Champagne Boiler Brunch
Sunday November 8th from 1:00-5:00 PM in the Parish Hall.
Our new boiler is in place, but we still owe $12,000. Your $20 tax-deductible contribution at the door will go towards this debt.
Enjoy a delicious brunch of eggs, potatoes, toast, salad, various meats, and unlimited champagne or mimosas, with entertainment provided by the St. Marks Music Fund.
We greatly appreciate your support in this time of need and look forward to seeing you on November 8th. If you plan to attend, please e-mail greg.senf@gmail.com, so we have a ballpark idea of how many people to expect.
Become a Poetry Project Member! http://poetryproject.org/become-a-member
Calendar: http://www.poetryproject.org/program-calendar
The Poetry Project is located at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery
131 East 10th Street at Second Avenue
New York City 10003
Trains: 6, F, N, R, and L.
info@poetryproject.org
www.poetryproject.org
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Nigger Time
Warning
This story is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
Nigger's Still In America!
It's nigger time
like hang them coon's high in the tree time
noose time again in America
Americas Apartheid
the lynchings you could not hide
help keep America clean
help keep America white; right!
no reparation will be accepted
nothing could compensate
for the Atlantic slave trade, rape
brought to America
from the womb of Mama Africa
so this is for my people
for all my people hung in the Carolinas
Georgia , Alabama , Louisiana,
Mississippi southern trees
your black hearted behavior
resurrected a black dashiki wearing Jesus our savior
here to destroy plantation minds
who will stand to pay for this crime?
angry ghost I let speak
when sleep
angel tears fall on eyes
witness heaven in the sky
years of being mistreated
atrocities simply cannot be deleted
thirsty devils suck nigger blood
mutilated breast
carved out chest
castrated black balls bleeding
eyes pleading
for our Gods
our Jesus
our justice
murderer's
stolen ancestors from A free ca
brutalized by a countries barbaric lust
for a phallus envied
white President's turncoat
election votes
FDR was a murderer
allowed the world to photograph southern shame
signed names
postcard glorified this genocide
Mary Turner hung
belly nine months full swung
the eyeball of Georgia sun
hog split her womb
kidnapped murdered her baby
granulated brains with frantic feet
the bloody cord of life dripping onto the sour earth
murderer's
imagine America dragged face deep in the shitty earth
to death
noose bagged hung
Lige Daniels hung
his dog hung
Claude Neal hung
George W. Dorsey hung
Cleo Wright hung
Willie Earle hung
Emmett Till hung
Africa hung
nightmare madness in my sleep
souls screaming
crying, moaning , groaning
black bodies held atop flames of white hell
America yelling "BURN THEM NIGGER'S..."
"BURN THEM NIGGER'S'
angry spirits they wait
for me
deep in Grandaddies Carolinas
o sha sha
o sha sha mumble gee gee style
cause ya done hung my people
done sawed off limbs; decorated trees
gave Billie a song to sing
one to remember the fruit
bitter spit spat the taste
I refuse to play sambo
be your mammy tit feed your babies
sing to a country that hates
my body and soul
ancestors enter dreams
asking "sister child, daughter of our blood are you free?"
I reply
"no we are still being dragged, hung and murdered in the name of justice."
I AM, YOU AND WE ARE STILL CONSIDERED NIGGERS IN AMERICA
Dedicated to one universal world free
Mumia & Jena 6
© 2008 Lepadah
From: (tobatala)
Last Visit: 12/13/04
Posts: 1047
To: lepadah
Posted: Jul 18 00 11:37 PM
Message:
....BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
SEE ALSO BARD, GENIUS.
ABOUT TO BE SEIZED BY APOLLO, DAPHNE TURNS INTO A LAUREL
TREE, AMERIKKA, YOU BETTER WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!
SISTER LEP IS OUR LAUREL AND SHE'S COMING TO SNATCH A BONE OUT OF YOUR MEAN-SPIRITED, BASE, BANAL, UGLY-LIKE-CAT-SHIT HEARTS!!!!
...BLACK POET LAUREATE
...BLACK POET LAUREATE
RECOGNIZE!!!!!!!!
THE OBATALA
From: (Damienmp)
To: lepadah
Hmmmm...
that's the kinda words, Lepadah, that breathe real fire up the asses of those with shut eyes.
Readin' your poem made me jealous as all hell, never have I been able to shed my rage, mind, soul, frustrations, love, everything like that.
I like it.
IT's the truth, truth, truth, 3 times.
I'd be down with hearin' you read it, any poem is twice as good comin' from the mouth.
I look foward....
DMP
It's NiGgEr time
From: DreamboatAnnie (dreamboat-annie)
Last Visit: 12/4/05
Posts: 14815
Print
Email
To: lepadah
Posted: Jul 16 00 10:46 AM
Message:
5534.6 (6 of 33)
Reply to 5534.1
Hi L,
Absolutely great poem and I'm nominating it here shortly for the IBPC. I only WISH this were behind us somehow. It will never be until all people overcome their IGNORANCE, their blindness to reality.
