Page Title

He introduced us to hip hop
but we had to define it for
ourselves...

Mind sex masturbates in
liberation,
Swaddled in sheets of
freedom
Doused in green African
musk.
Red-hot love for my people-
And Black chiseled to
perfection
like a hand carved Ibo
sculpture.

Everybody talking about
dying for the revolution
I wanna live for it.
I wanna write my way
into the heart of a
revolutionary poem.
Diasporic visions of
transnationalism.

Who is the Queen Hip Hop
poet in the revolution?

We cloak ourselves in the
African blood sprinting
though our veins.
Shielding it with the cotton
wool
of our womb.
The Diaspora is under our
nose
like a fiend.
Proud African displaced in
theAmericas.
African American without
hyphenation.

We are Part II to slave songs,
We are the drinking gourds,
Keeper of the quilt,
A coded subculture;
Reclaiming the language
That hipped into the
classrooms of Yale
And Hopped off the path of
enlightenment.
We are emceeing ourselves
Out of the deceptive arms
Of patriarchy and anarchy.
Becoming the griots
Of the underground struggle.
DJ’ing a hidden message
Telling you where to board
The next Freedom train.
Go down Moses
Queen Mother Moore
Announce all God’s chilluns
got wings.

I am a Queen Hip Hop Poet-
Dismantling the culture of
silence,
And Hip Hop will be our song
of Freedom!

Moon
© 2005 All rights reserved

Brotha Hip Hop...

Eight years older,
Big brother to my new-born
flesh.
Given to you to mold and
protect.
Boy wonder,
Wanna be tumbler
For Jesse White.
Dive thru hoola-hoops into
curl flips
I stood as target for you to
miss.
Couch cushion pallets on
the floor always caught you
Gravity could never contain-
You in my mind.
Like words to poems,
Pencils to art
Ideas to creativity-
Everything I dream to be.

And I wish you be that kid I
used to
mimic again. Is it just
another gimmick again?

Co-co tag,
Adidas stripe brag,
Kangol sag low to his face.
As he squares in frame
Tilts his head 45 degrees
back
Wraps himself around
himself
And mean mugs the camera.
Rocking hard in his b-boy
stance.
Break scratch to emcee.
Gain the knowledge and
Simplify the feeling in graffiti.
Everything hip hop is to me.

Is it just another gimmick
Playing with my heart again?

Struggle to beat street
against
Concrete crush grooves.
I watched you move,
Witnessed transition
consume you.

11th grade educated,
Cutting hair in Perry’s
basement,
And popping weed on the
side
To pimp out the baby blue
ride.
Saw the change in your eyes
When your father died.

Now you Smoke out to cope
about.
Drink a sober tongue to get
the pain out.
Now the 1’s and 2’s aint
mixing.
Whacked out with a drug
addiction,
Tables just turning, bridges
burning…

Aqua
© 2005 All rights reserved