Category: Life

Shed Light..

Half Asleep With a Full Mind

Posted in Life, Manhood or Womanhood, Pieces of Poetry, The Great CrossingTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

No Sleep makes me feel anxious.

Am I anticipating life, is this dangerous?

Certain thoughts keep replaying.

Falling asleep in 30min increments.

I now understand why sleep is the cousin of death.

Maybe that’s why I’m afraid? T

he explanation of so many nights spent wide wake?

Regret must be the kin as well.

I attempt to adopt Confidence.

Never think your too good for your past it shaped you?

[ Fuck That ! ]

Trying to ignore these sleepless nights,

every thing is fake; like that one day of the year in April.

That’s it !

My minds playing tricks on me again, and has the seasons confused.

This is winter, hibernate…?

Retracing steps back, to clean up tarnished dreams.

Instead my mind is freezing; because the blood I’m pumping is really cold,

I’d say about below 0°.

My eyes open wide shut, paralyzed…

Stuck — trying to define my own destiny.

Trying — to convince myself its not my baggage?

Its not my fault?

—

I didn’t deserve it?

Visions pretty foggy; the sun stopped shining.

I know a change is gone come,

I just don’t know if I can wait for it.

I gotta find a peace of mind;

How do I do that when I’ve lost a piece of my mind?

People talk about a race against time?

I am in a race to get mine —

Forget the paper chase, I fucked around and lost my mind.

Sometimes I feel like grabbing a piece, throwing the peace, then disappearing.

Lost in time, lost in feelings, it seems I’ve lost my touch.

I cant feel the peace within me, just pressed against me.

Shoot all thoughts of negativity that associates itself with me.

But —

I sit back and cool down.

Shaded in the background.

Summer will make its way around eventually.

No sleep makes me feel anxious…

Maybe I’m asking too much?

Maybe just a nap will do.

If only I had one wish…..

Unfortunately, Life is repetitive.

I’m no longer giving a “Fuck”, but I was generous enough to give you this poem to reflect on.

-Leighrick

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R.I.P

Posted in Free Writes, Life, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , Leave a comment
If people only knew, they would never want to know…

Today we stand before you camera ready.

BURN ALL THE BOOKS, to hell with them.

and us…and knowledge….and trust.

If people only knew, they would never want to know…

Said the ones laying under you, nurturing the growth of the grass.

TO HELL WITH THEM

and us, and faith, and intuition.

Restore our faith in institutions…Restore our faith in institutions

If I knew, I wouldn’t break the silence.
If I knew, I wouldn’t stop the violence.
If I knew you, and you came across wisdom…you’d be dead too.

Imagination translates into tomorrows.

R.I.P
R.I.P

Remembrance is Power.

–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

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Just the Pieces

Posted in Dapper Suits, Free Writes, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Thoughtful BlurbsTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Drowning out city sorrows with Hip-Hop Blues.

Death comes in 3s,

My regrets come in 2s,

You only get 1 life to live, so

Which one should I choose?

Tapping my feet to the beat,

Bass bruising my drums.

I wish I remembered when this city was dust.

Sand storms instead of smog infiltrated clouds.

This city has my heart,

My roots intertwining with those of the trees.

I see my city; thinking I cannot look past the trash,

Atlas, I see the Art and its production of people.

 I sit back and part the pages in my Notebook.

Jotting down lines that paves ways into memory lanes,

I am consuming pens.

Down to my last two,

Thankfully I’m spared a pencil.

As if living isn’t enough,

Living it to the limit is too much.

If I could sing, I’d write a song

Unfortunately I cant.

All I have are these poems.

Pulling my own weight.

At the same time reaching for the stars,

Living in a World,

Where the leaders are manufacturing sugar-coated lies.

While we’re consuming them, free of charge.

Wondering why our blood cant make it all the way to our hearts.

I have ink in my veins, eyes full of pride.

A heart full of love, soulful cries.

I feel this pain in my chest, in the smokiest skies.

A conscience ahead of the naive,

Who are stuck in lies of the past.

That when they arrive to the present,

Surprise!

My smile is mischievous they tell me.

Only because I know what you don’t see, and see what you disregard.

The sky is soon to be falling, and the ground is now breaking.

Welcome Lost Angelinos,

To the Hell as we know it Home.

We’ve dropped from the Heavens in search of Grape vines.

Instead found bittersweet Cactus’, and the strength in Palm Trees.

Babies Crying.

Men Dying.

Women Trying.

STRIVING.

Constantly admiring the homeless.

While everyone’s stuck in their box,

They keep going.

I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard to live, and be ready to die.

Most times when I walk past them

I tend to swallow my pride.

When I need to ask for a of couple dollars,

Shit, I get mad, Im about ready to cry.

When I see them, if I can I give em mine.

Many are abandoned by Love and by Mind.

Lost the fight to drugs, or did the time for the Crime.

Who am I?

Who are You?

Who could we be together?

These thoughts are just the pieces that made this poem come together.

-Leighrick

The Past of My Presents Future Thoughts

Posted in Dapper Suits, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Thoughtful BlurbsTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

This is just a passage of my feelings that have resurrected thoughts about my own personal philosophies.

My past and my future want to get acquainted, that idea I am not too fond of. I’ve been given the present as a gift, and I want to keep it sacred. Mostly because I am not trying to feel a scar from not giving enough attention to the “now“..

When it comes to the subject of our past it seems like his-story is yelling at me pleading with me to read it; on the other hand, it as though he solely feel in love with the cover of mine. Deciding to keep it in his pocket not only for show, but whenever he feels the urge to read it.

Taunting my past I contemplate how the depleted can feel undefeated. There are days I feel like Ali without the championship belt, still I find myself floating blissfully like butterfly with the zap of a bee. I realize I am a winner everyday because I wake up breathing.  The problem isn’t seeing that continence in my future, the dilemma is I feel like my past is suffocating me!

This causing me to wake up at night; realizing my future is only a dream. In result of these thoughts I stay awake chasing aspirations. Forgetting that I cannot become complacent with the comfort of my memories.

In the avoidance of sleep I visualize sitting in the laundromat. I am being hypnotized by the washing machines, as if I am witnessing my soul on the rinse cycle. I call this flooded clarity; meaning there is too much water for my eyes to see clearly. Peculiarly the spinning cycle creates focus.

With the simplicity of complexity imagine a blind insomniac. Envision a big picture, trying to pinpoint a definition for color. Its not so much depression as it is disappointment. Basically, my heart isn’t necessarily guarded rather vigilant.

I hope that the next time I cross paths with antiquity, I’ll be holding destiny’s hand with eyes full of glee and fulfillment radiating in my smile. Once this happens my present will be introduced to my future, and only then will I introduce my future to my past. For now…I continue to transcribe my transparent impalpable ambitions.

–Leighrick

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