I do believe humanitarian unity is the way. I can empathize with the grief and the justified mistrust and hatred blacks feel. We have screwed this country up royally from the beginning. It is/will be so hard untangling the mess we've created. But we all have to realize that we are all people first, 99.9% identical DNA, ALL descended from mother Africa, if we go back to the beginning of the human race.
Prejudice angers me, no matter its origin. Apartheid is never the answer. Segregation is never the answer. Love and understanding and communication are the only answers, as far as I am concerned. I'll share just a tidbit of info. w/you for whatever it's worth. My daughter is engaged. Her fiance is black. My husband and I may well divorce over this issue if he does not come to his senses. My best friend asked me and a Hispanic friend of ours once if we believed in interracial dating/marriage (long before my daughter was dating). I told my friend I believe everybody should marry everybody else until there is no more room for racial prejudice. Our Hispanic friend agreed. But there are too many people in this world still ignorant of simple truths...
Peace and love,
Ann
http://pages.about.com/dreamboat-annie/index.html
http://forums.about.com/ab-poetry/messages/?msg=5524.2&ctx=0
July 2000 IBPC Nominees
Our July entries: "Water Gossip" (D.Ouellet), "Totem" (Hugh Anderson),
"Green" (Dave Ruslander), "Melancholy Winter" (Steve Phillips), "The
Pearl" (Selig), "It's NiGgEr Time" (Lydia E. Percy). Luck to all!
This story is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
Nigger's Still In America!
It's nigger time
like hang them coon's high in the tree time
noose time again in America
Americas Apartheid
the lynchings you could not hide
help keep America clean
help keep America white; right!
no reparation will be accepted
nothing could compensate
for the Atlantic slave trade, rape
brought to America
from the womb of Mama Africa
so this is for my people
for all my people hung in the Carolinas
Georgia , Alabama , Louisiana,
Mississippi southern trees
your black hearted behavior
resurrected a black dashiki wearing Jesus our savior
here to destroy plantation minds
who will stand to pay for this crime?
angry ghost I let speak
when sleep
angel tears fall on eyes
witness heaven in the sky
years of being mistreated
atrocities simply cannot be deleted
thirsty devils suck nigger blood
mutilated breast
carved out chest
castrated black balls bleeding
eyes pleading
for our Gods
our Jesus
our justice
murderer's
stolen ancestors from A free ca
brutalized by a countries barbaric lust
for a phallus envied
white President's turncoat
election votes
FDR was a murderer
allowed the world to photograph southern shame
signed names
postcard glorified this genocide
Mary Turner hung
belly nine months full swung
the eyeball of Georgia sun
hog split her womb
kidnapped murdered her baby
granulated brains with frantic feet
the bloody cord of life dripping onto the sour earth
murderer's
imagine America dragged face deep in the shitty earth
to death
noose bagged hung
Lige Daniels hung
his dog hung
Claude Neal hung
George W. Dorsey hung
Cleo Wright hung
Willie Earle hung
Emmett Till hung
Africa hung
nightmare madness in my sleep
souls screaming
crying, moaning , groaning
black bodies held atop flames of white hell
America yelling "BURN THEM NIGGER'S..."
"BURN THEM NIGGER'S'
angry spirits they wait
for me
deep in Grandaddies Carolinas
o sha sha
o sha sha mumble gee gee style
cause ya done hung my people
done sawed off limbs; decorated trees
gave Billie a song to sing
one to remember the fruit
bitter spit spat the taste
I refuse to play sambo
be your mammy tit feed your babies
sing to a country that hates
my body and soul
ancestors enter dreams
asking "sister child, daughter of our blood are you free?"
I reply
"no we are still being dragged, hung and murdered in the name of justice."
I AM, YOU AND WE ARE STILL CONSIDERED NIGGERS IN AMERICA
Dedicated to one universal world free
Mumia & Jena 6
© 2008 Lepadah
From: (tobatala)
Last Visit: 12/13/04
Posts: 1047
To: lepadah
Posted: Jul 18 00 11:37 PM
Message:
....BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
BLACK POET LAUREATE
SEE ALSO BARD, GENIUS.
ABOUT TO BE SEIZED BY APOLLO, DAPHNE TURNS INTO A LAUREL
TREE, AMERIKKA, YOU BETTER WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!
SISTER LEP IS OUR LAUREL AND SHE'S COMING TO SNATCH A BONE OUT OF YOUR MEAN-SPIRITED, BASE, BANAL, UGLY-LIKE-CAT-SHIT HEARTS!!!!
...BLACK POET LAUREATE
...BLACK POET LAUREATE
RECOGNIZE!!!!!!!!
THE OBATALA
From: (Damienmp)
To: lepadah
Hmmmm...
that's the kinda words, Lepadah, that breathe real fire up the asses of those with shut eyes.
Readin' your poem made me jealous as all hell, never have I been able to shed my rage, mind, soul, frustrations, love, everything like that.
I like it.
IT's the truth, truth, truth, 3 times.
