(SON REFLECTING IN THE SUNSHINE)

(SON REFLECTING IN THE SUNSHINE)
THE MUSIC...

You thought you could silence I n I.
Think again.
Did the sun not rise the morning from the depths of a black sky?
Does it now shine from a fluffy cloud filled sky, they hanging against a blue scene.
Do I not see it?
Can't silence I n I.
As long a shred of injustice exists against my people there will be others like I.
Eye see... We see.
You thought exile could break we.Silence our screams.
Nelson in a prison cell... Martin Lee Anderson in a boot camp. Malcolm made into a violent man when he was peace.
As long as a breath is pulled into my lungs and becomes oxygenated blood beating through my notty black heart I will be a thorn in the side of the establishment cause the establishment don't represent me or the children of chattel slavery.
Children of Israel lingering in Babylon where the sun shines on stolen ground... Dust of a great civilization rising under shuffling feet.
Nahhh... Silence ain't for me.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(SAVAGE CONUNDRUM)
THE MUSIC... MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmjG7lOsY8g&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I mean what would I be without you?
You ripped from an ancient mans rib on a starlit night.
Fashioned from the same framework as he but oh so different.
Lions and hyenas in the back ground as you black and beautiful emerged formed of carbon and water.
Soft as wet...
What would I be if you had not borne Moses, Shaka, and Hannibal?
If you had not let me take your hand and shown you the celestial heavens spinning in slow motion above our nappy heads.
If you had not been in the hold of those slaveships.
We born of Kemit, Kush, and Sheba now known as Ethiopia.
Where would I be if you had given up in segregation.
Dogs barking while white police bashed black skulls and crosses burnt on southern lawns.
Our childs body swinging in the flickering light and hanging lifeless from our favorite pecan tree.
Where would i?
No what would I?
No… Could I be?
Thats why I will never forsake the words spoken to an ancient man by seraphim.
She is bequeathed unto thee...
She your other half.
Two parts of a whole.
I open my eyes and I see...
Thee... the black woman as queen supreme.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

Jerald Murphy is a writer, chef, philosopher who was born in Moultrie Ga, in his grandparents home in the turbulent sixties.
He is the father of 9 children one of whom passed in 2003 and has 11 grandchildren.
To say that he is a product of his environment is an understatement.
He is the result of his environment having grown up in between the black side of Moultrie and the projects of Tallahassee.
Jerald started to read at the early age of three and it is that reading along with the influences of various Muslims, Rasta's and "militants" that shaped and molded him Into the writer he is today.
His greatest influences were his Father, Willie Lawrence Murphy and his Mother, Mildred Jolly Murphy Williams.
In the eighties he was a medics in the army and after his tour of duty he returned to Tallahassee where he was asked to be a community columnist for the local newspaper.
He also pursued his love of cooking which he turned into a carrer.
Eventually becoming a chef he was the head sous chef for the Mill Bakery Brewery and Eatery for the 96 Olympic games in Atlanta Ga.
He returned to Tallahassee and was the co-host as well as commentator for the popular radio show "Sunday flava with Robert Blake on 90.5, Florida A&M's radio station.
He has hosted numerous poetry shows and has been involved in some community activism as well.
In 2005 he joined MySpace where after two years he became a prominent figure in the writing community and for two years straight he had two of the top 10 blog's on MySpace out of over two million blog's.
Today Jerald can be found antagonizing readers on Facebook or his children and grandchildren at home.
Jerald's greatest ambition is to be published.

AS HONEY

(AS HONEY) DEDICATED TO LAVETTA OCCULAR WHOM I MET IN A LIBRARY IN SPRING...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLs3sivEcLY&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I met her in a house of books... Knowledge all around...
I a traveler on the road of overstanding.
She introduced herself and I saw her deeply.
The makings of a queen unbound and unrestrained.
She walked in front of me and blew my mind, body and soul.
She so fine that I sucked in my breath.
Coughed as the smoke hit my lungs and clouded my mind.
Burning embers and lidded eyes.
As she spoke I found myself riding her smooth tones.
Grooving to her funky beat, it flowing and sweet.
Her eyes the conductor.
They brown, now hazel, now honey.
She such an empress complete.
Her thoughts became all I could see as flowers blooming elicited their fragrance.
The birds backup singers as the sounds of the day passed us by.
She eventually said she had to leave, as I stood and we rentered the house of scrolls where our beginnings and doings are found.
Bound and categorized.
She empress ripped from a man's story came to life in the spring.
Vibrantly complete.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

