All Heroes Must Die (Part 1) 2/30
Your kind? y’all Not allowed…
cover yourself, gonna take more than Cloud
There’s something final about this fantasy
gonna take more than mental alchemy
What you gonna do? Curse me?
You already bless me to be detainee
My mind’s already struggle to agree
That your freedom ain’t really free
Why you trying to politi-trick me
No life insurance polici-slick me
Just armed, knowing I got no choice
just a man that favors the passive voice
I wanna see you burn so hard
You cause mental fragments to bombard
Across the plane, rendering our minds useless
I don’t know what else to say, but the truth is…
You wanna kill me because of my power
Showering young minds that blooms flowers
I tried to deny the powers that lies
Y’all know why all heroes must dies
You consider me a threat to the way things work
Paint me as the villain as well as the jerk
Nothings more dangerous than a man with a drive
I’m needle to your eyes, that’s why all heroes must die
Notes (1/30)
As I’m writing notes to you,
I’m hoping that I pick the words that shines thru.
Rip myself up for poor metaphors that reads like chores
Keeping the lines that sounds like symphony scores
I keep relining myself stomaching the acids
Just to find myself pulling stuff so I can’t use an antacid.
Eating up my notes just to digest to spit out at random times
now if you excuse me… after looking at this, I am outta my mind…
Hate Sex
Bumping and grinding enters the mind and
I’m so sick of that image rewinding
Sometimes I wish I never known pleasure
Sickens my stomach no matter the measure
Because I was her pleasure and I wasn’t even grown
So that poisoned the mind, setting the tone
Now I can’t stop thinking it, so bloody dangerous
But society made me feel so damn traitorous
Like I’m suppose to whore myself out
via 12 bouts of self-doubt knock about
my mind into self-pity because I’m in a city
where I’m looking at all titties wishing to knock out kitties
Seems like my mind is one step closer to beautiful
My thoughts inexcusable, but yet immutable
And people wonder what I sound so vex
Everytime I texted that I hate sex…
Quickie
i wish there was a mind reading app for making poems
theres words in me. theyre stuck.
a bunch of thoughts and emotions that i just cant breath enough life into.
a bunch of words on the tip of my tongue. hiding under the surface waiting to sprout
There’s these - words - stuck on netural -
thoughts + emotions escapes my grasp…
Creeping ever so slightly on my tonuge
Vanishes like stars within city lights at night
There’s gotta be an app for that
So I can get the words in that trap
As I shoot them out, filling in gaps
of the strings of the guitar of craps…
wait… craps… raps… er… damn it…
the train left the station after “gaps”.
Death Certificate
Staring at your death papers
Wondering how why you didn’t request a grave.
I wanna visit and share via breath vapors about each lie you gave.
You calulated moves, just to prove
you played everyone
And now, here I sit odd years later, not thinking of the fun.
It’s not nice that I lost someone
who tried to be my friend
But it’s horrible that you didn’t fight, not even at the end.
I don’t know what more to do
Nor I know what more to say
Except when I look at these death papers, even today…
Your spirit plays with my brain…
hard to maintain.
I was bored. I wanted to something over the top and ridiculous just for fun. So I present to you a dramatic reading of “The What” by Notorious BIG.
I forgot to attached the “lyrics”.
I once tickled a local tollup as nature intended
Presently, I use contraction on my being
To prevent the plague that is presently known as H.I.V.
And dark heathens acknowledged and compared themselves to custard-filling of a popular yellow sponge cake
While pretending to be evil, I’ll prepare them for this spoken word massacre.
Sir Bigge Smalls is the highest form of flattery
Your presentation has worn its welcome as Sir Arnold Jackson wondered exactly what his brother, Sir Willis Jackson, was referring to.
The excitement, now vanished, as I masked myself as Sir Frank White
I’m here to drum up the atmosphere and welcome women that only enjoys women to my being.
Tollups, I show no hesitation to shun them while my weaponry (is only the finest in) stainless steel
We want the treasures from the showman of the wheel
We fire our guns (until) our ammo is exhausted, so please lead us not into temptation.
You do not want to stroke the wrath of Sir Biggie Smalls!
You may be offended, but I used that to drive a thesis
It suppose to cause you to think, not scream “LORD JESUS”
You kept bring up that I shouldn’t uses rapists or Hitler
When the reality I was talking about “tagging” my scribbler
Tagging is the subject, yet you said you don’t give two shits
about the April character, yet I mentioned rape and you got a fit
Excuse me, ma’am, but you still don’t get my point
Who died and made you Queen of datapoints?
Please, re-read my original post about this
Because you keep missing this with your so-called wits
I was bored. I wanted to something over the top and ridiculous just for fun. So I present to you a dramatic reading of “The What” by Notorious BIG.