I'd be down with hearin' you read it, any poem is twice as good comin' from the mouth.
I look foward....
DMP
It's NiGgEr time
From: DreamboatAnnie (dreamboat-annie)
Last Visit: 12/4/05
Posts: 14815
To: lepadah
Posted: Jul 16 00 10:46 AM
Message:
5534.6 (6 of 33)
Reply to 5534.1
Hi L,
Absolutely great poem and I'm nominating it here shortly for the IBPC. I only WISH this were behind us somehow. It will never be until all people overcome their IGNORANCE, their blindness to reality.
I do believe humanitarian unity is the way. I can empathize with the grief and the justified mistrust and hatred blacks feel. We have screwed this country up royally from the beginning. It is/will be so hard untangling the mess we've created. But we all have to realize that we are all people first, 99.9% identical DNA, ALL descended from mother Africa, if we go back to the beginning of the human race.
Prejudice angers me, no matter its origin. Apartheid is never the answer. Segregation is never the answer. Love and understanding and communication are the only answers, as far as I am concerned. I'll share just a tidbit of info. w/you for whatever it's worth. My daughter is engaged. Her fiance is black. My husband and I may well divorce over this issue if he does not come to his senses. My best friend asked me and a Hispanic friend of ours once if we believed in interracial dating/marriage (long before my daughter was dating). I told my friend I believe everybody should marry everybody else until there is no more room for racial prejudice. Our Hispanic friend agreed. But there are too many people in this world still ignorant of simple truths...
Peace and love,
Ann
http://pages.about.com/dreamboat-annie/index.html
http://forums.about.com/ab-poetry/messages/?msg=5524.2&ctx=0
July 2000 IBPC Nominees
Our July entries: "Water Gossip" (D.Ouellet), "Totem" (Hugh Anderson),
"Green" (Dave Ruslander), "Melancholy Winter" (Steve Phillips), "The
Pearl" (Selig), "It's NiGgEr Time" (Lydia E. Percy). Luck to all!
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Poetry Project nyc - Open Mic
Calendar: http://www.poetryproject.org/program-calendar
The Poetry Project is located at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery
131 East 10th Street at Second Avenue
New York City 10003
Trains: 6, F, N, R, and L.
info@poetryproject.org
www.poetryproject.org
Admission is $8, $7 for students/seniors and $5 for members (though now
those who take out a membership at $95 or higher will get in FREE
to all regular readings).
Open Reading
November 2, 2009
8:00 pm
Monday
Sign-in at 7:45 pm
The Poetry Project is located at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery
131 East 10th Street at Second Avenue
New York City 10003
Trains: 6, F, N, R, and L.
info@poetryproject.org
www.poetryproject.org
Admission is $8, $7 for students/seniors and $5 for members (though now
those who take out a membership at $95 or higher will get in FREE
to all regular readings).
Open Reading
November 2, 2009
8:00 pm
Monday
Sign-in at 7:45 pm
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
History of the MacDowell Colony ... A great place for Artist/Writers to create.
History
In 1896, Edward MacDowell, a composer, and Marian MacDowell, a pianist, bought a farm in Peterborough, New Hampshire, where they spent summers working in peaceful surroundings. It was in Peterborough that Edward, arguably America’s first great composer, said he produced more and better music. Not long after — falling prematurely and gravely ill — Edward conveyed to his wife that he wished to give other artists the same creative experience under which he had thrived.
Before his death in 1908, Marian set about fulfilling his wish of making a community on their New Hampshire property where artists could work in an ideal place in the stimulating company of peers. Their vision became nationally known as the “Peterborough Idea,” and in 1906, prominent citizens of the time — among them Grover Cleveland, Andrew Carnegie, and J. Pierpont Morgan — created a fund in Edward’s honor to make the idea a reality. Although Edward lived to see the first Fellows arrive, it was under Marian’s leadership that support for the Colony increased, most of the 32 studios were built, and the artistic program grew and flourished. Until her death in 1956, she traveled across the country to further public awareness about the Colony’s mission, giving lecture-recitals to raise funds for its preservation.
At its founding, the Colony was an experiment with no precedent. It stands now having provided crucial time and space to more than 6,000 artists, including such notable names as Leonard Bernstein, Thornton Wilder, Aaron Copland, Milton Avery, James Baldwin, Spalding Gray, and more recently Alice Walker, Alice Sebold, Jonathan Franzen, Michael Chabon, Suzan-Lori Parks, Meredith Monk, and many more.
In 1997, The MacDowell Colony was honored with the National Medal of Arts — the highest award given by the United States to artists or arts patrons — for “nurturing and inspiring many of this century’s finest artists” and offering them “the opportunity to work within a dynamic community of their peers, where creative excellence is the standard.” In 2007, the Colony celebrated its Centennial with a yearlong celebration of the freedom to create. You can browse through MacDowell's history by viewing the website.
In 1896, Edward MacDowell, a composer, and Marian MacDowell, a pianist, bought a farm in Peterborough, New Hampshire, where they spent summers working in peaceful surroundings. It was in Peterborough that Edward, arguably America’s first great composer, said he produced more and better music. Not long after — falling prematurely and gravely ill — Edward conveyed to his wife that he wished to give other artists the same creative experience under which he had thrived.
Before his death in 1908, Marian set about fulfilling his wish of making a community on their New Hampshire property where artists could work in an ideal place in the stimulating company of peers. Their vision became nationally known as the “Peterborough Idea,” and in 1906, prominent citizens of the time — among them Grover Cleveland, Andrew Carnegie, and J. Pierpont Morgan — created a fund in Edward’s honor to make the idea a reality. Although Edward lived to see the first Fellows arrive, it was under Marian’s leadership that support for the Colony increased, most of the 32 studios were built, and the artistic program grew and flourished. Until her death in 1956, she traveled across the country to further public awareness about the Colony’s mission, giving lecture-recitals to raise funds for its preservation.
At its founding, the Colony was an experiment with no precedent. It stands now having provided crucial time and space to more than 6,000 artists, including such notable names as Leonard Bernstein, Thornton Wilder, Aaron Copland, Milton Avery, James Baldwin, Spalding Gray, and more recently Alice Walker, Alice Sebold, Jonathan Franzen, Michael Chabon, Suzan-Lori Parks, Meredith Monk, and many more.
In 1997, The MacDowell Colony was honored with the National Medal of Arts — the highest award given by the United States to artists or arts patrons — for “nurturing and inspiring many of this century’s finest artists” and offering them “the opportunity to work within a dynamic community of their peers, where creative excellence is the standard.” In 2007, the Colony celebrated its Centennial with a yearlong celebration of the freedom to create. You can browse through MacDowell's history by viewing the website.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wine, Whiskey, Spirits & Support Local Artists
Continuing in our showcase of local artists, Court Square Wine & Spirits cordially invites you to the opening of Tres Faux Studio's 'Group Show' on Thursday, October 22nd. And as always, accompanying the new artwork donning our walls will be a free wine tasting! We look forward to seeing you at the store to celebrate visual arts paired with delicious beverages!
ABOUT THE ARTISTS
ZED VOID
Zed is one of the first and founding members of the group, and confronts the "visceral intellectual energy" of conceptual art. Last month, Zed gained a following with "The Emperor's New Clothes" which consisted of his attending the opening 'al natural'. He continues the argument here, with his new piece: "The Empty Box of Conceptualism", unsigned copies of which are available from the Court Square Wine & Spirts Staff, free of charge, while supplies last.
ABOUT THE ARTISTS
ZED VOID
Zed is one of the first and founding members of the group, and confronts the "visceral intellectual energy" of conceptual art. Last month, Zed gained a following with "The Emperor's New Clothes" which consisted of his attending the opening 'al natural'. He continues the argument here, with his new piece: "The Empty Box of Conceptualism", unsigned copies of which are available from the Court Square Wine & Spirts Staff, free of charge, while supplies last.
The Moth in NYC
Upcoming SLAMS
Come join us on...
Thursday, October 22
Theme: DESTINY
&
Monday, October 26
Theme: DISGUISES
Come join us on...
Thursday, October 22
Theme: DESTINY
&
Monday, October 26
Theme: DISGUISES
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The Crippled Spectacle
don't let me linger
somewhere in my own matter
be a sore to my own eye
if I have grown slightly dim witted
or visually dilapidated
crippled by time
don't hold me a patient in asylum
to be figured out like titicut follies
allow I beg me some dignity
if the forward years are unkind
scaring one with cruelty
then allow death to sit upon my step
may I petition the world to be hurled
out of the rotten bowels of society
to be remembered a muse
By Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
somewhere in my own matter
be a sore to my own eye
if I have grown slightly dim witted
or visually dilapidated
crippled by time
don't hold me a patient in asylum
to be figured out like titicut follies
allow I beg me some dignity
if the forward years are unkind
scaring one with cruelty
then allow death to sit upon my step
may I petition the world to be hurled
out of the rotten bowels of society
to be remembered a muse
By Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
Friday, October 16, 2009
Art Show, Artist, Wine & Whiskey
Tres Faux Studio 'Group Show'
REMEMBER THAT ON THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22ND, COURT SQUARE WINE & SPIRITS WILL BE HOSTING AN EXCITING ART OPENING EVENT, COMPLETE WITH A FREE TASTING OF PREMIUM SCOTCH WHISKEY, WINE, AND LIQUEURS!
WHO: Tres Faux Studio--- A group of young, energetic, progressive artists with a subversive bent from a small live/work space with the same name.
WHAT: Local art by local artists. And drinks. Awesome ones.
WHEN: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22ND FROM 5:00-8:00PM
WHERE: Court Square Wine & Spirits-- 2420 JACKSON AVE. LIC
REMEMBER THAT ON THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22ND, COURT SQUARE WINE & SPIRITS WILL BE HOSTING AN EXCITING ART OPENING EVENT, COMPLETE WITH A FREE TASTING OF PREMIUM SCOTCH WHISKEY, WINE, AND LIQUEURS!