IRON LION ZION TRAIN IN BABYLON

(IRON LION ZION TRAIN IN BABYLON)
THE SOUND REINFORCES HOW I FEEL RIGHT BOUT NOW...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBnR28_uSHI&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.
Not just black and white but spiritually.
I seeing differently.
A lion thrown in among the sheep.
What many saw as hoes I saw as queens...Their beauty devine they having weathered many tragedies watched their sons murdered and their daughters raped and forced to bear half breeds.
Fractions of blood density...
Mulattos, octoroons and squadrons.
On my side of the tracks nigger life is cheap... Sensationalized on the evening news and in rap videos where the nigger flaunts his ignorant.
I having become adept became a master at crossing the tracks and making contact with the right as preached on Sunday in black pulpits...
White Jesus bearing witness.
Skinny and pale.
Bleeding trickery on the deceived.
The train promised but never arriving as whole congregations pray for Zion... Eyes and minds closed.
Masons, Shriners and Eastern Stars in their midst.
Wolves among the flock.
They the illuminati holding knowledge hostage on bended knees with a sword at his neck.
"Get back... Get back or I slit his throat! Slit your throat!"
Eye see the insanity of conformity.
As I the train traverse the tracks.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(UPON YOUR NUDITY

(UPON YOUR NUDITY)
THE MUSIC...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btEoW6hFSu4&feature=youtube_gdata_player

The day that I stop praising the African queen vangloriously will be the day I cease to be.
The day that other men write of me.
Tell lies of me.
From my inception I have upheld you as queen.
The other half of me.
When they talked of you in his-story I picked you out, dusted you off and put you on the shelf of nobility.
When they paraded pale skinny imitations of you across the movie screen and in the pages of magazine's I unswayed saw beauty in your curves.
In the bump of your thump.
They who say that you uncovered are something to be ashamed of.
They led blindly by the wolf.
He who enslaved us so that he could have you as he pleased.
Rape and half white babies.
Pure trickery and blasphemous fuckery perpetuated upon we.
The children of the sun which caressed our skin as we born of earth arose and walked pon two feet.
Built civilization on virgin ground.
You swaying and grating, poised in graceful repose...
I resting on your softness... Suckling at your breast.
They would quiet me if I were not boom sound speaking upon you... The thunder... The lightning.
I bring you shining forth from the darkness of my subconscious... 3d.
I have loved you... I will love you... I shall love you.
Till the day I lie cold...
Till the day I die.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(FALL BABYLON) STONE AND A SLING

(FALL BABYLON) STONE AND A SLING
THE MUSIC... THIS IS PURE FYAH BACKUP BOOMSOUND...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8_gmkjBdvU&feature=youtube_gdata_player

It is said that prophets come from the ghettos.
That they are the birthed result of strife.
Of battered and shattered lives.
They say a prophet will not come from the megachurch.
That he will not drive a fancy car.
That much they say is proven truth.
He will not be a pretty man.
The prophet.
He will bear scars, and he will not wear Jordan's, Coogie or any of these things having given his tithe to the people.
Overstand?
What need has omnipotent God of your money?
Foolish humanity.
That makes no sense in a prophetically logical sense.
Everything already his.
The prophet may not carry a big gun or command great armies.
He being of the streets and alleyways of urban nightmares and unique cultures.
These people he born of.
The forgotten of society birth the prophets.
They born of despair and just can't give no damn more.
Why Allah, and so much more.
They the they mentioned in polite conversation.
The prophet as child stratagizing and agonizing in this savage situation where the weak are consumed daily.
Babylon the burping beast growing phat and crying skinny.
This the young prophet sees.
Moses against Pharoah...
David against Goliath...
And a prophet shall arise from the squalor of the ghetto.
Cause thats where they come from.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY