Part 1
Dear America
As TV ads and speeches
Religiously flicker and scream at you
To choose the right man to lead your country
As debates and diverse points of view
On prime time
Rage on
Just know, that America can only go on
If you decide to choose the right man
Come November
She is fragile
She is hungry
She is tired
And she is ready
For change…
Dear America
Leave your prejudice and racism at the door
Let freedom and change tally up the scores
Take some time to reflect
Before family and church
Ring the bells in the steeples of your country
Loud enough for you to go deaf once more…
Dear America
Freedom was never meant to be a foreign concept
Forced upon the peoples of Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere
It can be real
It can be now
It can be beautiful
And it can be yours
But only if you want it…
Freedom was never meant to ignore the Gaza Strip
Or let Cubans drown in the pursuit of freedom?
Freedom was never meant to strangle hope out of Africa
Or kill civilians with no thought?
Freedom yearns to be free of obstacles, threats and political interferences
If anything, freedom needs you more today than ever
Another eight years like the eight before might kill you
Needless to say, the world needs you to make the right choice
As election day draws near
Realise the power you hold in your hands
And use it to change your future
You know you can…
An African
Part 2
Dear America
If you must
Go back to all the debates
Rewind the tapes
Ask questions
Look back at all the primaries and the past
Including yours
Then tally up the scores…
Ask yourself who bombed Iraq
And killed Hussein
In the name of your freedom
Knowing that there’s always a million better ways
To solve any situation…
Ask yourself why your country
Is still searching for Osama
And why terrorism is still used to put your freedom
In a coma…
Sleep it over
Go over it
Over coffee
Or at the water cooler at work
Just don’t let anybody fool you into believing
That what you have right now is good…
Dear America
Think about the freedom of people across the world
Think about freeing the world
Think about the poor
Knowing your country can definitely do more
Think about it
As if your life depended upon it
Don’t ever let the reason for making your choice
Escape your mind’s eye
Because if you make the wrong decision on the day
You’ll have to explain why
To yourself and your children…
Look at your children
Look at your life
Look at yourself
Ask yourself if you deserve better
And believe that you do…
Ask yourself if you are ready for change
Ready to share in that elusive American pie
Ask yourself in your heart of hearts
If you can really give real change a try…
An African
Part 3
Dear America
Some of them are younger than 20
And they might never ever see their country
Again
They don’t even know what they are fighting for
And they don’t know why they are there
And most of them are scared shit-faced
In the name of war and peace…
They are your sons and they are your daughters
Don’t let all of them return
In body bags
Wrapped in the red, white and blue
Decorated with a star
On a flight from Iraq…
At noon on a tearful Sunday…
Budgets that go into trillions of dollars
Cannot justify all the American blood
Flowing in Iraq
Budgets that go into trillions of dollars
Cannot begin to justify parents being denied
Seeing their kids grow up…
Dear America
You’re supposed to be
The land of the free
And the home of the brave
Don’t let your country become a slave
To oil and power…
Your phones are being tapped
Guns are on tap
Iraq and Afghanistan are almost
Blown off the world’s map
Poverty is still around
And most Americans are trapped
In debt and a veil of perceived freedom
Give him a chance to change
The status quo
Because you know
He can make a difference…
An African
Monday, October 13, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Forget Paris
One night in Paris was only one night
Taped for commercial exploitation
It was never nominated for an Oscar, an Emmy
Or a Golden Globe
In fact, it wasn’t even taped in Paris
So, forget Paris…
Her simple life is much simpler than the average American’s
Just another product of deep-rooted political masturbation
For a nation of fools
Schooled in front of televisions, drive-ins and movie houses
Ain’t that a bitch?
No, they call it school
That’s why I say, forget Paris…
Ever wondered why you feel that tickle of admiration
Down your spine?
Well, she’s living your life and for a nickel or a dime
You can see this girl in People magazine
As well as the New York Times
So, forget Paris…
They are slowly changing your perceptions
Of what a dream is supposed to be
Taking it from you, moulding it and giving it back to you
On a reel or in a picture of a girl
Named after a European city
Ignorance isn’t pretty
But you can begin by forgetting
So, I implore you to
Forget Paris…
Taped for commercial exploitation
It was never nominated for an Oscar, an Emmy
Or a Golden Globe
In fact, it wasn’t even taped in Paris
So, forget Paris…
Her simple life is much simpler than the average American’s
Just another product of deep-rooted political masturbation
For a nation of fools
Schooled in front of televisions, drive-ins and movie houses
Ain’t that a bitch?