WHO: Tres Faux Studio--- A group of young, energetic, progressive artists with a subversive bent from a small live/work space with the same name.
WHAT: Local art by local artists. And drinks. Awesome ones.
WHEN: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22ND FROM 5:00-8:00PM
WHERE: Court Square Wine & Spirits-- 2420 JACKSON AVE. LIC
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
MSU
MSU Homecoming 2009
The Morgan State Bears did it again...we won by 1 point lol. Anywho the weekend was a BLAST spent with my daughter Yas S J aka msu foxxy original. Her apt in the brownstone is beautiful and food DELICIOUS!!! The wine a Sauvignon Blanc "Ponga" from New Zealand Great! ... what can I say I had an amazing weekend. Congratulations to MSU President Dr. Earl S. Richardson for his 25 years of service and dedicatio to Morgan State University..."It's so hard to say goodbye."
Peace Lepadah
The Morgan State Bears did it again...we won by 1 point lol. Anywho the weekend was a BLAST spent with my daughter Yas S J aka msu foxxy original. Her apt in the brownstone is beautiful and food DELICIOUS!!! The wine a Sauvignon Blanc "Ponga" from New Zealand Great! ... what can I say I had an amazing weekend. Congratulations to MSU President Dr. Earl S. Richardson for his 25 years of service and dedicatio to Morgan State University..."It's so hard to say goodbye."
Peace Lepadah
Friday, October 9, 2009
Tantrum
A Poem by Lepadah
You told me things that I did not understand
Things to hard to hear
Strait jackets and suicidal madness
What lingers deep within etchings on your notebook
Pen marks deep incisions
Razor graffiti
Are these demons available for conference
Or is it you they summon
Or do they arise when over the edge
They appear red deviled
Invisible chains anchor upon your arms
And I am force to restrain you
We are both exhausted
You fall asleep I lay there dazed and suddenly forgetful
Unable to comprehend the rage
Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
You told me things that I did not understand
Things to hard to hear
Strait jackets and suicidal madness
What lingers deep within etchings on your notebook
Pen marks deep incisions
Razor graffiti
Are these demons available for conference
Or is it you they summon
Or do they arise when over the edge
They appear red deviled
Invisible chains anchor upon your arms
And I am force to restrain you
We are both exhausted
You fall asleep I lay there dazed and suddenly forgetful
Unable to comprehend the rage
Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
LIC Art Gallery...
More on LIC artist Anowar Hossain visit anowarhossain.com. I met artist Anowar Hossain last year and had a chance to view his work. My interest was his painting of Diego Rivera and wife Frida Kahlo. I will be doing a piece on this talented artist in November during the exhibition.
Lepadah
Lepadah
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Mad Head - Part I
This story is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
the slow glow
from the opaque street light near Bleecker
transfixed
holding a cool gaze
floating to a raunchy head beat
the distinct smell of eucalyptus honey
visions of thick drops running down the side of Enola's mason jars extract thoughts of jazz
I welcome the resurrection
and prepared to ride a riff w/trane
along w/Dizzy altering scales of composition spiral into
"I'll never go back to Georgia" licks
(music plays)
crisscross & seduce me w/his hurricane horn
stopping just long enough to hear Moody scat
thumping mad Max into memory instead of memorex
easy flow where my mind go
groove along side daddy do good
waited for me inside Sweet Basil
El Dios of drums
flailing
the first click
the first hit
the full blown litany of sound boiling my blood
possessed
unleash the beast inside to rhythms so loose
& free
alone
2 A.M. w/my cool gaze
a warm glass of Hennessy
"no ice please"
a couple of cats
& Art Blakey
playing while I drag my straw stuffed nose to sniff up the last bit of blow
long after the light blew
Dedicated to all the giants.
© 2009 Lepadah
the slow glow
from the opaque street light near Bleecker
transfixed
holding a cool gaze
floating to a raunchy head beat
the distinct smell of eucalyptus honey
visions of thick drops running down the side of Enola's mason jars extract thoughts of jazz
I welcome the resurrection
and prepared to ride a riff w/trane
along w/Dizzy altering scales of composition spiral into
"I'll never go back to Georgia" licks
(music plays)
crisscross & seduce me w/his hurricane horn
stopping just long enough to hear Moody scat
thumping mad Max into memory instead of memorex
easy flow where my mind go
groove along side daddy do good
waited for me inside Sweet Basil
El Dios of drums
flailing
the first click
the first hit
the full blown litany of sound boiling my blood
possessed
unleash the beast inside to rhythms so loose
& free
alone
2 A.M. w/my cool gaze
a warm glass of Hennessy
"no ice please"
a couple of cats
& Art Blakey
playing while I drag my straw stuffed nose to sniff up the last bit of blow
long after the light blew
Dedicated to all the giants.
© 2009 Lepadah
Homeless
Submitted by Lepadah on 4 September 2009 - 10:06am.| Updated 21 September 2009 - 9:49am.
