IMPLOSION

(IMPLOSION)
THE MUSIC FOR THIS ONE…

A man’s heart beats in the throes of a massive implosion and sucks the air from the area surrounding him…
He in heartache falls to bended knee.
Crying in his pain he heaves with head bowed.
He raises his face the heavens as his heart now at the apex of its implosion releases the air and it devastating roars across the tundra of his despair and crushes all that stands in its way.
The lines on his face wet carry the drops of his tears to the corners where they drop bearing much weight.
Splatter into thousands of glittering prisms that catch the sun.
It witness to this display as the horizon rises above its setting crown.
Fire melting into the branches of the trees as darkness is ushered in.
It purple and pink on the clouds.
His heart now destroyed still beating in his hurting chest.
He having never felt this is consumed alone.
Love walking across the ruins of all he thought he knew as it picks up the pieces of his heart and placing them in order, reassembling them.
This vessel to be used again.
The man in sorrow knows not these things.
He only feels the agony as it implodes his aching heart.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(IF I)

(IF I)
THE MUSIC FOR THIS ONE…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzP3vulWkJ4&feature=youtube_gdata_player

If I could I would flutter the blood as it entered your heart…
Cause it to react.
To expand and contract your muscles in anticipation.
The whisper of my words on the membranes of your eardrums becoming a bass that vibrates you instinctively…
Oozes into you sexually and pours from your pores as pheromones released into the atmosphere…
I dizzy continue to manipulate…
To become a part of all that you are…
We rising to climatic heights and sweeping through orgasmic galaxies that reside in the pits of our bellies.
Butterflies bumping against the walls.
I rubbing the tired from your skin and muscles…
Soothing your tired bones as my  voice massages you from the inside and echoes across your loneliness…
So reminiscent of mine.
We connected if only by these words falling from my lips to be consumed by the past.
I metaphysical impart myself to thee.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(CARNIVOROUS)

(CARNIVOROUS)
THE MUSIC FOR THIS FEAST...
http://youtu.be/aw4TGDxEGy4

The last time I was nice it was taken the wrong way...
People thought I was a pushover and came at me all sideways...
That was back in 1976 and I was 11.
That was when I realized that I dragon spit fyah.
That I lion eat meat.
Leave skin and bones and rotting on the ground for the scavengers to eat...
Laughing like hyenas as they fight over the stinking carcass.
That was when I realized that I was meant to be alone even when in the midst of a crowd...
They so consumed in darkness that they might as well be blind...
Led into the slaughter house and fed as veal...
Fattened for the kill.
I walking in and on other dimensional planes where they would never go...
Huddled in the corner, smothered by fear.
They trapped, never to be free.
Even in death.
Ideology carved into headstones standing row after row in so many cemeteries...
Dead sheep abandoned by false shepherds who care only about the living as they pass the collection plate obediently...
Sing when told.
We willllll seeeeeeee...
So much water and the fool chooses to remain thirsty cause of training ritualistically administered...
When I was a young man I realized that the nice get chewed up and devoured.
That's why I aint nothin nice on any day of any week...
I lion roar and cause the establishment to cringe...
They know I dragon manifest spit hot ass fyah.
The last time I was nice they thought I came to play...
They took it the wrong way.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(HYPOTHETICAL)

(HYPOTHETICAL)
THE BEAT AS IT CARRIES THIS DREAM...
http://youtu.be/NMJrAvEaYu4

You on my mind...
Hypothetical.
What you would feel like as I rubbed my hand across your skin...
Talked to you of the world as I see it...
Listened to the music of your voice as it caressed the lobe of my ear and sank to the skin of my eardrums...
Beat so sweet...
So hypothetical.
We in moments of reflection on a beach where I try to show you how I see life...
Where I see the waves reflected in the brown of your eyes...
Taste of thy salt.
We in moments of reflection on a front porch as the world passes by and we again talk of life...
A dream in panoramic 4d cause three can't contain we...
We hypothetical.
Holding hands as the spring breeze washes across the land and brings life from barren winter.
Rips green from the ground and colors the vision as far as we see.
A songbird singing from the trees adds melody to the scene...
Each moment a prelude to the next where we in comfort reside in the knowing of each other...
Man and Woman, Queen and King...
Hypothetically conceived in a mad love dream before being ripped from the heart of a Dislocated African and scribbled for all to see.
Letters forming and breathing...
A sigh as I wax...
Hypothetical.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(CUNNILINGUISTIC)