No, they call it school
That’s why I say, forget Paris…
Ever wondered why you feel that tickle of admiration
Down your spine?
Well, she’s living your life and for a nickel or a dime
You can see this girl in People magazine
As well as the New York Times
So, forget Paris…
They are slowly changing your perceptions
Of what a dream is supposed to be
Taking it from you, moulding it and giving it back to you
On a reel or in a picture of a girl
Named after a European city
Ignorance isn’t pretty
But you can begin by forgetting
So, I implore you to
Forget Paris…
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Acquaintance Book
What the fuck is happening on this book with a face
Old acquaintances are adding me as their friend
And I know their intentions are laced
With building their ‘friends’ count
Look at me! I’m the shit!
I had four friends yesterday
And here comes the fifth
Six, then seven
Before you know it, I’ll have twenty
I checked Suzie’s profile
And she doesn’t have that many
I’m gonna add my ex-boyfriend
He’s a real fuck-up – no doubt
But if I can get from 39 to 40
It’ll give me some clout
I click ‘add as a friend’ without thinking of the repercussions
I just write a little message
Asking him ‘bout his cousin
Poor girl was diagnosed with some disease
About 5 years ago
But I don’t give a flying fuck
‘Cause my friends’ count is a low
People from my past creep out of every crevice
I know what they want and need
This book’s made me clever
They’re all here for one thing
And I can relate
‘Cause I’m poking some people
I’d rather drop off at hell’s gate
So I add a few apps
Check out my super wall
Reply to a few issues
When I don’t give a fuck at all
This book’s got me totally under its spell
Have you seen my workload lately?
I’m drowning and the whole world can tell
95% of my day is spent on this shit
And I cannot see the end in sight
No! I cannot quit!
I’m looking up people
Who fucked me over in the past
I just want a higher number
To show my peeps I’ve got class
The whole thing’s a farce
I’ve now got friends I don’t really need
And we’re all playing this make-believe game
Like we’re high on strong weed
Everyone’s friendly and shit
Peeps appear to give a shit
So they poke you once a week
To make you believe that you’re worth
But real friends will have your back
When your car’s dead on the M5
Tell me how many of your Facebook friends
Will come and check if you’re still alive
They need to split it into friends, acquaintances and fuckers
Then maybe people won’t be adding friends into empty friendship buckets…
Copyright © 2007 Hilton Mashonga
Old acquaintances are adding me as their friend
And I know their intentions are laced
With building their ‘friends’ count
Look at me! I’m the shit!
I had four friends yesterday
And here comes the fifth
Six, then seven
Before you know it, I’ll have twenty
I checked Suzie’s profile
And she doesn’t have that many
I’m gonna add my ex-boyfriend
He’s a real fuck-up – no doubt
But if I can get from 39 to 40
It’ll give me some clout
I click ‘add as a friend’ without thinking of the repercussions
I just write a little message
Asking him ‘bout his cousin
Poor girl was diagnosed with some disease
About 5 years ago
But I don’t give a flying fuck
‘Cause my friends’ count is a low
People from my past creep out of every crevice
I know what they want and need
This book’s made me clever
They’re all here for one thing
And I can relate
‘Cause I’m poking some people
I’d rather drop off at hell’s gate
So I add a few apps
Check out my super wall
Reply to a few issues
When I don’t give a fuck at all
This book’s got me totally under its spell
Have you seen my workload lately?
I’m drowning and the whole world can tell
95% of my day is spent on this shit
And I cannot see the end in sight
No! I cannot quit!
I’m looking up people
Who fucked me over in the past
I just want a higher number
To show my peeps I’ve got class
The whole thing’s a farce
I’ve now got friends I don’t really need
And we’re all playing this make-believe game
Like we’re high on strong weed
Everyone’s friendly and shit
Peeps appear to give a shit
So they poke you once a week
To make you believe that you’re worth
But real friends will have your back
When your car’s dead on the M5
Tell me how many of your Facebook friends
Will come and check if you’re still alive
They need to split it into friends, acquaintances and fuckers
Then maybe people won’t be adding friends into empty friendship buckets…
Copyright © 2007 Hilton Mashonga
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
America is in your jeans.