Style / Type:
freeform
There was no place to go
So I sat inside Lincoln Center’s Damrosch Park
Listening to another one One of us
Playing his heart out on the violin
Black case on ground A few one dollars
A spattering of pocket change
For us it is lonely
Our mate is often unfair
Cheating us out of fame
Fortune is to be gotten by chance
But it is love
That propels and possess
One to stagger along the city streets seeking our stage for performance
I find the poster of a hungry mans face enchanting
Peeling from the subway tiles
I keep forgetting to photograph
His eyes longing
Asking the world to care
Do we?
Do I?
Yes, I need to care
I have to care for that man
For the woman on the street
For the child inside the 99 cent store petitioning for a bag of chips
Or a cheap plastic toy
For the regular drifters inside Dunkin Donuts
Sitting on stools like lost pigeons with no where else to go
Today I have no where else to go
So I sit waiting for Angelo to play his rendition of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue”
So I can begin with words
Nervous tightly coiled my usual look
Petrified some have noted
The hole at the tip of my Rockports; which was noticeable
As I step upon the wooden box
Some wonder a song a recitation of a Shakespearian piece
Angelo played softly so I could be heard over the makeshift mini microphone
I spoke Verse after verse
Prose written on tattered typing paper
It was the love this unfair affair that left me homeless
With no where to go
By Lepadah
copyright 2009
Style / Type:
freeform
There was no place to go
So I sat inside Lincoln Center’s Damrosch Park
Listening to another one One of us
Playing his heart out on the violin
Black case on ground A few one dollars
A spattering of pocket change
For us it is lonely
Our mate is often unfair
Cheating us out of fame
Fortune is to be gotten by chance
But it is love
That propels and possess
One to stagger along the city streets seeking our stage for performance
I find the poster of a hungry mans face enchanting
Peeling from the subway tiles
I keep forgetting to photograph
His eyes longing
Asking the world to care
Do we?
Do I?
Yes, I need to care
I have to care for that man
For the woman on the street
For the child inside the 99 cent store petitioning for a bag of chips
Or a cheap plastic toy
For the regular drifters inside Dunkin Donuts
Sitting on stools like lost pigeons with no where else to go
Today I have no where else to go
So I sit waiting for Angelo to play his rendition of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue”
So I can begin with words
Nervous tightly coiled my usual look
Petrified some have noted
The hole at the tip of my Rockports; which was noticeable
As I step upon the wooden box
Some wonder a song a recitation of a Shakespearian piece
Angelo played softly so I could be heard over the makeshift mini microphone
I spoke Verse after verse
Prose written on tattered typing paper
It was the love this unfair affair that left me homeless
With no where to go
By Lepadah
copyright 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Dawning
He threw the wash cloth in the sink
The condom in the toilet
The towel on the bathroom floor
Left the wrappers on the bureau
Money for the Con Ed bill
A cup of coffee on the dining room table
A thanks for some pussy hug
And then he left
The ritual
Like a jitterbug dance
Performed so well
The reality .... 2/4/09
Peace Lepadah
She confessed, I'm a whore and yes I know it without anyone telling me. It is a fact I have sex sometimes to get my shit off or I need something. Really it doesn't make a difference now I let go all those "I'm getting married in the morning." I realized when I was fourteen that married or otherwise committed men were polygamous, my first introduction to oral sex was from a married man who lived in the neighborhood. After several hello's and small get to know you conversation he felt comfortable approaching me in such a manner. Thus tainted my opinion about the Holy bond of matrimony which is pure idealistic bullshit. Thus I am a devout believer in polyandry. I currently have sex with more then seven men and truly feel there is nothing wrong. Sex is all it is and feelings if there are twinkling then I might consider a sleep over. I even encourage their dalliance with other women as not to be restricted. I am also a bisexual woman, I love the feminine curves of another woman. Sexually I must admit to experiencing most my orgasm with women. Although I could never forsake a man for a woman. Men are too precious and I adore a strong and large man. I love my lover Evan. He by far the more forceful of them. A muscular tall dark skinned brother with a cross tattooed across his back. I like when he chokes me and grabs my hair snatching my head back while having sex. His force literally drops me to my knees and thus I succumb to my wicked fetishes. I must admit oral sex with him is an art which means I cradle, caress, suck and kiss his penis with the utmost care and attention of a painter painting on a canvas. All my encounters have a purpose to serve me directly or indirectly. My Puerto Rican vixen "liz" who now lives in Miami I fondly miss and remember right down to her curvaceous body and those unforgettable breast with nipples almost 1.5 inches when fully erected. That was my woman she would hold me down when was I strap for cash it was nothing to get some guy to drop two hundred for her and she would split her earnings with me. Now there is my current more cerebral lover who stimulates me beyond this earth. I enjoy him immensely everything from his cocaine to his spirited intelligence. I compare him to that of a Diego Rivera of words. He is utterly brilliant I have an orgasm whenever he is around. I adore him terribly so almost love and beyond any caution there is none. We read to each other and write verse about us. Get high ride out to AC for just the hell of it. Our sex is surreal and that is all I can say. The rest are fillers like loose leaf paper. I use them when it is necessary and then reserve seclusion. Maybe I'm not a whore just a woman.
© 2009 Lepadah
The condom in the toilet
The towel on the bathroom floor
Left the wrappers on the bureau
Money for the Con Ed bill
A cup of coffee on the dining room table
A thanks for some pussy hug
And then he left
The ritual
Like a jitterbug dance
Performed so well
The reality .... 2/4/09
Peace Lepadah
She confessed, I'm a whore and yes I know it without anyone telling me. It is a fact I have sex sometimes to get my shit off or I need something. Really it doesn't make a difference now I let go all those "I'm getting married in the morning." I realized when I was fourteen that married or otherwise committed men were polygamous, my first introduction to oral sex was from a married man who lived in the neighborhood. After several hello's and small get to know you conversation he felt comfortable approaching me in such a manner. Thus tainted my opinion about the Holy bond of matrimony which is pure idealistic bullshit. Thus I am a devout believer in polyandry. I currently have sex with more then seven men and truly feel there is nothing wrong. Sex is all it is and feelings if there are twinkling then I might consider a sleep over. I even encourage their dalliance with other women as not to be restricted. I am also a bisexual woman, I love the feminine curves of another woman. Sexually I must admit to experiencing most my orgasm with women. Although I could never forsake a man for a woman. Men are too precious and I adore a strong and large man. I love my lover Evan. He by far the more forceful of them. A muscular tall dark skinned brother with a cross tattooed across his back. I like when he chokes me and grabs my hair snatching my head back while having sex. His force literally drops me to my knees and thus I succumb to my wicked fetishes. I must admit oral sex with him is an art which means I cradle, caress, suck and kiss his penis with the utmost care and attention of a painter painting on a canvas. All my encounters have a purpose to serve me directly or indirectly. My Puerto Rican vixen "liz" who now lives in Miami I fondly miss and remember right down to her curvaceous body and those unforgettable breast with nipples almost 1.5 inches when fully erected. That was my woman she would hold me down when was I strap for cash it was nothing to get some guy to drop two hundred for her and she would split her earnings with me. Now there is my current more cerebral lover who stimulates me beyond this earth. I enjoy him immensely everything from his cocaine to his spirited intelligence. I compare him to that of a Diego Rivera of words. He is utterly brilliant I have an orgasm whenever he is around. I adore him terribly so almost love and beyond any caution there is none. We read to each other and write verse about us. Get high ride out to AC for just the hell of it. Our sex is surreal and that is all I can say. The rest are fillers like loose leaf paper. I use them when it is necessary and then reserve seclusion. Maybe I'm not a whore just a woman.
© 2009 Lepadah
Madoff
This is not a recession
This is an economic depression
No financial protection
Time for reflection
Madoff made off with a billion dollar scheme
Ransack bloated pockets and blacked out dreams
Capitalist kleptomaniac
West Palm Beach socialites
Navigating through a new way of life
Bankrupted economy
A world wide Tsunami
Forced to adjust or jump without a parachute
We the poor already know
A life time of struggle to survive or die
We are coupon clipping
Buffet fixing
Turn grits into a savory souffle without eggs
Chitterlings into caviar
We the poor know prejudice of food stamps
Medicaid
Wep worker modern day slaves
With no pay
Just a stay and generic medicine
Now we all must wait for a government bailout
A stimulator to ejaculate this crisis
In the meantime we wait
Watching NBC nightly news......
By Lepadah
copyright 2009
This is an economic depression
No financial protection
Time for reflection
Madoff made off with a billion dollar scheme
Ransack bloated pockets and blacked out dreams
Capitalist kleptomaniac
West Palm Beach socialites
Navigating through a new way of life
Bankrupted economy
A world wide Tsunami
Forced to adjust or jump without a parachute
We the poor already know
A life time of struggle to survive or die
We are coupon clipping
Buffet fixing
Turn grits into a savory souffle without eggs
Chitterlings into caviar
We the poor know prejudice of food stamps
Medicaid
Wep worker modern day slaves
With no pay
Just a stay and generic medicine
Now we all must wait for a government bailout
A stimulator to ejaculate this crisis
In the meantime we wait
Watching NBC nightly news......
By Lepadah
copyright 2009
Hot "The Institute of Higher Burnin."
I was late for work to stop by the building I have been photographing for over a year. This 200,000 square feet is considered the "Graffiti Mecca." A wonderful public display of artwork done by artist from all over the world. For further information please check out my photos on myspace page titled "Expression." Also please visit their website at 5Ptz.com.
Peace have a beautiful day.
Lepadah
Peace have a beautiful day.
