
  -     ATTENTION ALL POETS ! ! !  
  There is a $10 entrance fee for each  poet.
 
  Each poet will be have available to them table under the  vendor tent to display their product. (Be sure there is someone to watch your table while you compete)    
 
  Each poet will need to prepare 2  poems for the competition - one for the preliminary round and one if  you are chosen as a finalist.
 
  CASH AWARDS:
  First Place $150,
  Second  Place $75, and
  Third Place $50
 
  Because of time constraints, we only  have 14 slots (first come first served) available but will maintain a  waiting list in the event a poet cancels or "no shows".    
 
  Poets must be at the Law School rotunda at 5:30pm, Oct.24th to secure their slot or  replacement poets will be invited.    
 
  If you have any questions or want  to register please contact:
  Layne Davis ldavis@refugehouse.com   850-519-2140     Or    
  Erin Carr ecarr@refugehouse.com 850-922-6062.   
 
  http://www.myspace.com/slamadv 
 
  http://refugehouse.com/

Forum: PRESS RELEASE/ANNOUNCEMENTS

Untitled Deen Poem

Sevinthepoet — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 17:44:23 GMT

Deen
Rare are the times we are given the chance to
reflect the rays of light that manifest in our lives
in these dark days and times so I spend every
second trying to shine a light that isn't mine
but was left for us as a sign, a clear revelation
left before our eyes as to guide us from New Orleans
to Palestine to the road to Damascus.

I've follow the road and keep bumping into Cancerous
deadbroke money hungry Capatilist and evangelist who
are self proclaimed pistol packing pacisfist counseled
by child molesting Catholics who tell me I'm on the path
of suicidal bomb making savages.
But I find my peace in the confidence in the one
who created and counted the contenance, with unlimited
thought he molded the continents.

But supposedly all this is supperessed by the emotions
of the signs of today of too much work and too little pay
where we pay for homes with no doors, short cielings
restricted walls and no floors, and we live in constant doubt,
always unsure if it will hold or will thebottom fall out and
we're forced to live from hand to mouth and too many times
do we force our children to go without the necessity of life.

And we're learning that just because you own house is not
the equivalent of owning a home, so easilly
random spirits are allowed to roam dropping off in our men
the spirit of a rolling stone where our boys eventually begin to roam from
place to place constantly looking for the new frontier of
space and learn the legacy of never feeling at ease
whereever we stay and our girls left looking for
a father or a husband who will stay or a little bit of more attention
he'll pay, even if the price is a lap dance or c note left on the night stand

And we hang on to political promises that are often broken
and we over value their gesture tokens that was suppose to take us
from the Underground Railroad, to the ghetto, to the Barrio, like
Dorothy we been looking for sincerity somewhere over
the Rainbow looking for the American Dream which doesn't
seem to exist so we go chasing after the American Myth
found in shiny cars with expensive rims that continously
spin but their destination is... nowhere
leading us to stay right here with eyes wide shut
with danger so present
so clear.

The Voice of the Rasool resonoates the niyah of the Creator
for me and for you and we always
imitate the fool dancing in the midst a crumbling
of the metropolis suffering the final apoclypse we remain
oblivious to the point where we seem delirious
finding our redemption in the dunya and finding nothing
but fault with the sunnah believing what we see on TV that
convinces us we're headed to certian defeat regardless of the
examples of both history and Prophecy and we become prone to
delete our legacy that was suppose to sow the seeds of our victory

Instead we slaughter our dreams and bury them in the here after
of our jinns laughter to judgement day
where death has stripped us
all of our false face,
our false faith
and we have to give an account
every action
of every word we say
of every we've played
will be exposed, our deeds disclosed
each one of secrets shown and the comparison
will be how far have we strayed from his deen....

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

family circle

victoryone — Thur, 09 Oct 2008 13:06:15 GMT

family circle

thug in my heart
but the sin has to end
this good vs evil
seems like yin vs yang?
remove a O from the good
add a d to the evil
i wanna do it right
i will do it for my people
deep wisdom in my veins, i feel
older then i am
my ancestors infiltrating my body
like satan did uncle sam
i wanna be eternal
but the wall street journal
and things like that
make me wanna bring us back
to those peaceful times
peaceful rhymes

but do you know why those times seemed so great?
because we were so so young
and we always had someone to rely on
at least some of us did..
and heres their crime..
they f--- up black lifes - just for the f--- of it

with no love from the beginning of your life
thuggin and hustlin has to be the way of your life
and i know its oh so hard to understand...
but please nigga, grow up become a man
you may f--- up your life a lil bit
but if u get money and live good
it`ll be heaven on earth for your lil kid
or for your lil kids you can have so many
let them grow up without fear anger and envy
without this poisoned food and brainwash tv
you reached the the pool of love... and light
your family

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - REVOLUTIONARY/REALITY POEMS

Untitled Love poem 239 (Complete Mahogany Sweet version)

Sevinthepoet — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 22:15:58 GMT

This is a reply to another poet who said something about hot air and love poems... she know who she is... this was done straight from the head or the heart with a little

Love poem 239 (Complete Mahogany Sweet version)
Her words were were sweetened with
the delicate taste of sugar-cane,
not sweet like taste, but sweet like memories
of mother's belly full, ripe like watermelon,
sweet like elders sitting by the fire side
folk taling ancestor history to be passed
down to generations to come
sweet like we being led by the waterside
Where I whisper, "I remember her...

You while passing by the river Ibe, we
whispered Ninapenda wewe a life time ago
us sharing kisses, sharing secrets from past lives
from heartland to coastline, from shackles to slaveship
from master's kiss to master's whip yet somehow
we always managed to connect and maintain this relationship
over the ages.

We've always made it back to one another
regardless of what the wisdom of the ages say
cuz we know how the cards lay, with your smile
planted in the seeds of an "us now" future that
lay in the nearness of our distant past
that bleeds us to us again trying to conjure up
words that is the sum of us on a foriegn shore
that is not our home with our memories washed over
with thrown overboard slaves.

We're those who took the shea trees for granted, and
should've taken the leaves that whispered the
distance of you to me would be relevant now
relevant like how the sky kisses the earth at dusk
this is like the selfish reminder of us sacred like prayer
sacrificed at the break of Dawn

but before i loose you again for a few shor years my
best bet would be to say Ana Behibek, I love you like
like a hot summer day with a cool breeze
like Mahogany not like wood
but like Success is nothing without someone
you love to share it with."
Not kike post cards

but like Brown
but like your fingers flesh tracing prayers
in sign language against the indigo of my chest...
like me, like you, like us...

no,
like we sitting beneath the sycamore tree
touching each other lustfully, my hands tracing the crescent of
your moon,

we rising to clumsy crescendo to please one another
because the urgency of time taught us that time is not forever,
each second is precious so love me, like i love you
like tomorrow is never promised

and ontop of that...
We can't let no spiders of decay
climb inside of this chrysallis
we done spun somewhere up in the treetops of the
congo square fairgrounds so
the only import that is of import
is us here now

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Sweet Caramel

BrownSuga — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 20:49:38 GMT

Sweet caramel,

Tell i whom you desire

Does your lust crave

White Chocolate, Vanilla-Pecan, or Brown Suga,

Never mind hold your rhymes

Gift wrap them inside a UPs package

Reward her who is anxious and unfamiliar

With your jazz and pizzazz

That cologne full of charisma

Whereas I am well-read and discovered

Never trail the heart of one who is committed to another

Therefore go chase the taste of another sister

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

The Nature Of You

BrownSuga — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 22:17:08 GMT

I witnessed your nature last night

All eight hairy legs of you

Crawling human-like up my bedroom wall

Where there is no space

Climbing where shadows dont shine

Only where air climbs up in a deep, dark, empty place

You journeyed to awaken the heights of my past

At arms length - little by little step for step:-

You passed across my mind

Seeking refuge in a closet full of skeletons

A dusty corner you launched your web

Waiting to entrap my approval

Like trapping an insect in a sticky, tangled, obstacle course

I was the woman you wanted to ambush

I witnessed your nature last night

In a hairy-eerie creepy crawly eight legged creature

Wedged between my walls

Without wings hunting so freely

Working its progress - Weaving desires for actual events

Threading and mimicking a lower case s for single

Meaning. solo act singing Come with Meee

Like Keith Sweat on the BETs Music Awards

I witnessed your nature last night

In a breathing - talking 6 foot tall scorpion

Imitating the statue of libertywithout independence

Presenting me with the torch of repression

To pause all of my dreams

You already walked down the aisle committing yourself toI do

Now you cant reason nor will your common sense make an appearance

To see the other side of For Better or For Worse

Announced in your wedding vows

I witnessed your nature last night

In a landmark of cob-webs up in my ceiling

Hoping for me to die for you to live

Your eyes took me in to commit adultery

To ful-fill your urban absurdity

But my amplified voice is reality

Speaking daily to my dignity

I will neva be labeled second best

Bearing the cross of the "OTHER WOMAN"

Nor your next kill....

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Carlos Robson

bobrhyme — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 19:54:47 GMT

Carlos Robson of Charlotte, North Carolina's Concrete Generation never thought he would be a writer, much less a poet. But as long as he can remember, he's always wanted to be a storyteller. And since touching his first spoken word stage in late 2005, he has done exactly that.

Competing in everything from local, regional and international poetry slams. He represented Charlotte in the 2006 Individual World Poetry Slam, and again in 2007. Currently one-half of the Southern Comfort Tour along with HBO Def Poet BasiKnowledge, he is taking his experiences to the nation with his dynamic ability to blend soul shaking stories of love, loss,         and redemption with his stylistic re-interpretations of spiritual hymns         and children's songs. His real life stories of both family and fate have been sending shockwaves through audiences from New York City, to Miami, and from Vancouver, Canada to Austin, Texas.

Recently featured on Urbana's Urbanabots Annual Compilation alongside other of the world's best, Robson is quickly making a name for himself as he works on his first full-length album, entitled "the Queen and I"

        myspace.com/carlosrobson

Carlos Robson - Snap

Forum: FEATURE ARTIST

untitled love poem 238.5

Sevinthepoet — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 18:08:05 GMT

untitled love poem 238.5

You are indigo
Blue black beautiful to me
Inspire me to conjure words in
frail attempts to accurately describe
what I see when ever My eyes set upon you...

You are a reminder that what I know
I do not know, got me wishing that our moment
would be day spent in forever or at least or at
most we could finish this life time out with me
being yours and you be mine

I want to blur the lines that define what is
intimacy intimately with you, and intermix us in a
marriage of combined worlds where we give birth to
his boys and girls, and they would have your heart,
my eyes, his soul and his mind

You are watermelon,
Simple yet with the most high's sweetness
you are ripe. leaving me whispering into the ears
of life the mention of us as husband and wife

It is a reallity
that during my morning conversations with the
creator where he gives me visualizations of what my
day should look like he gives me glimpses of you
for all good things come from the lord...

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Thoughts of A Lonely Man

Sevinthepoet — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 14:51:29 GMT

This was suppose to be a Myspace blog that turned into a poem and I kinda likeded it (Ebonics for I liked it). Any way I suppose to meet up with a sister and then meet her father (Her wali... guardian... it's a muslim thing). Anywho there was a slight change of plans that left me stranded at the hotel for two hours... this is the fruit of the two hour wait.

Thoughts of A Lonely Man
Awright, a trip that should've taken only five to six hours actually took seven hours because of a detour has led me to a city where I'm alone, by myself waiting and this is like waiting for...
or waiting in purgatory on the road to perdition and
and my condition is dependent on the indecision of the
intuition of people who been missing the essence
of living beyond the flesh and only through fasting is
the only power they got left and after walking the road to
redemption when so many have left this world to soon
headed for the next

to stand before their lord naked
their words and deeds tested against
the sincerity of their beliefs to see were their
words just mere vain utterings while standing on the
edge of nothing yet while pretending that they
stood for something.

