Sunday, August 28, 2011

I had a wonderful Born Day celebrating my father William Henry Percy Sr. August 27th 1932. The irony of this date not only was I born on my fathers birthday but he passed away at fifty-one the age I am now. I miss him something awful. Sassy slow swaying I

I had a wonderful Born Day celebrating my father William Henry Percy Sr. August 27th 1932. The irony of this date not only was I born on my fathers birthday but he passed away at fifty-one the age I am now. I miss him something awful. Sassy slow swaying Irene made her debut on my bday "I'm a bad chick." haha a great night even though I was missing my daughter Yasmine who was evacuated from Baltimore City taken to Annapolis High yesterday and my scooby doo son Khalil out in Sag Harbor with his family concerned me but happy to report they are all safe minus no electricity. Friends came to my casa presenting me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, great wine especially "Tishbi" a beautiful Cabernet Petite Syrah 2009, lovely incense and herbal treats. Great conversation and Lester Young's genius music filtering thru the air. Thank you all . . . Peace be with us all.


Lepadah

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Sacred Retrospection Offering From Earth Angel



This morning I woke up feeling as blue as blue can be. Felt the world lock upon shoulders. I could hear no sound
except the noise inside my head confusing, distractions desperate impulses pushing one to make a inappropriate action. The cat even worried about the place seeking a haven from stomping swift feet. This morning I was as blue as one could be when suddenly a light turn on the bleak forecast making my day a little better, brighter and I began to feel a different emotion. I believe the Gods were working to help this perplexed soul today and sent an Angel to call upon me with sacred retrospection. Thank you bless be one . . .

Peace Lepadah one world one love

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Letter From The Editor (Project 2012 Screenplay)


From: Larry Mayfield
Date: August 23, 2011 1:23:09 PM EDT
To: Lydia Percy
Subject: Re: concept outline
Reply-To: Larry Mayfield

Lydia,

Arden and I had a brainstorming session over coffee this morning. It pertains to the idea I presented to you about taking your poems and connecting them into some kind of creative writing. Imagine what I am about to present as a partial idea of which you should be able to steer in various directions.
 
1. My role. Undefined, but creative along with editing probably.
2. Your poems, from earliest days to present, and beyond, suggestively.
3. Bring all of your poems no matter what styate or what quality. Place each one on the floor. See if any of them become a category. I do not know the categories at this time. You will know the subject of each and can initially begin categorization. I will fill in with expansions as the categories progress. Some might be chronological, some might be state of mind, some of lovers, or specific family or job or...
4. The concept. From a writer's point of view--this allowing the subject matter to  be connected through the writer's eye, and this allowing no limits of subject matter. The subject matter. Projections as you ride the subway to and from work, each frame from the subway window, each frame locking in on what passes by for that instant, into your mind, jotted on paper, thus your life passing through various situations, allowing any subject to pass by and be captured. For depth, you work diligently, but your mind multitasks into your inner world of writing, flashing forward to the upcoming spoken word performance of a recently captured subway frame, then flashing to current, work, then back to a past representing...(several directions). Past, present, future.
5. Deeper we go, Philosophy. Illusion confronting reality. Inner being along with outer. The frames of the subway window. Imagine a films negative, reversal of black/white, and the opportunity to express something racial oriented here. Or maybe the narrative that connects each poem will represent depth of the inner person and be shown in a black and white film negative.
6. Ghost Writer. Possible title, or Ghost Rider. Or Passing Through. Something with duality. The inner writer, a film negative, outer in full color. Or the paradox (?) of YOU being your own ghost writer.
7. Lydia, connect with me on this one, expand, feel my thoughts, as if I am your inner ghost writer's ghost writer (by creative suggestion).
and, ok this one is a stretch, but because of some of your subject matter, let's consider how to get some of this material within (ghost rider). Could a person's inner being (black/white film negative representation) become their own ghost writer, and then that ghost writer have an outer influence that absorbed within the outer layer, exposing each person's inner ghost (writer) (ghost representing subliminal or philosophical dream world) -- two separate ghosts (inner being, etc) interacting into ghosts' inner level, ghost being an important term because of its ethereal connotation, then contrastingly darker, deeper (where darker can mean lighter in an "opposite" world) into what has no definites (ghosts negative becomes dark; race black and white might come to play). When within each ghosts inner level a juztoposition, a contrast that can be seen, but not exactly at the same time, or can it? As close as black and white can be without diluting into gray. Or exploring if gray can connect "opposites." Back and forth we go, or simultaneous, into each person's soul-psyche. Each molecule having a seemingly opposite counterpart, but only seemingly, seemingly as close as most can get, but for those special few within each person's life--a spiritual (?) connection can be attained through an undefined window.

Larry Mayfield
Editor

Monday, August 22, 2011

Saturday


The shy boundaries of which to cross
where one surrenders
woke up to the lone woodpecker
pecking a distinct syncopation

morning feet plop
hands rub eyes
to witness Gods sunshine
daylight is present again

gathering dirty clothes
laundry, cleaning
soon savor of frying chicken
detect character
a child's grumbling tummy
mother ado over errands
and return to her kitchen

illumine candles of fresh Sake
Hibiscus luscious vines trailing Crisco oil
bubbling crisping pieces floured chicken
a sudden sunny moves into a Saturday night

kindly prod noon along
to the Incredible Bongo Band
clever nuances
she is a full melody moving
about space suited

proffer all that is possible
chance relying on destiny
and the soothing pecking of the pecker
during conscious twinkle


© 2011 Lepadah
All rights reserved

Richard Wright reread of Black Boy


The reread of Richard Wright "Black Boy" this summer was more vivid, stimulating and powerfully intelligent. The works by Richard Wright makes one feel down to the very marrow the pain, joy and intensity of being in Mississippi during a most brutal period. A boy becoming a man to reckon with against all odds. I baptized myself in his hunger, poverty, socially impaired family . . . reliving every riveting moment of human degradation and survival "By any means necessary." A must read for anyone.

Peace Lepadah

R.W a divinely intellectual writer .


Lepadah

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Polyandry and Polygamy for a society that has already experimented and entertained two or more partners definitive such promiscuous status right! Please feel free to offer words interested in others hypothesis. I personally have agreed with this status of

Polyandry and Polygamy for a society that has already experimented and entertained two or more partners definitive such promiscuous status right! Please feel free to offer words interested in others hypothesis. I personally have agreed with this status of one. Peace


Lepadah

THE MOMENTS - THE BEST THING FOR ME

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Lepadah

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Bird

Canary tales bee sting convexity
quondam vamped senses
now curling cries coursing neath lamina
weaving ribbon veins
thrust out ones yolk sac
abiogenesis strange embryos
blueprint journeys born
call deliverance from dead yawns of his striking note
music caught in divine winds
sprucing spring to sing into summer follies
apparently falls hysterical afore forsaken leaves
freeing . . . fleeing old branches
muted this bird of paradise
force to forfeit cradles
mirror brutal betrayal
acquaint one with time
whereas carpetbagger scurrying cupboards
usurping of the mistress trappings


© 2011 Lepadah
All rights reserved

Gin and juice - Snoop Doggy Dogg

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Lepadah

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Rumba Cubana con Rogelio

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Lepadah

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Bloom

His mouth opened fully amuse
the bid of a good decline
subito the drummer would play
dabbing for Chick Webb
his ornate salute
the proper canopy of a prophylactic
wand its way into the berry sap
though a quiet protest
note blue endeavor
tender press afar
erupted the cloying submission
of a morning purpose
soft as church music
summoning worshipers
call to prayer
justify this sinner memorized scriptures
second book of Samuel
chapter 11 verses 1 thru 5
as the volume stirred David loins for Bathsheba
soft as church music . . .
the hymn for where he bloomed for you

© 2011 Lepadah
All rights reserved

Friday, August 5, 2011

Happy Born Day to my daughter Yasmine H. Bint Sadig Jones

Daughter of the Ghetto

Brooklyn is like
layers of thick molasses
sticking to you
never thin
church bells ringing from the wind
where spirits spin

two story walk up
Mustafa hat shop and Islamic wear
Masjid At Taqwa
cross street

The Adhan
time, pray
beside papa
mama abaft

rug rolled out
hands rise
head down
head up
bow, bend knees

recite, recite
chant, chant
dance, dance
gather spirits

seven abound
seven all around
consecrated drums
papa's stories of Damballah

kicking kuku
jumping to chunks of cadence
prospect park
Conga square in the dark

"doobie, go low, low."
touch the earth
down, low, low
give it up to the God's
young feet sweep
accent space

Cora's babies
Great Queen Sengalese
yield a generation in America
promised papa a trip to Mecca

mama nursed stories to be told
while papa stretched goat skins to be sold
left drying in stuyvesant sun
congas waiting to be blessed

a garden for me
turning hoeing hard soil
picking burnt smoke pipes
bullets butts, tossed pennies
flourish fruits behind the slave

our house rocked
man! it was all love
mama the hipshaker
head jerking
snapping neck
to "The Big Pay Back"

there she goes
lordy have mercy
leg kick to the air
break down
to the ground
split

couldn't wait to snap crackle
finger pop
old, new, hip hop
doing the wop

lolloping, skipping in and out of turning loops
first pair bamboo hoops
jingling golden shine
jamaican dancing
Mr. Blake's backyard
Jamaica South Side
back to the crisp street of Bed Stuy

born to burn
born to pray
born to be
ceremonies born

Brook land Ghetto child...

© 2010 Lepadah

Happy Born Day to my daughter Yasmine H. Bint Sadig Jones

Daughter of the Ghetto

Brooklyn is like . . .
layers of thick molasses sticking to you
never thin church bells ringing from the wind
where spirits spin two story walk up Mustafa hat shop and Islamic wear
Masjid At Taqwa
cross street

The Adhan time, pray
beside papa
mama abaft

rug rolled out
hands rise head down
head up bow, bend knees recite, recite
chant, chant
dance, dance
gather spirits

seven abound
seven all around
consecrated drums
papa's stories of Damballah

kicking kuku jumping to chunks of cadence
prospect park
Conga square in the dark

"doobie, go low, low."
touch the earth
down, low, low
give it up to the God's young feet sweep
accent space

Cora's babies
Great Queen Sengalese
yield a generation in America
promised papa a trip to Mecca

mama nursed stories to be told
while papa stretched goat skins to be sold
left drying in stuyvesant sun
congas waiting to be blessed

a garden for me
turning hoeing hard soil
picking burnt smoke pipes
bullets butts, tossed pennies
flourish fruits behind the slave our house rocked
man! it was all love
mama the hipshaker
head jerking
snapping neck
to "The Big Pay Back"

there she goes
lordy have mercy
leg kick to the air
break down
to the ground
split

couldn't wait to snap crackle finger pop old, new, hip hop
doing the wop

lolloping, skipping in and out of turning loops
first pair bamboo hoops
jingling golden shine
jamaican dancing Mr. Blake's backyard Jamaica South Side
back to the crisp street of Bed Stuy

born to burn
born to pray
born to be ceremonies born

Brook land Ghetto child...

© 2010 Lepadah

Monday, August 1, 2011

Never Had A Dream - Ohio Players

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Lepadah