(CUNNILINGUISTIC)
THE MUSIC AND IT IS DETRIMENTAL TO THE MOOD...
http://youtu.be/nE5rC1WQdjY

On my tongue is where I want you...
A taste of your nipple which really is texture translated and manifested as taste.
Lick it and make it glisten with my tongues questing tip...
Suck it and pull it into my mouth.
Hear you moan... feel the arch of your back.
I want to trace a path down through the valley and kiss you on your tummy.
Play with your belly button.
Feel the ridges of your stretch marks... the little hairs that grace the surface of your skin.
A pause before I stand at your gates... The insides of your thighs that fall away into the valley of your flower...
I see its petals and kiss your flesh gently.
Your thighs quiver in anticipation as I trail my way in... sucking and kneading your skin.
I smell your want as it translates to need and gently touch your lips with my tongue.
Lick them from bottom to top... Open you up and kiss spur tongue...Hum a little on its head.
Suck it into my mouth.
I drink of you as I make you elicit elixer that shine covers my lips and shines like dew in my grey and black beard.
I feel your fingers on the back of my bald head as you pull me in.
On the sides as you struggle to push me away.
I feel the change of your tone as you prepare to erupt.
You lay your head back and scream out your intentions.
"I'm cummmmiiiiiiiinnnnggggggg."
I drink.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

REDUX

(REDUX)
THE FUNK FOR THIS FUNK...
http://youtu.be/hsXvINYEZ5E

Every once in a while in this world of mixed agendas you meet men who are not afraid to be men...
Who celebrate the beauty and diversity of the women of his race and is not ashamed to admit it.
Who is able to realize that she is the carrier of he and she... of we into the future where we a people live to fight another day.
Who sees her form as the most beautiful thing created under Allahs hand in his laboratory.
Who loves the kink of her hair and the rocking of her neck when she is sassy.
The way she rocks stilettos and fits in a tight dress...
Full oh so full ...
He kisses her stretch marks when they make love and wipes away their tears when they are sad...
Makes her smile when she is down.
He appreciates her many manifestations cause he knows it is her way of metamorphosis as she emerges most lovely butterfly.
Every once in a while... Every once in a while.
You meet man unafraid to be man.
Would you modern recognize him?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(I AIN'T FORGOT SANTA) OR HOW THE DREAMS OF A CHILD WERE CRUSHED

(I AIN'T FORGOT SANTA) OR HOW THE DREAMS OF A CHILD WERE CRUSHED
No midgets were harmed in the telling of this story I hope.
It is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is probably guilt on the readers part.
THE MUSIC FOR THIS SAD SAD TALE OF CRUSHED HOPE...
http://youtu.be/tnMhfflKCTA

Im'ma tell you about how I figured out Santa Claus was not real.
When I was little boy all I wanted for Christmas was my own midget.
Now I know these days its more appropriate to call em little people or height challenged but when I was a boy they was midgets.
I used to see midgets in the movies, you know.
The Wizard of Oz and Willie Wonka and I wanted me a midget.
Well when I was about 5 my mom took me and my sister to Sears and we saw Santa Claus.
Now mind you this was a white Santa Claus and it took great courage for me to even contemplate sitting on his lap but I was determined to get me a midget and he had two of them.
A boy and a girl, and I had heard he had a whole workshop full of midgets called elves.
Surely this white man with white hair and a white beard could spare me a midget.
He sat me on his lap and asked me what I wanted and I pointed to the female midget.
"That's what I want Santy Claus."
I knew he was stupid when he said "Oh you want a fire truck."
One was behind the midget.
Whoever told me this man knew what all children wanted had lied.
I quickly explained that I wanted one of his midgets... Female preferably and he could deliver it to my door since we had no fireplace.
He laughed all Ho ho ho and informed me that his midgets were his and he needed them at some place called the north pole.
He tried me again.
"How about a training wheel bicycle?"
Nope... Midget.
That's he looked at my mom and said "Ma'am come and get this weird kid."
I was dragged away kicking and protesting my wrongful treatment.
I vowed that day that until Santa brought me my midget and delivered it with a signed and framed apology I was gone make his life the worst sort of hell.
Since then all mall Santa's as well as the ones at any public function and even the bell ringers in front of Walmart have been closely scrutinized.
You tell Santa if you see him.
I wants my damn midget.
She would be pocket sized now.
If I see Santa Im'ma have to fuck him up.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY