Life all around us

Welcome to Urban poems. Real life. Real words. Poetic flow.

25 November, 2010

Rise to the Funk

Room swells so sweetly
Smoky atmosphere of blues
Working it’s taboo

Floetic fusion of 
Funk-a-delic filigree
Designed to entwine
Around your melancholy
Listen carefully to each 
Melody

Taking you back to
The days when women were bare
Breasted, baby rested 
Strapped to backs as they 
Danced tribal style to a
Tight sheepskin drum rap

Can’t help feel the bass-
Player and the high-hat. Nod
Your head to that. Sip
From your juice and re-lax
Saxaphone on alto 
Is about to answer back.

Reminds me of the waves from
The rough crossing. Tossin’
‘mongst those crammed in. Only the
Strong survived by keeping the
Rhythm. Sax removed the shacklin’

Hear the high octaves
Of the C-trumpet player, 
Man that man can play a
Haunting harmony to the 
Saxophony. Lips kiss it in
Cheeks blowin’ out and suckin’ 
In again

As I reminisce 
On the days when we were
Slaves and blowin for our life
Under Mas’as strike. Blow for Blow!. 
“Swing low sweet chariot”

Ye-ah ba-by play for
Me. Ignite the chasm 
Between my ear and my bossom
Create a prism of orchestral
Funk-o-gasms. Spasms 
That journey through me, running
Wild like a crazed banshee 

Not unlike the days
When we tried to flee slavery
At the cover of night, moonlight
And drums to guide we. Singing
The blues to charter the way
Help cover the footsteps of one
More runaway. Brave soul
“Coming for’ to carry me home”

Oh yes I confess 
I don’t understand a word 
She’s saying. Seems “Skoo-da-le-bap-bap”
 Is a new expression. A 
Better way to rid the pain. 
Immerse yourself in this wild
Deity before we. This 
Sultry songstress complimentin’ 
The blues quartet 

Reverberations
Of loveliness the day slavery 
Progressed to our own
Emancipation. Still waiting
For forty-acres and a mule
Reparation, repatriation!
Heck, at least I got an education
Out of Uncle Sam and Queen Vics
Institutions. The guilty
Graduation of tribal drums
To Jazz, Blues and Funk Stations

Put Black Men firmly
At the root of musical
Civilisation
Lets explode under the jazz
Firm-a-men-tations. Pick stars 
For our pockets, to pick our 
Souls and unlock it, to
Remind us of the journey
When music carried we from
Homeland to slavery
And then set us free. 
Shab-bab-skoodle-oo-wwee

Now ain’t that some kinda funky!

  

1 comment:

Kodjo Deynoo. said...

Powerful lines, a true talent to have
link up lets connect