Sgt. “Slut-er”
I have a friend who I once called Sgt. “slut-er”
Because that’s the only word he seems to utter
Looks at a woman and said, “slut, slut, slut, nice lips, slut”
Of course, the conversation changes when he looks at her butt
All I can do is shake my head and said,
“well at least he doesn’t say these things to them instead.”
I do well to keep him on a leash
So, everyday, just to keep the peace
I would say, “imagine that person is your mother”
Even thought he only views me as a “little bother”
He finally stopped… but don’t get get sappy…
He made the mistake of cat-calling… and a woman’s hand got happy.
Ouch…
The $1000 Track - How I helped @Wyclef find his first song.
Yes, it’s true. I have been speaking with Wyclef Jean and helped him find what he couldn’t.And he’s paying me $1000 because I found it. So, how I did it?
First off, he gave this clue: “Out of the Jungle”. A quick Google search kept taking me to this article. Watching the video and reading the trasnscript gave me some clues.
So for me, it’s just — then I turned 18 years old and got my first contract with Atlantic Records Big Beat. At the time they just released Nelson Mandela, and I did a record called “Out of the Jungle,” and it was dedicated to Nelson Mandela. And I got with my group, The Fugees, in, like, 1989, and which was like a high school band for me. And basically with The Fugees I went on to doing my first CD. The first CD was called “Blunted on Reality.” It was me, Pras, and Lauren. Why did this thing work? It worked because you had three individuals from three different styles of music. Lauren taught me about R&B, ‘cause at the time I was more into, like, church music, Reggae, or Rock, you know. Pras was just a Rock head. And so Lauren would come — Stylistics. What’s that, you know. And then she would play it. And then I would automatically learn it.
Notice the bold parts. But I didn’t put two and two together just yet.
Still, I have not had any luck with searching for the record. I was searching “Out of the Jungle Wyclef”
Then, he mentioned “Nelson was the producer”. So, instead, I sub the name.
“Out of the Jungle” Nelson
Then it gave me the second clue…
I managed to come up with the name Nelson ”Paradise” Roman.
It didn’t took me long before I saw the pattern…
Country: US
Released: 1990
Genre: Electronic
Style: Deep House
There it was… the clues started to come together…
Nelson Mandela was free around 1990s… and THIS got to be the record. After all, if this is Wyclef’s first production, no one would know who he is at that time. It’s not an unusual practice to work under somebody…
So, I told Wyclef I found the Vinyl. And I was CORRECT!
He proclaimed me the winner on Twitter… typo with my twitter name, but hey, he retweeted this blog entry, so I don’t care!
I’m just laughing my ass to the bank!
My Growth As a Hip-Hop Artist
These are my first verses from completed songs that I have performed on stages or for contests. The first one will be excluded from the mixtape while the other three will be in the mixtape.
Watch as the content matter changes from song to song.
“Guess” 1997 - (Signature song for talent shows)
Guess who… works da party and blows up shop
blazin’ it non-stop into the form of hip hop
I’m the one that sends you dreamin’ gotcha screamin’ where
runnin’ down them stairs yellin’ “nightmare!”
guess I make the noise that sperates the men for the boys
turnin’ their dreams into Fisher-Price Toys
guess who’s the one making up master jams
makin’ hits startin’ with poetic slam? He I am…
everybody - get down 4 da beat
stomp ya feet, *burn da roof*, turn up the heat
I’m still blowing up smiles with my many styles
live on the dail, this one’s goin’ for frequent miles
My entire vocal cords is hittin’ overload
ready to explore, into da boarder main board
gotta get flex to throw da bombs on this
I instist this joint is the itish
now…
V.O.I.C.E. - 2008
I always thought dat my voice lacks a certain type of sound
(ya know) dat type of sound dat makes women melt & drown
(ya know) dat type dat make da fellas holla out
people get excited and I’m all they talk about
(what) I always thought the worse of me outshine the best in me
thought staying silent was my only destiny
Yet I know there’s more to the vocals I process
there’s a deeper side to me dat I need to address
But ain’t no one can tell my stories like mine
Not another soul have tales of glories like mine
only I can, only I can, only I can
express my views cause i’m that best man
I gotta lot of visions, only I can preceive them
(breathe in) bring my inner soul and retrive them
(breathe out) into the realm my verbal creations
and in return you give me that sudden realization… that…
Intro Verse (2010) - (how I start shows in NYC present day)
Some rappers play w/ words I play w/ destinies
That’s how I feel every time I put a pen to these
Melodies, so I choose my words very carefully
Cause my insanity equals individuality
Actually, my flows going to determine my reality
So, I’m anti-lyrical brutality
I respect views thru the scopes of excellence
Powered by Newton, Garvey, & the X within
Sometimes I feel like hip hop became passive
Bowel ain’t moving so I’m the laxative
Encode minds with my ones and zeros
Matrix influenced my mind beyond my heroes
cast spells slowly to put them on the know
Cause my unearthly intensity about to blow
Behold my ambitions, it’s my ammunition
Firing my visions w/ precise percussion
I’m one of these experience emcees on the lock
Not a jay-z artist, but his nation I will roc
B Myself (or Dye) 2012
When I was born, I was dealt a black card
And people look at me like I crack hard
I don’t understand how a skin can determine your whole destiny
So I look at it as optional, your views I’m not responsible
But now I gotta race of people looking at me like I represent them
Like ya a rare gem that white people loves to condemn
I don’t like that my momma’s behavior treats me like a savior
I just wanna be Vivian, son of West Indians
But by my first name, they think I play mind games
It’s insane, now I gotta code my hair, change my brain
I gotta white wash or I won’t be able make it rain
So I train myself in their domain, at the lost of mortal gains
I played their game and they told me I can’t fit in
They give me tips and they chip in, but my pride they kick in
I wanna live my life by my own rules, so white washing good riddens
But now that I’m doing things my own way, they called it forbidden…
Abstract Freestyle #2 - National Poetry Month (7 of 30)
Abstractness… Power
Pre-planning my moves carefully without the freakin’ urgency
Eternity is what I have to execute this perfectly
While people wanna make predictions, I wanna make non-fiction
Preparing visions so vast, I’m able to sell subscriptions
Guidance via spiritual, so I need to be visual lyrical
If I have to speak in ebonic tounge, it will be satirical
I’m not here to amuse you with material riches
So excuse me if I’m only pitching to my niches
Mos definitely, I’m here to pursuit my visions
So every decision cause divisions within my writtens
Testimonies ain’t exclusive property to religion
So if your smitten by what’s coming out the kitchen
Then I’ll make seven sessions of expression
compile with re-freshen lessons of w/o depression
I’m nothing but the court jester for the requester
transfer my mind, I wonder what I’ll spit next time?
Patriarchy Views - National Poetry Month (6 of 30)
It’s a man’s world / This world belongs to dick
Women should remain girls / If you give up ya pussy, ya sick
They should remain pure / If she smokes, she pokes
Keep their temples from being impure / Call her slut, never jokes
The funny thing about being in a man’s reality
is that we make all the rules
We give the boy’s run of their morality
And make the women fools
I never understand / oh, this man’s becoming a pussy
That if this is the plan / I think he’s trying to become a sissy
That a woman can’t be their own person / Trying to break our tyranny?
Then our views between each other worsens / He’s trying to cause a conspiracy…
We see… he must be… a fucking… tran-*radio disconnects*
Abstract Freestyle #1 - National Poetry Month (5 of 30)
They don’t take me so serious, look twice like they bi-curious
When they realized what I said, they gonna get so furious
They questioned my sexuality I questioned their reality
Side effects partiality to my abnormality
I’m a Gemini, a totally different separate entity
Slighter lighter than ebony, mental’s different pedigree
They questioned my sanity because of my word alchemy
I mixed vanity with world wide web gadgetry
Social media preludes my mental wikipedia
The Black Encyclopedia Brown outlasting macromedia
Can’t be brought out by Adobe or even Bryan, Kobe
I’ve been doing this way before I know my Roots - Toby
Better get ya game in gear, unless your name is Fear
It may take a leap year before your skills reappear
Into the Dark Hemisphere, I tend to shine light
My mind stays bright, while your demons takes flight
Abstractness… power.
© 2012 V.M. King-Yarde
B Myself or Die (Part 1) - National Poetry Month (4 of 30)
When I was born, I was dealt w/ a black card
And people look at me like I would crack hard
And yet my skin’s chemistry become my destiny
They won’t look at it as optional, your views I’m not responsible
Now I got a black race, knowing that I represent them
Like ya a rare gem that white people loves to condemn
And our cultural behavior treats me like a savior
I just wanna be Vivian, son of West Indians
But by my first name, they think I play mind games
It’s insane, now I gotta code my hair, change my brain
I gotta white wash or I won’t be able make it rain
So I train myself in their domain, at the lost of mortal gains
I played their game and they told me I can’t fit in
They give me tips and they chip in, but my pride they kick in
I wanna live my life by my own rules, so white washing good riddens
But now that I’m doing things my own way, they called it forbidden…
Time out
This isn’t just a poem, this is my life man
They told me to do this and do that and I’ll fit in with society
But this is insanity, I am NOT trying to live YOUR damn life
I wanna die as the being I came to love.
Wanna know why? Well…
Time in
From the time I was birth my father wanted me to fly
Then society came into my life and say that I must lie
So, I’m ripping scriptures, telling people I refuse to compile
Because if I can’t be myself, I must as well just die…
To be continued…
© 2012 V.M. King-Yarde