Lepadah
Monday, October 5, 2009
Bed Unmade (A Photograph)
Bed Unmade
A Poem by Lepadah
A terrain
Wrinkled
Creased
Wriggled by fidgety feet
Bunched cotton
Folded layers of organic
Damask or Dupioni
Woven threads from Dubai
One more luxurious than the other
Are simply left unmade
Faint imprints
Hidden scents caught in the fabric
Nights filled with propositions
Possibilities
Expected and unexpected struggles
The unmade is the unknown
A mess more perfect then army made
To hold a memory perhaps
Or a planned return
How interesting a photograph
Matte
Framed
Hung for interpretation of the unmade
Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
A Poem by Lepadah
A terrain
Wrinkled
Creased
Wriggled by fidgety feet
Bunched cotton
Folded layers of organic
Damask or Dupioni
Woven threads from Dubai
One more luxurious than the other
Are simply left unmade
Faint imprints
Hidden scents caught in the fabric
Nights filled with propositions
Possibilities
Expected and unexpected struggles
The unmade is the unknown
A mess more perfect then army made
To hold a memory perhaps
Or a planned return
How interesting a photograph
Matte
Framed
Hung for interpretation of the unmade
Lepadah
© 2009 Lepadah
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Vagina
Vagina
Modernist visions of O'keeffe flowers
Perfect pussies
Carnal splashed upon canvases
Lovers who tongue tickle
Oyster shell lips
Quivering to fully expose blush petals
Surrounded by sprouted follicles
Opening slow to the empress hole of life
By Lepadah
2009
© 2009 Lepadah
Modernist visions of O'keeffe flowers
Perfect pussies
Carnal splashed upon canvases
Lovers who tongue tickle
Oyster shell lips
Quivering to fully expose blush petals
Surrounded by sprouted follicles
Opening slow to the empress hole of life
By Lepadah
2009
© 2009 Lepadah
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Lox and Soulfood
A Poem by Lepadah
Funny watching ones middle aged ass
wiggle jump and jiggle
to "Hey now you're a rockstar."
dancing on top the dining room table
only hot pink panty flashing the mirror
growing up Queens
laughing remembering idiosyncrasies
caught up angst
the lost Bozo lunch box
announced over PS 135 PA system
deliberately left outside Ms. Maggios 1st grade class
the bright red hair
white clown face
big red lips
Bozo box belonged to me
growing up on this side of Queens
those awkward pointed Dr. Scholls shoes
folks felt appropriate
correct narrow feet
attached to olive oil legs
yikes!
growing up Queens
the sixties
a predominately Jewish neighborhood
listening to Mrs. Goldstein, Mrs. Weinstein, Ms. Lucille dish gossip
peeking at Dr. Gottesman hippy wife smoking weed
growing up Queens
meant knowing the yenta in the hood
laughing at the Weinsteins speaking Yiddish
their favorite expression "oy vey."
meant eating daddies twist on Gefilte fish
the best Matzah ball soup ever
running down the street
the bakery for a loaf of Challah
our house was Lox and Soulfood
reading "Joys of Yiddish"
"Malcolm X" (hysterical)
growing up Queens
listening to the Monkees on CBS
pops Billy Eckstine records
mothers country music (Lord have mercy)
falling asleep to milkman matinee
Saturday night parties
cross town mamas house
watching the folks get down to King Curtis
growing up Queens meant
first back park kiss
the big kick ass fight with new kids
it meant Goodies luncheonette
Jay's Diner
Gaby's pizzeria
Jerry's Jewish Delicatessen
growing up Queens meant
me loving being me
© 2009 Lepadah
.
Funny watching ones middle aged ass
wiggle jump and jiggle
to "Hey now you're a rockstar."
dancing on top the dining room table
only hot pink panty flashing the mirror
growing up Queens
laughing remembering idiosyncrasies
caught up angst
the lost Bozo lunch box
announced over PS 135 PA system
deliberately left outside Ms. Maggios 1st grade class
the bright red hair
white clown face
big red lips
Bozo box belonged to me
growing up on this side of Queens
those awkward pointed Dr. Scholls shoes
folks felt appropriate
correct narrow feet
attached to olive oil legs
yikes!
growing up Queens
the sixties
a predominately Jewish neighborhood
listening to Mrs. Goldstein, Mrs. Weinstein, Ms. Lucille dish gossip
peeking at Dr. Gottesman hippy wife smoking weed
growing up Queens
meant knowing the yenta in the hood
laughing at the Weinsteins speaking Yiddish
their favorite expression "oy vey."
meant eating daddies twist on Gefilte fish
the best Matzah ball soup ever
running down the street
the bakery for a loaf of Challah
our house was Lox and Soulfood
reading "Joys of Yiddish"
"Malcolm X" (hysterical)
growing up Queens
listening to the Monkees on CBS
pops Billy Eckstine records
mothers country music (Lord have mercy)
falling asleep to milkman matinee
Saturday night parties
cross town mamas house
watching the folks get down to King Curtis
growing up Queens meant
first back park kiss
the big kick ass fight with new kids
it meant Goodies luncheonette
Jay's Diner
Gaby's pizzeria
Jerry's Jewish Delicatessen
growing up Queens meant
me loving being me
© 2009 Lepadah
.
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