Category: Initations

Consciousness

When the Hands Touch

Posted in Dapper Suits, Initations, Life, Love, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

I lifted my hand to raise the bar,

You lifted your hand with anger to discharge.

 

Flirting with poetic justice behind these thin bars.

It kills me to see this love dying.

 

 it’s even worse knowing I’m a part.

 

We started a garden, and you’ve mistreated our seeds.

It takes a city to raise a tree,

and a village to nurture their growth successfully.

 

To look at you is gruesome.

 

How did we split ways like X, come together, then arrive at an end like Z.

 

Furthermore,

Who am I to say?…the least

Who am I if I stay?

 

 I spread my wings as that of a seagull;

Heading towards the Bay because I see goals I’m striving to obtain.

 

 That I put behind your pride,

The same position you left the knife in my back.

Ashamed.

 

I rose to realize your lies and I were laying one in the same.

Instead I laid with my loves, our hearts one in the same.

 

You appear once again, at the crossroads of Insane and Who to blame.

Blame it on the Alcohol, the Girls, the Weed, just not Me.

 

You can point two fingers, but those other six aren’t pointed towards Me.

 

We were the arrows, when you felt lost

We pointed back, leaving you an open seat.

You chose paths before day broke.

 

is it the money?

 

Funny,

I wouldn’t pay a penny out of my 2-sense for a dollar worth of your thoughts.

Looking for a quarter figure in a dime worth no more then a nickel.

 

Money makes the world go round,

You’re circling betrayal chasing behind confusion.

This disillusion is far more real than what you can fathom, and still have yet to feel.

 

When the pain kicks in,

I hope the waters overflow the sky;

Allowing me to taste your tears in the raindrops during my parade.

 

I know your up there hiding somewhere…

 

Gone.

 

–Leighrick

Natural Selection : Ignorant Humor

Posted in Dapper Suits, Initations, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Its Funny.

 

Funny to that, we think.

 

We think our ideas are unique.

 

Out of the millions among us,

living and deceased.

 

We think of ourselves as the

 

Definition of Originality.

 

What he thought was clever,

the next man thought of it as a joke,

 

What this woman’s been dreaming of,

many elder women already wrote.

 

So if you’re thinking to get ahead,

You’re already behind.

 

Instead think enrichment,

because all the riches in the world,

can’t buy you enlightenment..

 

There is a reason.

There are resolutions.

 

If only,

U – N – I

Unite,

Hence forming an

Union,

In which

WE

Utilize

Agility & Love.

 

Therefore,

The retrogression of our development will cease.

The blind will then see,

The dead will bury the dead.

 

Thus the evolution will occur.

Spiritual & Mental.

 

So you tell me,

What do you think this piece is about?

 

-Leighrick

For My Brothers, For My Family

Posted in Dapper Suits, Family, Illumination, Initations, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Hollow tips enter full bodies, and empty them.

As the bullet rips the flesh, it’s also stripping the body from the soul.

The victim has passed; not only in presence, but through papers as another statistic.

The consequences of a coward,

we have to live with, walk these very same streets.

His mind has been brainwashed. They’ve purposely left out all the coloreds.

Holding the steal he feels like Iron-man, but without it he is weak.

Pulling that trigger is as easy as taking candy from a baby, but

does this coward know he just took this baby away from his mom.

My ego is fierce with poise full of culture.

I am tired of living through the peephole fighting not to be another victim of hatred.

I am tired of stray bullets finding a home within our own children.

Bullets may not have names on them, but they take innocence of the ones they enter.

I am tired of looking over my shoulder, because I have a permanent crook in my neck to go along with the knifes in my back.

Eyes follow me down the street.

Am I a crook because Im wearing my hood on my head? –Its cold

Am I a crook because I’m carrying candy? — I have a little sibling at home.

am I a crook because I’m holding a drink? — I am thirsty?

OR

Am I a crook because of the color of my skin?

The difference is they wear hoods that  cover their heads.

You can still see their color, but  that they may hide their faces in consciousness of shame.

Lacking Color…

A Color?

A “Color” everyone can see past except for them, because they still got that damn sheet over their heads.

I had a dream last night.

I marched to the most immense Bell with my hoodie on, and Granted justice for all Kings, Queens, & Martins.

I was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

I would be easier to handle.

I didnt just get married, I am not a child (though someones), nor do I have one.

Everyone took a shot, but we’re taking the bullets for their

“Self Defense”.

Tell me — Do they call it self defense because we are strong, and will not helplessly tolerate oppression?

Before you pull the trigger; do you even second guess it?

Is there  really so much hate that you become absent-minded?

Because of their loathing lack of souls,

Everyday I am reminded of the death of My Brothers.

Hughes, Dunbar, Walker, Angelou, Giovanni, Baldwin, Brooks, El-Shabazz, Shakur

They came to me and requested I speak for the people.

They sat me down, I listened, and though they only spoke to me in poetry I gained an inner-standing of each and every stanza they’ve written.

Having me stand tall with my head up.

They woke me up in my dream, God woke me up this morning, but I came alive in this poem.

Oscar Grant, I stand strong for my brother.

Sean Bell, I stand strong for my brother.

Trayvon Martin, I stand strong for my brother.

 I Stand Strong for My Family.

I hope they hear my prayers while comforting each other, realizing they are not alone.

How long will it take for their families to heal?…

Until they’re all called home?

Murder is theft, and if these killer aren’t convicted of one, how about the other?

 —

Instead of pouring this libation on the floor out of respect,

I’ll drink it because they didnt have the chance to.

Better, I will share the candy with our family; who didn’t have a chance to see them come home.

Unable tell them once last time they loved them.

I AM GRANT.

I AM BELL.

I AM MARTIN.

Beaten though Kings & Queens, and still

I AM JUSTICE,

I AM LOVE,

 – I AM Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade

Hempathy : Staring Through Vanity.

Posted in Dapper Suits, Free Writes, Initations, Life, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I collaborated with my twin, Samuel, and we’ve created “Hempathy”. This piece branching from a simple conversation. “Is a secret truly a secret, if everyone knows it, but no one talks about it?“

Shit, all i feel is hempathy, that’s hemp therapy simply

I’m a smoke till I see God and ask him why I feel this way mentally

Signed, yours truly, sincerely hoping that my best wishes are not just farewells to sanity

While I blow Kush smoke in mirrors subconsciously embracing vanity, and talking to myself–

 

A controlled free spirit trying to think of a purpose, is it worth it?

My heart wants to jump out my chest just so I can put this work in

I start feeling like, “damn do I deserve this?”

Whether I weather the storm, this forecast is my own, this black cloud is only following me

When it rains my cup is filled — half full, tho inside I feel so empty

Success is so tempting!

The weight of the world is on my shoulders and all I feel is sympathy.

Visions of visionaries screaming knowledge from the cemeteries.

In the moment I was being birthed I felt God’s whispers as he spoke to me.

The smoke clears. There’s no longer clarity.

Sitting at the vanity 2 hazed eyes, and the 3rd one so vivid that it scares me.

 

Cry for help like a newborn left in a bin, or for some brotha without a motha heading straight for the pen,

I cleaned my slate with those tears and headed straight for my pen,

Then walked up to the fountain of youth and threw a couple of pennies in, like, here’s my two cents–

That should pay what you’re worth, delusions of immortality,

I’ve been ready for death since birth,

Realize your lies mean nothing, they say the meek shall inherit the earth.

 

Knowledge is power, except it feels more like a curse.

I hand out flowers today because I witnessed tomorrow riding in a hearse.

The gangsta’s spray their semis while the kids run for cover.

Sirens are my alarm clock, while I hide under my covers.

A world unprepared for the voices they’ve silenced by fear.

Not me, I am no longer scared.

I have been scarred interacting with the living dead.

Conniving like con-artist, without guidance I walk amongst the blind.

Pick pocketing every thought.

They don’t get me, but at least they aint got me!

They tried snatching my spirit from me out my cradle just to place me in a tomb.

The killers perish with their intentions, but the believers never die from their wounds.

Imagine spending your whole life trying not to cry.

Misery loves company and the world is its companion.

Birthing monstrosities that  label themselves as super human beings.

Assassins assassinating, I chose to replace them.

If I were to murder one person, it would be –ME!

Because there is one thing I yearn for most is my body to rest and my soul to be FREE

Only then will the mind solider be at ease.

 

–Leighrick & Samuel

Image

Vacancy

Posted in Initations, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged , , , , Leave a comment

      My brother said to me, “Sis write your heart out“. My eyes got big agreeing; I went and brought the knife out. He asked me, “What do you plan to do with that?“. Right before his eyes I pierced my flesh. Howling like a coyote when the moon is out, I keep etching away until the slit resembles the one that parts my mouth.

      In that moment I held my heart in my hands, and knew exactly how I was feeling. I grabbed a pen and switched the blood with ink. I’m going to write until the very last beat. When I can’t feel anymore and its hard to breathe.

      To that point where I need to put a period, but my conscience climbs out my mouth and resuscitates me. Write until there’s no muscle left to dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s”. Until my spirit lift’s me up like its offering me.

      Quietly, I am screaming, “God please put your hands on me!”. I’ve let my little light shine until my soul went dim, and still these beings dont acknowledge me. They belittle my philosophy.

      Thinking at least whisper in my ear, so I can be born again and come back with the right answers. How do all these people claim to talk with you? Are you giving the silent treatment to me? Everyday my questions go unanswered. I write you letters hoping that you’ll read my pleas. I have a lot of faith, but my pride has never allowed me to get down on my knees.

      Living is getting harder every day. It seems like more trails than triumph. I ask  to at least let me die on my feet. The beats are slowing down. Have you been listening? I hope that you’re not misunderstanding me; I am okay with struggle. Mama always taught me to wash my own dishes.

      I haven’t seen too many shooting stars, but I’ve made a lot of wishes. Maybe some one was snatching coins out the pond? I feel like now thats the only logical explanation.

      Live one life? Why?! There’s millions of american idol minds I can live vicariously through. If I die tonight reincarnate me into my mind.

Night Owl Howls. The Living Dead. Zombie Life.

      I’m the only motha fucka that will come back and say, “Fuck People, Im Trynna Kill Time!”. Because it was never on my side when I was trying to get mine. Adding longevity to hate, subtracting the good times.

 I Am a Lost One. They’ve Lost One. That One Wasn’t Me.

      They’ve lost lives in war and lost souls from t.v.. Casually catch me sleeping, and that’s okay because I only dream during the day. When there’s enough illumination to guide my ways. In the dark is when people creep to destroy.

      That’s when the beating stopped, oddly I could still feel it. Now more like throbbing,  I place it back in my chest. With my hand across it like a pendant, I write a couple pieces making my self a vest. Protect your self.

      Burn these letters acting like this was never real and nothings left. Keep in mind  next time to rethink before you repeat the statement, “Yeah, I know how you feel“.

–Leighrick

Sidewalk Secrets

Posted in Free Writes, Initations, Life, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

The City never sleeps. The reason they envy the stars so much, is because the real ones seem so out of reach. Each I see I try to teach.

I want to be remembered in every encounter. Post it my history. I post up posters of eyes, andI hope they see -They cant hide.They cant be lowkey. In order to see change, the change you must be. Like the ones on the street are beggin for; While your on your way home to eat.

I cant say I’m complete, tho Im in competition with those whom are elite. My smile is their displeasure, I insipre those I meet. My soul gives off an energy stronger than a Rockstar drink,– you wont crash.

Take a flight with me. Sprout wings and see the planet in the prospective of the universe. Bodies steady leaving this earth in a hearse not even a proper burial.

I’m just trying to be reimbursed in my actions by actually knowing what its worth. I dont know where to end, but i know Ive started it when I was destined.

 

-Leighrick

 

I wrote this for a good friend of mine [Daniel L.]; he took this picture below. He asked me to write a piece to go along with his picture, total freedom ! and Sidewalk Secrets came to be!

Image