“…don’t know nan nigga…”-Little Brother, “The Yo Yo“, The Listening, 2003
In a deviation from regular blogging procedure…the good folks at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises have dubbed August 27, 2004…
National Raphael De La Ghetto Day.
What does this mean??? I’ll tell you what this means. This means that the good poets we have on staff have picked the best poet out of the group (we have a staff of something like 40 folks) to bless the masses with his abilities to provide that truly soul searching hot shit…that butter baby…that down south Master P bout it bout it shit…ya dig…smooth on the TLC tip…
What it also means is that the inner poet inside all of us cannot be stifled. The poetry Gods have decided that true poetry…you know, that kind that makes your liver quiver and your soul shiver must be shared with the world today. If you got that talent…let it ride…
Panama Jackson, for today and today only, has passed the baton to Jackson G. Tickle’s prized poet…
Harman E. Soul, “Deep Down Dirty Dozens”
girl i seen your love run down like kool-aid
as I laid in the shade and stayed by the parade
of clowns
thats when Dru Down came around and scoffed at the sound
of the blood hound
walked up to me and gave me a pound
and said…your bitch is trippin…
tell your queen to quit her slippin for i get to dippin my clip in
and tell her to quit strippin and start sippin on some sizzurp
so i smell the clouds whiff and sift through amazing gifts of shifts
of nature and i began to sift the paper and taper
my haircut
i know that if it wasn’t for you and me and we then but
whut??? the album nigga
baby blue meanders aimlessly and shamelessly and wants that
love that makes me see
turqoise and heavy D and the boyz make noise and maintain poise
as a source of heavenly beauty
i saw your girl and she had me standing at duty
cuz she was truly a deep piece of work and i hurt inside when i begin to ride
my bicycle
cuz its cyclical and metaphysical and sweet lou dunbar
i got a fast car
she takes me so far that if i had a tricycle i’d only be halfway there
once the cow jumped the moon’s orbit
and i absor-bed all your glow and i know that your soul glo’s
and hope floats and takes up all that you are and have…
i inhale your soul and spirit and feel it and hear it and clear it out my closet
the bones i got in there aint never coming out
shoot i made every one of them girls scream and shout
im fighting temptations so i hit eddie kendricks in the jaw
i’ll bet nan one of yall motherfuckers aint even saw
and i stand in awe
of the love you save may be your own
cuz i love you girl
i hope you know
Harman E. Soul is a beatwriter and street poet. He can be found inside your soul, eating Frosted Flakes.
Let the poetry be.
*SIDENOTE: If you don’t get this…maybe you ain’t deep.*