Yet here I am,
alone
turning to the quran and my prayers
as the source of my inspiration
being more than meditation, it's more
like a two way conversation with his
guidance reaching down inside into the depths of
me and when I offer myself to him
he magnifies the best of what's left of me and inspires me
to make the best from what's left of the flesh me
and when I hit hard times. it's all from him testing
me just to see if my words were vain utterings
intended for the pleasure of men or were my deeds done
in total rememberance of him.

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

commencement

hatshepsut — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 12:38:41 GMT

Where do I begin
Where does it end

Like the completion of day,
Like ones generation,
It came without sanction

I had to go deep within
Not to hold vileness in my heart for him

Like the termination of a unwanted child,
Premature lies made it invincible,
It was final

I had to look deep within
Not to mortify my dramatic thoughts of him

I admit,
My actions were not that of unselfish child

But now,
My frustrations,
Have taken me to heights of self gratification

Where deception ends,
Fidelity begins

So where do I begin,
It is essential that I start from the end

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

ghuraba

Sevinthepoet — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 02:22:59 GMT

A white man in Jenna Louissana says to himself, "By God, we got us a new nigga.
"A black man living in Queens, New York says to himself, "I think they finally got themselves a new nigga"
And while being randomly checked at the airport in Rochester, New York my Iraqi sister says, "Ya Allah, I am the New Nigga.
" It took us a while to figure that it's our faith and not our race that made us the new nigga

And we feel it everytime we come up on the job, me with my sunnah beard or my sister with her hijab on they swear we both strapped with a bomb and that we live in the metaphorical space somewhere between Osama and Sadam. Bush tells us that we're wrong, we should abandon the sunnah and learn "America's Liberty Song" but me and her don't know that song, we only know shahada, ibadah, salah and the surah's of the quran and my brothers of palestine only know mujahideen, martyrdom and roadside bombs.

And the media says they're wrong for using roadside bombs when we still have the blood of their mothers on our palms.
And we murder their entire neighborhood with bullets and napalm and talk about we have to kill them over in their homes and this makes us right in reallity it makes us dead wrong

Me and my brothers, we walk as stranger alone knowing that we have no home and live our lives as rolling stones, and where ever we lay our prayer rug is our home and Allah has decreed that the entire earth as ours to rome until our last breath with the knowledge that the angel of death will one day come and we will die soon, so while here we seek to imitate the rasool and we give our best until we are laid at rest with the belief that our lives have been patterned after the truth of the Quran and the Hadith.

Forum: POST YOUR POETRY - OPEN MIC II

Black On Black Rhyme Week TALLAHASSEE Sept 7- 13 2008

bobrhyme — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 05:37:06 GMT

Black On Black Rhyme Week TALLAHASSEE
SEPTEMBER 7TH thru SEPTEMBER 13th

SUNDAY
- WORSHIP

MONDAY
9pm
- Moonlit Monday's @ AMEN RA'S Bookstore $5 (live music and open mic)

TUESDAY
6 pm
- Domestic Violence class by the Refuge House @ THE APPALACHEE RIDGE COMMUNITY CENTER

WEDNESDAY
- FSU STUDENT UNION 10 am until 3 pm

THURSDAY
- 1st annual TALK BACK! SLAM
($25 entry fee $250 prize) 9pm
$7 ADMISSION @ AMEN RA'S Bookstore

FRIDAY
10A.M - 3P.M.
- Florida A&M University - On DA SET

FRIDAY NIGHT
6pm - until
- 3RD ANNUAL GAME NIGHT/ POOL PARTY / DRIVE-BY
Call 850-459-7399 for more info

SATURDAY MORNING
10 am - 12 noon
- Voter's Registration Drive @ Heavenly Hair
(across from the main post office)

12:15 pm
- The 3rd Annual Kickball game at Walker Ford

SATURDAY NIGHT
- The ALL BLACK FOUNDER'S BANQUET @ AMEN RA'S Bookstore
8P.M - 11 P.M
(food included)
$12 - Single
$20 - Couples

Call 850-459-7399 for more info

Forum: PRESS RELEASE/ANNOUNCEMENTS