{OF CLOUD AND STONE}

{OF CLOUD AND STONE}

THE SOUNDTRACK IS ME READING THIS PIECE... MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN....
http://youtu.be/i6DcNqjEWDo

And if I could I would reach into the sky and pull down a piece of a cloud...

Soften these harsh realities for you... These hard truths which so many lie upon while trying to find rest.

The pattering rain would be the shower and the driving storm would be the massaging... the wind the water jets.

Trying to meld the ancient and the modern...

Trying to show you that its all the same.

Yesterdays, todays and tomorrows that never seem to come as the world turns.

If I could I would confront governments and secret societies and talk to them of the will of Allah.

I know its been tried but I just gotta... I just gotta.

Tell them to free the masses so that we can travel to distant suns where our relatives await us...

We been down so long... Been gone so long... Been done wrong.

Lies have become the way we live... War and devastation... Pestilence and diseased minds.

No one cries when the baby is born but it ought to be that way... Baby got so much to face.

A participant in the game of life... Pawn, bishop, fallen kings and queens... got to get some a dat back.

If I could I would work in a lab to create an Injection  that would inoculate you against being used and abused.

Introduce it intramuscular into your physiology... Let it make its way to your psychology.

Get you to see that this place you inhabit... These things... They are not reality.

That we are not these savage beings that are the result of religion and caste system...

Of being beaten into an altered state of thinking that its normal to charge for natural things...

That we own the land, the water, the air that we breathe.

They were here before we came and will be here long after we are gone.

Yes... If I could I would reach into the sky and pull down a piece of a cloud but I'm here on earth and all I got is this stone.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(THE MAN IN THE BOAT) LET ME SEE DAT SPURTONGUE

(THE MAN IN THE BOAT) LET ME SEE DAT SPURTONGUE


Mannnn... I love a big clit.
I love big booty mind you but a big clit drives me fucking wild.
I love it when it peeps out.
When it stands up and I suck it in my mouth... Swirl it around on my tongue.
Drink of its flavor... Its bouquet.
A big clit makes my blood tingle in my veins... Puts goosebumps on my flesh.
I suck in air.
Got to make it cum so that I may savor its flavor.
Fine wine tis it.
I standing and drooping big dick pon it... Spanking it as the droplets splatter my skin.
Damn I love big clit, pulling lips back and sliding thick dick in... Pushing legs back so that it stands.
I want to see that clit as I beat the back of your womb.
Pull out and rub head on it.
Make you cum again and again... Soak the sheets.
Beat it from the back and rub it trembling and quivering.
Pull out and spray your ass... Your pussy... Your clit.
That is the shit that excites my wild.
That juicy clit.
The beast and I turnt straight the fuck up.
Fucking wild.


JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(THE POETRY ASSASSIN)
THE SOUND...

He slings lyrical hails of poetic gunfire into the crowd.
Those hit fall to the ground... Slugs lodged in craniums rattle around and confound the unenlightened and confused among the black and brown...
The dark skinned and light skinned descendants of those stolen from the banks of where where this thing humanity began, a lump of clay caressed and formed human.
Brown eyes open as if for the first time suspended on the rhythm rhyme as it dribbles down optimus prime.
Sweet like honey on a queens lips as a poet sips of her succulent ooze that leaves him staggering like some one hundred and fifty proof booze, drunk on her fermentation and numbly intoxicated to the pain, the healing of a nation as she causes vibrations sonic.
The sound of a bullet whining ricochet, fragments spray shrapnel away as the crowd parts in disarray
A poetic warrior spraying lyrics AK on a Monday.
Mossberg with a pistol grip strong as his slugs hit home.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(THE WARRIORS LONESOME LAMENT)
THE MUSIC... MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN...
Love Beat: http://youtu.be/slFxBpLoXBI

He lies back and let's her run through his mind.
She has no form but she is tangible.
A thought in the corner of his mind, in the recesses of his psyche.
A sigh escapes his lips.
Maybe he will go into the flow never meeting her.
Maybe he has met her when he was younger and didn't know how to fully appreciate a queen.
So many thoughts as he alone contemplates her and she grows form.
Born of his grey matter she is the stuff of his most vivid dreams.
He who has everything he could ever want...
Grandchildren, children and knowledge... He has paid a substantial price for it is hard on a warriors family.
The battlefield so lonely.
It being the place of his internment....
He sighs and rubs an old scar, a reminder that pain can be overcome.
He wonders why his heart aches if that is so.
Why his soul is flooded with metaphorical tears.
Why he is so tired.
She grows into a solid and he reaches out...
She disappears...
Such anguish that he finds himself confronting.
He fears.
They say that for everyone there is someone.
She recedes into his mentality.
Even warriors are allowed their  dreams.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

A Poetry Month picture prompt ...

I posted this picture earlier, it is a picture prompt, meaning that it is designed to elicit a response.
I would really like to make this a collaboration with as many writers as possible participating.
I have posted a prompt at the bottom to help you get started.
You can write off of me or you can do your own thing.

We the result of the union of a seed and an egg and the division of cells find ourselves in these modern times.
The world has rotated and revolved around the sun for billions of days to place us here.
Without you I am nothing, without me you are left alone.
Where do we go from here?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(GHETTO SCION) THIS PIECE WAS INSPIRED BY THE PICTURE AND THE MUSIC... IT WAS WRITTEN TO THE MUSIC...
Airlock- On The 2nd Floor: http://youtu.be/DmwpWTNA3fw

These lyrics be funkin in my mind...
And I...
Have to scribe them down...
And they be breaking down walls and shattering glass as their black and white sonics fall onto computer and phone screens...
These lyrics carry imagery and hyperbole, the whine of the bullet and the smoke off a bowl inhaled.
These lyrics just won't let a brother go...
And they.
Feel so familiar and foreign all at the same time as they rip a hole in the deepness of a man's soul.
He bringing them forth to be perused and under stood by the 85 percent.
These lyrics become the roar as the man becomes night, day and the spaces unseen.
Screaming in rage against the machine.
He neither smoke nor fire but something in between as the lyrics burn internal.
Pour from him as lava incinerating all in his path.
Dragon fire spilling from his lungs and vibrating his vocal cords.
These lyrics...
These fuckin lyrics won't let go.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(BRIGHTEST LIGHT)
THE MUSIC...
Groundation - Grounding Dub: http://youtu.be/B9s2fq0Ycmg

I who once was a sun in a far distant galaxy and an asteroid smashing into a prehistoric earth...
I who once was particles of carbon and the chemical equation h2o.
Born and dying on the way to becoming who I am now.
I who once built pyramids and roamed in the desert as Israelite.
Fought an angel and dislocated my hip.
Left my wife standing as a pillar of salt... Caved in a giants head with a sling and a stone and saved Egypt and the Hebrew nation from starvation as a famine swept the land.
I who once stood and prophesied to dry bones and made them into a mighty army... Wooed the queen of Sheba and built temples dedicated to the wisdom of god.
Slew ten thousand with the jawbone of an ass and stood as lion in a den of lions...
Walked with angels in a furnace of fire.
I who built an ark and floated on a global sea...
Walked as a prophet, a warrior and a king.
Was robbed of my heritage and treated as a beast... My image stripped of color reflecting stained glass... See?
I who built a country on my shoulders and my back as they raped the bodies of my queens and the brains of my seed.
I who once dangled from the branch of an oak tree like a decoration on the pagan holiday Christmas... Bloodied and beaten like the image on the cross on the pagen holiday Easter.
I am that I am in the knowing of these things.
Son of man, son of god, sun.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY