{THE BEAUTY OF THE BOOTY} THE MODEL IN THIS PHOTO IS BRITNEY TIPTON A CLOSE FRIEND OF MINE... THIS PIECE IS A DEDICATION TO ALL THE WOMEN WHO READ MY WORK
THE SOUND... MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN...
http://youtu.be/wsDHOMmXjFY
A new day dawns... Sun breaking out of the darkness... First as the deepest blue and eventually becoming the glaring white.
A new day and I son appreciate the ability to rise.
A bran carrot cake muffin and a cup of Killamanjaro coffee.
A scribe pon mine old soul and I son...
I am still looking for the one.
The booty... The booty walks by an a moment of silence in reflection.
I son a man of Africa born into a new world where I son exist in Amerikkka as a warrior fighting for a lost ideal...
Freedom, and it right in our grasp dies the death of being ignored as a possibility.
It is buried without fanfare in an unmarked grave that is spat upon.
The light of recognition falls in shade spattered blotches on my soul and I find an oak tree to sit under.
Watch dog as she does her thing... We so integral to the whole dynamic of this thing...
And booty... Booty passes by.
A moment of silence.
I son alone see these things.
She plays across my mind like an old song written before my birth, a lovely sonata or perhaps a diversion.
I son bump her in my soul.
She calming the raging emotions, the feeling of emptiness that is the darkest pit of my existence.
The calm black waters where I son sit by my sea...
She breaking down the doors to my cell.
The booty... The booty.
Silence...
It causing waves to form on my seas... A breeze to blow and my ship it comes sailing silently into port and I a Griot embark.
My tale must be told... The tale of my ancestors... The tale of future generations and I son pump her through my headphones as the basis of my life.
The booty... The booty.
I so lost in the magic of this moment where the sun warms the skin of a son and shines its light pon thee my queen.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
THE SOUND... MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN...
http://youtu.be/wsDHOMmXjFY
A new day dawns... Sun breaking out of the darkness... First as the deepest blue and eventually becoming the glaring white.
A new day and I son appreciate the ability to rise.
A bran carrot cake muffin and a cup of Killamanjaro coffee.
A scribe pon mine old soul and I son...
I am still looking for the one.
The booty... The booty walks by an a moment of silence in reflection.
I son a man of Africa born into a new world where I son exist in Amerikkka as a warrior fighting for a lost ideal...
Freedom, and it right in our grasp dies the death of being ignored as a possibility.
It is buried without fanfare in an unmarked grave that is spat upon.
The light of recognition falls in shade spattered blotches on my soul and I find an oak tree to sit under.
Watch dog as she does her thing... We so integral to the whole dynamic of this thing...
And booty... Booty passes by.
A moment of silence.
I son alone see these things.
She plays across my mind like an old song written before my birth, a lovely sonata or perhaps a diversion.
I son bump her in my soul.
She calming the raging emotions, the feeling of emptiness that is the darkest pit of my existence.
The calm black waters where I son sit by my sea...
She breaking down the doors to my cell.
The booty... The booty.
Silence...
It causing waves to form on my seas... A breeze to blow and my ship it comes sailing silently into port and I a Griot embark.
My tale must be told... The tale of my ancestors... The tale of future generations and I son pump her through my headphones as the basis of my life.
The booty... The booty.
I so lost in the magic of this moment where the sun warms the skin of a son and shines its light pon thee my queen.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
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