She had sex in your city
Unprotected
Then neglected you for the coke hills of Colombia
She is America
She’s the conspiracy theories
The final Soprano series
And because she doesn’t understand what fear is
She’s in Iraq and Afghanistan
You know, all the places dark-skinned people are from
She’s in your favourite TV shows
And all the R&B songs you know
The books you’ve read
The movies you’ve sat through
‘Cause she understands you
She is America
She’s the cocktail in your hand
Your favourite punk rock band
She blinds you with her charms
So you’ll never take a stand
She is America
She’s in your X Box, Playstation and Nintendo Wii
She’s in all the Southern bodies that hung from trees
She’s bold and loud and proud
Relentless
She is America
She’ll piss on your parade with her ticker tape and long black cars
For presidents, bullets
And your mind
She rules it
She’s America
You can taste her red and white lipstick on your tongue
You can see her stars in your dreams
So put on your tic tac sneaks
Cock your peak
Put your hands on your butt and feel her
She is America
And she’s in your jeans.
Unprotected
Then neglected you for the coke hills of Colombia
She is America
She’s the conspiracy theories
The final Soprano series
And because she doesn’t understand what fear is
She’s in Iraq and Afghanistan
You know, all the places dark-skinned people are from
She’s in your favourite TV shows
And all the R&B songs you know
The books you’ve read
The movies you’ve sat through
‘Cause she understands you
She is America
She’s the cocktail in your hand
Your favourite punk rock band
She blinds you with her charms
So you’ll never take a stand
She is America
She’s in your X Box, Playstation and Nintendo Wii
She’s in all the Southern bodies that hung from trees
She’s bold and loud and proud
Relentless
She is America
She’ll piss on your parade with her ticker tape and long black cars
For presidents, bullets
And your mind
She rules it
She’s America
You can taste her red and white lipstick on your tongue
You can see her stars in your dreams
So put on your tic tac sneaks
Cock your peak
Put your hands on your butt and feel her
She is America
And she’s in your jeans.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Enough is Enough, Mofo!
Just when I think I understand people and all their shit, I’m always reminded of how much I still need to learn – before I’ll fully understand them. And what a fucked-up bunch of hypocrites, backstabbers, and egotistical, pompous fools I have to deal with in life. And that’s just some of my so-called friends. Yes, I do have an interesting life. Thanks to the real and not-so-real people around me. Face it. We do need the assholes in our lives, ‘cause they teach us a bunch of important shit. Like how not to behave in public. How not to treat your real friends. And how to choose your friends wisely. You know, all the good stuff.
One thing’s for sure, if you do not deal with an asshole head-on…by telling them what makes you sad, angry, upset or how they’re invading your space, your life…whatever...you’re in for a long ride with the same asshole or asshole mentality. Simply ignoring a particular asshole or assholette will not make the lesson that you need to learn go away. Think about how many times different people have taken you on the same ride, again and again…abusing your friendship, your good vibes, your life, your money, your home - until one day, you face them eye to eye - and utter the words, Enough is Enough, Mofo!
Tick.
Life lesson in the bag and always there to remind you. Call it your own personal ASSHOLE ALERT.
One thing’s for sure, if you do not deal with an asshole head-on…by telling them what makes you sad, angry, upset or how they’re invading your space, your life…whatever...you’re in for a long ride with the same asshole or asshole mentality. Simply ignoring a particular asshole or assholette will not make the lesson that you need to learn go away. Think about how many times different people have taken you on the same ride, again and again…abusing your friendship, your good vibes, your life, your money, your home - until one day, you face them eye to eye - and utter the words, Enough is Enough, Mofo!
Tick.
Life lesson in the bag and always there to remind you. Call it your own personal ASSHOLE ALERT.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
White Collar Crimes
The real crimes of our times
Are not blue, but white
They are moving digital bankrolls
Through Windows
On PC’s and MACs
Take note!
How come we’ve never seen
Bishops in court?
Who’s financing the mansions
In Newlands
And the Range Rover Sports…?
The real criminals of our times
Are behind burglar bars
And electric fences
Sipping French champagne and cocktails
Draped in Gucci lenses, driving SLK Benzes…
Get it in sight!
We cannot afford to take these things
Too light…
Especially in Cape Town
The place democracy forgot
To right…
Are not blue, but white
They are moving digital bankrolls
Through Windows
On PC’s and MACs
Take note!
How come we’ve never seen
Bishops in court?
Who’s financing the mansions
In Newlands
And the Range Rover Sports…?
The real criminals of our times
Are behind burglar bars
And electric fences
Sipping French champagne and cocktails
Draped in Gucci lenses, driving SLK Benzes…
Get it in sight!
We cannot afford to take these things
Too light…
Especially in Cape Town
The place democracy forgot
To right…
I write what I like
Just like our brother Biko
I write what I like
I write about the past inequalities
In Cape Town
Still present to this day
I write about the pretty American pictures
They paint us
As well as our own KKK
I write about a town called Oranje
And its koeksister monument
About little kids high on tik
And the price we all have to pay
I write about dummy Cape town politicians
And Camps Bay housewives high on coke
I write about mr. Tony Leon
‘Cause in my eyes, the man's a joke
I write about our ex-president nearing a century
May god bless his precious soul
I write about the 2010 soccer world cup
Let's hope the stadiums get built
I write about a tale of two cities
That’s the cape town that is true
I write about the blinkers on the eyes of some people
As they drive pass townships like gugulethu
I write about radio dj’s in this city
Being recycled year after year
I write about bruised and battered women
Still living in fear
I write about cape town soccer stadiums
Empty with no cheers
I write about people supporting Manchester
And the media that’s to blame
I write about shack fires in cape town
And wonder who’s to blame
I write about another fisherman who died
Just trying to put food on the table
About the ignorance of the majority
Cause it needs to be disabled
I write about people obsessed with branded clothes
Get your priorities straight
You’re just another walking billboard
While young Chinese labourers get nailed
I write about the obsession with celebrities
Most people claim to know one
I write about using the other 90% of your brain
Then maybe you could become one
I write about the fucking peak hour traffic jams
And how it’s fucking up my days
About corruption in our government
And justice that’s delayed
I write about assholes who want to dice
As you pull up at every stop
I write about people still living off their parents
Go and find yourself a job
I write about gap years in London
And daddy bought me a citi golf
I write about people taking taxis to work
Because the public transport system don’t work
I write about the prejudice in this city
This shit has gotta conclude
I write about the media blowing it all up
Just to sell the news
I write about people buying it on tv
And that sick paper called the Sun
I write about road rage on our streets
And how every fucker’s got a gun
I write about how life’s too short to live
But then again it’s a short time
I write about the concept of reincarnation
And the fear of coming back as a mime
I write about the arrogance of prisoners
Because life inside is such a breeze
I write about cops wanting bribes
To turn a blind eye to your stash of weed
I write about the end of this poem
Because you’re wondering when it will end
I write about you walking away with something
Or I’ll have to recite this shit again
I write about the things in my mind
That would make this poem go on forever and a day
I write about me just writing about some of it
And having my little say…
'Cause I write what like
And like what I write
Even if it’s just me
May bra Biko rest in peace…
I write what I like
I write about the past inequalities
In Cape Town
Still present to this day
I write about the pretty American pictures
They paint us
As well as our own KKK
I write about a town called Oranje
And its koeksister monument
About little kids high on tik
And the price we all have to pay
I write about dummy Cape town politicians
And Camps Bay housewives high on coke
I write about mr. Tony Leon
‘Cause in my eyes, the man's a joke
I write about our ex-president nearing a century
May god bless his precious soul
I write about the 2010 soccer world cup
Let's hope the stadiums get built
I write about a tale of two cities
That’s the cape town that is true
I write about the blinkers on the eyes of some people
As they drive pass townships like gugulethu
I write about radio dj’s in this city
Being recycled year after year
I write about bruised and battered women
Still living in fear
I write about cape town soccer stadiums
Empty with no cheers
I write about people supporting Manchester
And the media that’s to blame
I write about shack fires in cape town
And wonder who’s to blame
I write about another fisherman who died
Just trying to put food on the table
About the ignorance of the majority
Cause it needs to be disabled
I write about people obsessed with branded clothes
Get your priorities straight
You’re just another walking billboard
While young Chinese labourers get nailed
I write about the obsession with celebrities
Most people claim to know one
I write about using the other 90% of your brain
Then maybe you could become one
I write about the fucking peak hour traffic jams
And how it’s fucking up my days
About corruption in our government
And justice that’s delayed
I write about assholes who want to dice
As you pull up at every stop
I write about people still living off their parents
Go and find yourself a job
I write about gap years in London
And daddy bought me a citi golf
I write about people taking taxis to work
Because the public transport system don’t work
I write about the prejudice in this city
This shit has gotta conclude
I write about the media blowing it all up
Just to sell the news
I write about people buying it on tv
And that sick paper called the Sun
I write about road rage on our streets
And how every fucker’s got a gun
I write about how life’s too short to live
But then again it’s a short time
I write about the concept of reincarnation
And the fear of coming back as a mime
I write about the arrogance of prisoners
Because life inside is such a breeze
I write about cops wanting bribes
To turn a blind eye to your stash of weed
I write about the end of this poem
Because you’re wondering when it will end
I write about you walking away with something
Or I’ll have to recite this shit again
I write about the things in my mind
That would make this poem go on forever and a day
I write about me just writing about some of it
And having my little say…
'Cause I write what like
And like what I write
Even if it’s just me
May bra Biko rest in peace…
You are my everything
You’re my Alpha, my Omega
My day and my night
My wrongs and everything about me
That’s right…
You’re my beginning in the end
My lover and friend
My walk and my run
Darkness and Sun…
You’re my TV and radio
My late night listening to
Music so slow…
You’re my failure, my success
My passion and my stress
My base camp and summit
Damn, how I love it!
You’re my truth and my lies
My laughter, my cries
My up and my downs
My stillness and sounds…
You’re my hatred and my love
My hand and my glove
You lift me up when I’m about
To give up…
You’re my blank page
Before an idea
My strengths and my fears
When I’m in reverse
You are my first gear…
You bring me joy and
Sometimes pain
You’re my sunlight and rain
You’re the hinge on my door
You’re my plaster
When I’m sore…
You’re my love and my life
Better still, you’re my wife…
You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more
You’re the handle on my heaven’s door…
Your husband.
My day and my night
My wrongs and everything about me
That’s right…
You’re my beginning in the end
My lover and friend
My walk and my run
Darkness and Sun…
You’re my TV and radio
My late night listening to
Music so slow…
You’re my failure, my success
My passion and my stress
My base camp and summit
Damn, how I love it!
You’re my truth and my lies
My laughter, my cries
My up and my downs
My stillness and sounds…
You’re my hatred and my love
My hand and my glove
You lift me up when I’m about
To give up…
You’re my blank page
Before an idea
My strengths and my fears
When I’m in reverse
You are my first gear…
You bring me joy and
Sometimes pain
You’re my sunlight and rain
You’re the hinge on my door
You’re my plaster
When I’m sore…
You’re my love and my life
Better still, you’re my wife…
You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more
You’re the handle on my heaven’s door…
Your husband.
Now that I’ve got you
Now that I’ve got you all under my skin
Tell me, my love, where do I begin?
Do I tell them ‘bout the way you complete my entire being?
Or do I tell them ‘bout the notes you played on my heartstrings?
You’re my morning, my evening and my everything in-between
It’s to your love I cling; it’s to your love I cling…
Now that you’ve got me all under your spell
Tell me, my love, who can I tell?
Do I send an SMS to everyone on my cell?
Or do I fly to Europe to ring some cathedral’s bell?
You’re my heaven, my middle earth and sometimes my hell
Only I can tell, because you know me so well…
Now that you’ve got me writing verses in your name
Tell me, my love, will it still be the same?
In 50 years from now when we’re both old and grey
Will we still be together?
Or would we’ve gone our separate ways?
You’re my Mona Lisa, my stars, my sun and my moon
If you should leave me at the end of forever
I know it’ll be too soon…
Tell me, my love, where do I begin?
Do I tell them ‘bout the way you complete my entire being?
Or do I tell them ‘bout the notes you played on my heartstrings?
You’re my morning, my evening and my everything in-between
It’s to your love I cling; it’s to your love I cling…
Now that you’ve got me all under your spell
Tell me, my love, who can I tell?
Do I send an SMS to everyone on my cell?
Or do I fly to Europe to ring some cathedral’s bell?
You’re my heaven, my middle earth and sometimes my hell
Only I can tell, because you know me so well…
Now that you’ve got me writing verses in your name
Tell me, my love, will it still be the same?
In 50 years from now when we’re both old and grey
Will we still be together?
Or would we’ve gone our separate ways?
You’re my Mona Lisa, my stars, my sun and my moon
If you should leave me at the end of forever
I know it’ll be too soon…
Unwritten Love
My love for, my love...
Is unwritten
It's uncomplicated
It's undefined
It's uncoupled to speak its own mind
It's unwritten in the sands of time
Way before the god of gods
Created our god
Way before planets and stars were born
And space became a place
For the whole human race
Way before the idea of life
Entered the god's head
That's when my love
For my love began…
My love for, my love
Is unwritten
It's Prince and D'Angelo rolled into one
It's Mos Def on a Talib Kweli track
But beyond that
It's unwritten
Way before sands and seas
Breathing and trees
Way before the way befores of Yesteryear and silent tears
Before religion enslaved
Both men and women
Before superpowers, superheroes
And terrorism
Way before Mohammed reached that mountain
And the Wailing Wall became electronic
Way before demonic bushes and shrubs
And hip hop's cool wazups
That's when, my love
For my love grew up…
My love for, my love
Is unwritten
It's the urban voice of bra'Mac
And the soul to mouth goings of Flow
It's all of that
And more
It's unwritten
Way before people left the biblical
For the spiritual
And became even more philosophical
Way before politicians were held accountable
Astounding us all with their black and white lies
That's when my love for, my love
Materialised
It's unwritten
In the sands of time...
Is unwritten
It's uncomplicated
It's undefined
It's uncoupled to speak its own mind
It's unwritten in the sands of time
Way before the god of gods
Created our god
Way before planets and stars were born
And space became a place
For the whole human race
Way before the idea of life
Entered the god's head
That's when my love
For my love began…
My love for, my love
Is unwritten
It's Prince and D'Angelo rolled into one
It's Mos Def on a Talib Kweli track
But beyond that
It's unwritten
Way before sands and seas
Breathing and trees
Way before the way befores of Yesteryear and silent tears
Before religion enslaved
Both men and women
Before superpowers, superheroes
And terrorism
Way before Mohammed reached that mountain
And the Wailing Wall became electronic
Way before demonic bushes and shrubs
And hip hop's cool wazups
That's when, my love
For my love grew up…
My love for, my love
Is unwritten
It's the urban voice of bra'Mac
And the soul to mouth goings of Flow
It's all of that
And more
It's unwritten
Way before people left the biblical
For the spiritual
And became even more philosophical
Way before politicians were held accountable
Astounding us all with their black and white lies
That's when my love for, my love
Materialised
It's unwritten
In the sands of time...
The colour of a black and white TV
I’ve had my fill of -
Black cats in my path
On black Mondays
Searching for black boxes
On black nights
And the spilling of black oil
Into black seas
Fighting black foes
With black magic
And filling black bags…
I’ve had my fill of –
Black tar
Carrying black tyres
To keep black coal burning
Fuelling black riots
God knows I’ve had my fill…
I’ve had my fill of –
White houses making
White rules on
White pages. Giving
White bosses in
White buildings more
White power!
I’ve had my fill of –
White racists with
White faces. Hiding
White ropes under
White cloaks!
I’ve had my fill of –
Extra thick
White chalk lines when a
White dies! I’ve had my fill of –
White tickertape for
White leaders and
White killers!
I’m sick of the
White media telling
White lies!
I’ve also had my fill of –
White rugby and its
White tries
White cricket and its
White leg byes!
God knows –
I can’t take another day of
White courts allowing
White chemicals to run free!
But maybe it’s just me –
Black and proud watching the world
In colour
On a black and white TV…
Black cats in my path
On black Mondays
Searching for black boxes
On black nights
And the spilling of black oil
Into black seas
Fighting black foes
With black magic
And filling black bags…
I’ve had my fill of –
Black tar
Carrying black tyres
To keep black coal burning
Fuelling black riots
God knows I’ve had my fill…
I’ve had my fill of –
White houses making
White rules on
White pages. Giving
White bosses in
White buildings more
White power!
I’ve had my fill of –
White racists with
White faces. Hiding
White ropes under
White cloaks!
I’ve had my fill of –
Extra thick
White chalk lines when a
White dies! I’ve had my fill of –
White tickertape for
White leaders and
White killers!
I’m sick of the
White media telling
White lies!
I’ve also had my fill of –
White rugby and its
White tries
White cricket and its
White leg byes!
God knows –
I can’t take another day of
White courts allowing
White chemicals to run free!
But maybe it’s just me –
Black and proud watching the world
In colour
On a black and white TV…
Message to your God
God…
I have no doubt that you exist
In some form or the other
A man, a woman, an abyss
But make yourself known
To us mere mortals here on earth
‘Fore we kill ourselves
‘Fore we cannot birth…
I’m an inquisitive little fuck
And I don’t mean to bug
But if I were you
I’d stop the war in Iraq
I’ll come down in the form
Of a man or woman
And I’d win a Nobel Prize
For my peace master plan…
I know you don’t want fame
Or recognition, or hoes
But godammit, God
Release us from our woes
Assuming you’re a man
You can have any babe
From here to Timbuktu
But if you’re a woman
I’ll hook you up with a fine black brother
From the Cameroon…
I don’t want a prize
For being the one
Who made contact with you
All I fuckin’ want and need
Is for you to come through…
For me, for my brothers
And for all my sisters too
Just make things right
That’s all I’m asking of you…
Bible says you’ve got the skills
You can turn stone into bread
Even the Quran proclaims
That you’re a helluva lad…
And that fish and bread thing you supposedly did
That shit is the bomb
That’s what we need in Iraq
Not coalition bombs…
So do we have a deal
Can I hear you say Slam!
Or must I stop believing
You actually give a damn….?
I have no doubt that you exist
In some form or the other
A man, a woman, an abyss
But make yourself known
To us mere mortals here on earth
‘Fore we kill ourselves
‘Fore we cannot birth…
I’m an inquisitive little fuck
And I don’t mean to bug
But if I were you
I’d stop the war in Iraq
I’ll come down in the form
Of a man or woman
And I’d win a Nobel Prize
For my peace master plan…
I know you don’t want fame
Or recognition, or hoes
But godammit, God
Release us from our woes
Assuming you’re a man
You can have any babe
From here to Timbuktu
But if you’re a woman
I’ll hook you up with a fine black brother
From the Cameroon…
I don’t want a prize
For being the one
Who made contact with you
All I fuckin’ want and need
Is for you to come through…
For me, for my brothers
And for all my sisters too
Just make things right
That’s all I’m asking of you…
Bible says you’ve got the skills
You can turn stone into bread
Even the Quran proclaims
That you’re a helluva lad…
And that fish and bread thing you supposedly did
That shit is the bomb
That’s what we need in Iraq
Not coalition bombs…
So do we have a deal
Can I hear you say Slam!
Or must I stop believing
You actually give a damn….?
Sadie
Our next-door neighbour is 84
She never wanted more
Than a piece of quiet
A place to be
With dog on leash
She greeted me
Whenever she saw me
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
Told me once about her
Greedy niece
The one who wanted to set her free
In an old age home
To be with others like Sadie
She told me that…
She objected strongly
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
Sadie had a big ol’ grand piano
In her dining room
That landmine room
She couldn’t play no more
Said it was her god’s law
Her legs turned inside out
As she knocked on heaven’s door
But her mouth kept rattling on
Word after word was born and soon
On those mild, weekday afternoons
I got bored with her overtold stories
But I listened…
Sadie never wanted to inconvenience me
Don’t kill yourself over me
I’ll get by, I always do
Can you come and tune my tv?
Nevermind the rest
As long as you can get it on Dr. Phil
He’s the best
Her tv was always on number 8
The loudest on the volume control
At 5.30 in the morning
It was hell
But we listened…
Sadie had a daughter
Who wasn’t there at all
Sadie stopped the visits to the mental institution
Where she lived on pills
The state paid the bill
But still
Sadie would talk about her daughter
In that mental institution
Hope she’s okay, she worried
There’s nothing I can do no more
She said
Her overtold stories really, really bored me
But I listened…
She loved her gin
And ciggies and dog
It kept her alive and well
Like Elvis
‘Rent it?’, she asked
Surprising me
Said her niece wanted to sell the property
And Sadie’s gotta move
But not this girl – not now
Not ever
Asked me if I could change her locks
But move? Never!
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
So, how does Sadie’s story end?
Guess she’ll never live to tell
84
And Jewish
But poor
So close to heaven above her
Yet living her life on earth in her own kinda hell…
She never wanted more
Than a piece of quiet
A place to be
With dog on leash
She greeted me
Whenever she saw me
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
Told me once about her
Greedy niece
The one who wanted to set her free
In an old age home
To be with others like Sadie
She told me that…
She objected strongly
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
Sadie had a big ol’ grand piano
In her dining room
That landmine room
She couldn’t play no more
Said it was her god’s law
Her legs turned inside out
As she knocked on heaven’s door
But her mouth kept rattling on
Word after word was born and soon
On those mild, weekday afternoons
I got bored with her overtold stories
But I listened…
Sadie never wanted to inconvenience me
Don’t kill yourself over me
I’ll get by, I always do
Can you come and tune my tv?
Nevermind the rest
As long as you can get it on Dr. Phil
He’s the best
Her tv was always on number 8
The loudest on the volume control
At 5.30 in the morning
It was hell
But we listened…
Sadie had a daughter
Who wasn’t there at all
Sadie stopped the visits to the mental institution
Where she lived on pills
The state paid the bill
But still
Sadie would talk about her daughter
In that mental institution
Hope she’s okay, she worried
There’s nothing I can do no more
She said
Her overtold stories really, really bored me
But I listened…
She loved her gin
And ciggies and dog
It kept her alive and well
Like Elvis
‘Rent it?’, she asked
Surprising me
Said her niece wanted to sell the property
And Sadie’s gotta move
But not this girl – not now
Not ever
Asked me if I could change her locks
But move? Never!
Her overtold stories bored me
But I listened…
So, how does Sadie’s story end?
Guess she’ll never live to tell
84
And Jewish
But poor
So close to heaven above her
Yet living her life on earth in her own kinda hell…
Ode to president bush
Tell me what it’s like
To see the world through blue, green eyes
Hearing it breathe through
Pale, white ears
With no fears in sight
Tell me what it’s like…
To have straight blonde hair
Have it brush against your face
Leaving no trace of trivial worldly cares
The ones that say Africa is not being
Treated fair…
Tell me what it’s like
To sign treaties at summits
Start peace battles with force
Blood pools making fools like me believe
That this world will never be free…
Tell me what it’s like
To be a prom queen
With big dreams
Dreams that might actually
Become a reality someday
Tell me what it’s like…
To be the predator
Not the prey…
To see Africa from a distance
With no fears of resistance
Or reprisals – or even the notion of us
Ever becoming your rivals
Tell me what it’s like
To drop bombs on innocent children
Just because they’ve got Islam
In their systems…
You say you know the distance
From bloodshed to peace
But how can I even
Begin to believe…
You…
Put up golden arches around the world
Is it a gateway to freedom?
An entrance into your world…?
Tell me…
When you stack human bodies
In the shape of a pyramid
What do you get?
My mind cannot even begin
To digest
The incest you have committed around the world
mr. american president
mr. i’ve-just-been-re-elected…
So, tell me, please, what next you’ve
Got up your sleeve
And I’m not being out of line here, sir
I just deserve to know
The direction of the next curve ball
You’re about to throw…
To see the world through blue, green eyes
Hearing it breathe through
Pale, white ears
With no fears in sight
Tell me what it’s like…
To have straight blonde hair
Have it brush against your face
Leaving no trace of trivial worldly cares
The ones that say Africa is not being
Treated fair…
Tell me what it’s like
To sign treaties at summits
Start peace battles with force
Blood pools making fools like me believe
That this world will never be free…
Tell me what it’s like
To be a prom queen
With big dreams
Dreams that might actually
Become a reality someday
Tell me what it’s like…
To be the predator
Not the prey…
To see Africa from a distance
With no fears of resistance
Or reprisals – or even the notion of us
Ever becoming your rivals
Tell me what it’s like
To drop bombs on innocent children
Just because they’ve got Islam
In their systems…
You say you know the distance
From bloodshed to peace
But how can I even
Begin to believe…
You…
Put up golden arches around the world
Is it a gateway to freedom?
An entrance into your world…?
Tell me…
When you stack human bodies
In the shape of a pyramid
What do you get?
My mind cannot even begin
To digest
The incest you have committed around the world
mr. american president
mr. i’ve-just-been-re-elected…
So, tell me, please, what next you’ve
Got up your sleeve
And I’m not being out of line here, sir
I just deserve to know
The direction of the next curve ball
You’re about to throw…
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