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Date Posted: 20:48:11 11/17/04 Wed
Subject: Poems from a collection of mine
In reply to:
's message, "New Poetry site for submiting of poems (FREE)" on 12:09:25 12/21/02 Sat
>John Holmes pen name is Honea Byrne
2322 6th Avenue
Gulfport Mississippi 39501
228 669 0138
I am requesting publication of a group of poems and short stories that are from a collection of mine that I’ve dubbed Dope Dialogue. Enclosed are a one page rough draft introduction, poems, and two short stories.
The definition of Dope:-during a time when rap music had two definite realms. These realms were positive and negative. For example the rappers representing these different dimensions were: positive=Public Enemy, Kool Moe Dee, Boogie Down Productions, M.C. Hammer, X-Clan, etc. Negative: N.W.A. 2-Live Krew, Getto Boyz, Ice Cube, Gangsta Nip, etc. and then there were other rappers who kind of existed in both worlds, some of them are listed in the negative. These rappers included Kool G Rap and Polo, Third Bass, 2-Pac, Too Short, etc. And of course you had other rappers who really didn’t make much of an impact at all like Vannilla Ice for example. But for specific purposes one rapper that comes to mind who existed in both worlds of negative and positive was Ice-T.
One possible origin: Once there was this middle class kid who was glued to watching channel 51, Black Entertainment Television. Channel 51 was the only video channel left on his parents den television because on one fatefull day his father walked in on him watching the provocative GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS music video by Motley Crew. Immediately his father had VH1 and MTV removed. On this particular night he was under no parental supervision and was watching Ice-T’s I’m Your Pusher music video. With a Curtis Mayfield Sample, and street images being fed into his psyche the word “DOPE” stuck in his vocabulary as meaning a truth that many didn’t want to admit existed. Something changed in him
and from that point on he became obsessed on finding out what that truth was. After all his upper middle class lifestyle was boring compared to the flashy lifestyles he saw from the Rappers. In effect he started buying rap albums. He’d go to so much trouble as to get eighteen year old strangers to buy the infamous parental advisory sticker labeled albums for him. He tried his best to hide these albums from his
shocked father who would reply to the effect of “Why do you want to be like those scum?” The child tried to explain about the differences in positive and negative rap but with song titles like Rise and Shine by Kool Moe Dee his father just knew it was all X-rated.
A few years later the kid was a teenager searching for an identity. And guess what he wanted to be? Furthermore, his parents divorced, he moved to the poorer part of town and he had the opportunity to find out what “dope” actually was.
In doing so-
he immersed himself into a lifestyle of drugs guns and money. His discoveries are reflected in the following collection of prose, poetry, and short stories.
I came into your home seeking shelter
and for the first time I felt her.
Too many times she has held me,
yet I have not held her.
She has tried to feed me,
but I have starved like a
the word from the pulpit
and I was moved so I decided to sit.
Then I was moved more so I decided to-
To the altar
remembering my love’s name
I call her-
She calls for me when I am in need. I look into her eyes when I am uncertain of the future. And when I remember…………..
I come to her-
And when my heart feels COLD-
Demand: “Let my people go.”
Reply: “Where do we go?”
Hustler: “All I know is the ghetto.”
Reply: “There is a long road to Salvation.”
Hustler: “What about inflation?”
Reply: “You’re only common sense
is dollars and cents
taught to you by pimps.
Clouded words wrote
in the papers.
All the words spoke
Forgot by a single gunshot,
And the people, so called free,
Have become blind, without
They starve/fast vision.
in a concrete hell
And I ask,
“Where are you now Gabrielle?”
The sound-shh… “Shut up!”
He said Hostile. Because he had been waiting a while. He was becoming overcome by a dumb anxiety “Why it be?” he ask me. “Who are you?” he asks me. “I’m so quiet, that I talk all of the time.” I reply with a sigh. “The send? The sin?” “The end? The begin?”
We both are worth our wait in SOUL.
I awake in lines
Ain’t got a lot and it’s hard to be greatful
“You gonna have to wait fool.”
That ain’t fly
You ain’t sly.”
“That chip on my shoulder weighs me down, an the world passes me by.”
“Take a number and wait in line.”
Where am I goin’?
An’ I never know when
I might cry again
like i look at you in spite
You look at me with fright
you turn away
I awake in lines everytime
wrapped in emotions
“TAKE IT TO THE END OF THE LINE.”
Some knew, know
Cuzz the winds-whispers-scorns
in my ears-
Dead die fears-
Don’t give me no lip, son.
Clip to the Gun
“don’t ask me know question”
under the moon
“Of a stair way to Heaven.”
Then across the
Street I saw
(Time Gap) Spell Cast
Footprints in the sand at dawn hurry on smoke, and stains in the memories membraned
“Why do you let the beast drive you insane?”
I light a cigarette
I turn the sky grey after I exhale. The atmosphere is calm.
Calm as chaos. Time stands still as
I wait to transform.
“Why do you let the beast control you?”
I feed off those who did what they were told to.
I am a killer by coincidences.
My eyes are two bottomless abysses
What’s in your head?
Maybe it’s that link to be crazy, Devine intervention, Fools traveling, merely mercenaries of the damned who ran at the first sight as the bolt went forward. And the city shook.
What’s in your mind?
A special placed laced shoes boo’s choose the side, abide the rules, play it cool breeze flowing down found
What’s in your heart?
Rage madly beaten whipped the signs in the alleyway at dawn I froze until the midst came chaos over
I know her as faith
As I bled, sweating blood, seeing red. Didn’t think it would stop.
What’s your blood?
Slugs dirt mounds ceremonial forbidden sacred I know we can make it.
Lost in minds
Succumbing feeling like
Running, don’t know where to run to. To be safe
I’ll be your guide
I remember the music thumping
Close your eyes
No more regrettable sighs of pondering the past
Let us laugh; together and never cease with
Recognizing beautiful things
(T.V.) tell me vision
Got my rhymes from fiends and fixes
Caught hard times from a life in the fast lane, mixes with my intellect from seeing lives wrecked.
Saw my dreams behind a vague, torn page of a photographed wrath of a psychopath tellographed photographed tellocast.
(MORE NEWS AT 11.)
(THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.)…
Books for crooks, money for the hungry, funny to fund the hopeless statistic. Yea, and the president might be a mystic.
(Stay tuned for further details.)
So sad too bad, here comes the stalker, the million dollar talker.
(“THE END IS SOON WE ARE ALL DOOMED,”)
sounds like propaganda……
Street side Congregation
Speaker: “Got ta’ git’ paid.
Ya’ wanna’ git’ p.a.i.d.
Pause to worship the smoke of the pipe dream
Speaker: “I sed’ ya’ll wanna’ git’ p.a.i.d?
Speaker: “Ya’ll wanna’ git’ p.a.i.d?”
Audience: “Die G!”
Pause to worship the gun smoke
Audience: “Damn he only had 65 cents.”
You have suicidal thoughts entering into this nightmare….
You’re not where you’re at then you fall back into a place to be face to face with a beast
Then the shots release
Self inflicted homicide
Potholes in my lawn
Gone in the dawn
Tombstones in my territory
Got to hussle fast-too late “Cause now I’m getting covered in dirt and grass”
Unworthy to inherit
Ask, “Why my clothes are so dirty?” cause I just came from six feet under
Nother day, nother number
FALL FROM THE HEAVENS…….
Dean Earl Barbara Tim
Fiend friends, rob store hold up
All 3 killed by gunfire
(Reap what gave sermon finished at 10 pm. Sleeps unsteady (dead dreams haunted by his own sermon till his clock strikes 2:oo a.m. and he dies of a heart attack
All die at 2:oo a.m.
Store-Church at the midst of the Crossroads
The small radio setting, next to a clock, the time is 2:00 a.m. Behind the register the radio was omnisciently silent.
All me and my main man wanted was some money to keep our realities fixed. We didn’t intend to hurt nobody. My main man, Dean, walked up, taking advantage of the, dead stagnated convenient store, with his forty-five automatic pistol, now stuck in front of the dumb bitch cashiers face yelling, “Give me the money in tha’ cash register bitch!”
Before any one could make any kind of response, this old guy comes walking through the door. Then the radio starts playing a song, All Along The Watchtower, with Jimi Hendrix singing, “There must be some kind of way out of here….”
Dean being paranoid, thinking the old guy was a cop, quickly turns his gun and shoots the man right in between the eyes. Unfortunately for me and Dean this gave the cashier just enough time to get her gun from behind the counter and “BOOM!” a 357 magnum bullet in Dean’s chest. He managed to retaliate, and guns fire echoing through the room giving the song an added rhythm,
Radio: Said, the drunkard to the thief there’s too much confusion. I can’t get no relief.
as he was falling to his death, perfectly shooting the cashier in her throat. I was frozen in time. Overtaken by all the drastic actions, for a few seconds, the time it took for all this to happen. I started to flee when I heard a voice, “Don’t leave me!” then…I don’t know who fired the shot that hit me in my side. At first I fall to my knees. Then I hunch over and start spitting up blood. Everyone was dead. I was the only one, in the store still alive.
I got to get myself together, get the money and get high. I get up and quickly dash behind the counter. Damn this cash register won’t open. Coming to this realization, I pry the 357 from the her dead hands, shoot the register open. Frantically I look for the money. Damn only 50 dollars. Well, that is enough to get really high. I run for the door so clumsily that I slip and fall to the hard tile floor. Maybe I can just rest for a while, well just a couple seconds to…
I feel warm slush in my hands, now covering the money and the gun. It is the bloody brains of the old man. Gun, I don’t need this gun I didn’t hurt anyone.
Radio: There are many here among us who think that life is but a joke.
I throw the gun at the radio and it falls to the ground still playing. I glance across the corpse of the old man. I could get a lot of money for that cross I see a cross around his neck. Now I got the cross in my bloody left hand, and fifty dollars in my right. I imagine how high I could get from all this loot:
The pain of the needle piercing going into my main vein in my arm, the drug goes in, and I feel the heavenly high. Heavenly?
“Hear thee, hear the, reap what you sow.”
What was that sound? Where did it come from? I lay in a pool of blood, but the old man is not beside me. “Hear thee, hear thee, reap what you sow.” I look up, trying to find where the voice is coming from. It’s from behind the counter. The oldman is now standing where the cashier was.
“Hear thee, hear thee! Reap what you sow. I gave a sermon on that just hours ago.”
“Who are you?”
“You killed me and you don’t even know my name. My name is Earl. I preach at Southwood Catholic Church. What is your and your friend’s name?”
“Tim, don’t tell him!” Dean yells to me still on his back. The old man nows wears a purple robe.
The cashier frantically paces the floor circling around me. I am shocked and amazed, this is not the same store. No body is dead. There is no blood. I look at my own hands, they are still bloody red. Why? I did nothing? The cashier then says, “So let us not talk falsely now, the hours getting late.”
Dean: “You would have ditched me.” Dean points his trigger hand at me. As if he’s trying to shoot me, but can’t because he is lost in time. That is a lost time in a lost action, in a lost memory.
Earl: “I am here to take all of you to a higher level, if you expect…oh I mean, I am here to take all of you to a higher level, if you accept the Lord!” he hits his fist on the counter.
Barbara: “So let us not talk ….my kids, my kids! My God please take care of my children!...falsely now the hours getting late.” She is very frantic, this has caused her to think speak stupid.
Tim: “This is not real. This is not REAL!”
I step outside myself seeing a sense of strange, overcame all of us, indicating a united word action:
Dean could not shoot me because he didn’t have his gun. Earl expected nothing but a God to save him because he was a preacher man. Barbara, somehow the cashiers name came to me, was lost in words not of her own, with her thoughts interjecting. Tim, my name? but the words exchanged between all of us seemed not to be of our own. My hands are still bloody.
Earl: “Hear thee! Hear thee! Hear the Lord! Reap what you sow!”
Dean: “To hell with you! You old bastard, you know what they say, ‘if there’s hell below we all gonna’ go!” he stood up shouting, face to face with Earl.
Earl: “I am here to judge all of you! This is the purpose of living my life to die, so I can save all of you sinners!” he slams his fists harder. “so let us not talk…
Barbara: “Your no one to judge, only God is. I quit school to work for my husband, who left me, and my kids.”…falsely now the hour’s getting late.” She stops her pacing just long enough to scorn the preacher man, then resumes.
Earl: “Lord please forgive me of my sins, and take my soul.” Then he disappears to where? I stare at my bloody hands.
Dean: “Let go off his cross!”
Barbara: “So let us not talk falsely now the hours getting late.”
I let go,
drop the cross. I don’t know why. I am feeling so weak.
Radio: “So let us not talk falsely now the hour’s getting late.”
That damn radio, sits on the floor, below where the clock reads 2:o3 am. The sound of shots still echo in rhythm with Jimi Hendrix. Yet now, sirens fill the air adding to the rhythm. From where? I’m so weak, no I can’t die. Everything will be alright when I pawn this money and get a heavenly high. Everyone is dead, the old man beside me, Dean on the floor, the cashier is behind the counter. Got to get out of here. I’m up and standing, I’ll just run out of the door. Oh shit the cops are at the door! Their guns are aimed at me….
Radio: “And the winds began to howl!”
I gots’ the blues
Looking for warmth is like being a wood roach
Liven’ in a hole in the bottom of a wooden statue
Resembling Buddha in a graveyard
having that sarcastic conniving
smile for vandals that says,
“Please Don’t steal me.”…
I know, I took a statue like that one time that filled my home with bugs, bugs, bugs, bugs, bugs on the floor, bugs in the refrigerator,
Bugs flyin’ thru’ the air, bugs, bugs, bugs in my bed, Bugs, Bugs, bugs crawlin’ into my ears on the side of my head
“What do you know about being Dead,”
I gots’ the blues
Worn out like an old pair of shoes, dress shoes,
wore these shoes many miles, many mean whiles, wondering “Where is free at?” after I spat at that old man in the Cadillac, (The Landlord) who kicked me out because I hadn’t paid rent in weeks, and the apartment still stinks, so I’se drinks now;
so whats’ ye’ thinks’ about that-
I gots’ the blues beggin’ like a drunken’ bum for mun-ey just to buy a forty ounce of ale on the streets surrounded by voodoo,
Like the preacher who is the long lost cousin’ of the liquor store owner, and the undertaker is their father an’ dey’ all only live 2 blocks apart in a small town I know of in the middle of Nowhere
Dec. 6th 1995 Madonna’s Misery-ded. To Walkers
The needle in my arm, the high…
:It’s time to go to heaven again.-
“Damn it, damn it the vein collapsed in my arm!”
“Here baby.” Shay, he takes the cerenge, loads it back and hands it back to me. He is a true friend, him and I have gone through a lot together. Shay wants me to be his girl, but I am not into long term relationships. I’m just into fast times, and fast lines.
I stick the needle in my arm, the high…
:Before I go to my heaven I imagine him, briefly. With his muscular build, dark skin, kissing me. The heroin goes in. We lay on the floor of his apartment, trash covering the carpet. The radio playing endless tunes of misery.
I feel numb, as I sense his desire to touch me. To f/ me. I’m in a fix. Shay has got that damn song playing, Knocking on Heaven’s door, a newer version by Guns and Roses. How cheap, he’s trying to turn me on…
“Get off of me! Suddenly realizing what he’s trying to do. We are lying on the floor and he had taken off my blouse and he had taken off his shirt.
“Oh, come on baby, ya’ know ya’ want it.” Maybe I would if he wasn’t playing that damn song.
I stand up angered, snatch my blouse from his hands, and run outside. After I put my shirt back on I don’t stop running. It seems as though I’m running on top of clouds. The song, “Knocking on Heavens Door,” echoes through my head as I unlatch the gate to my front yard. I run down the dark hall way to my mother, she is surrounded by light, holding her hands out to adore me. Finally I lay in her strong arms, just like…..a baby…just like Madonna and Child. Her face is still, as stone, frowning down at me. I talk to her:
I remember that song Momma. That was the song Daddy was plying when I asked him, ‘Do you want me or the drugs?’ I was just a young girl, 8 years old. And he always said, ‘Lenae, you always looked like Ann, your mother.’ Bob Dylan’s verse, ‘Momma, wipe the blood from my face. I just can’t see through it anymore.’ After I asked Daddy, he fell to the floor, like he was praying for God to save him. Supposedly, ‘God did save him’- so he said. Shortly after he became a preacher. He moved your grave next to our house. This is where his ministry lead him. Daddy has been preaching for 7 years.
: I’m too high. I’m not at home. I am at my mother’s grave, it’s right next to the house. Daddy built this tomb. I’m lying on a statue of a baby, Jesus, being held by Virgin Mary. My mother died giving birth to me. I remembered one of my Daddy’s sermons: ‘Saul was changed to Paul by way of the Lord’s enlightenment, just like I was changed by the Lord speaking through my daughter!’
And leaches coming out at night
And the Pimps coming out at night
Giving birth to a beast, named Greed
Greed, shall be fed off of dead profits.
And nearby on, the side of an ally wall of the inner city
Is where a prophecy is
It say’s “CRACK KILLS.”
C.P. infected As of Freedom
Sweet wheat bread
meet feet to the concrete
dreadful deeds put checks on the list
put X’s on the bullets going out to find loss
property o’ mine
Projected the Redness
seen when the eyes are closed
to the outside world
Dark Red, Smokey smell
Oh, two fell
into a mud puddle
A reflection and there it was
a split second broken
an imperfection in
He remembered ….
being hit real hard by a fist
one afternoon during a fight
his head ached How
much more could he
An that sound, “Smack!”
Which made it worse
of the crowd
to do nothing but watch
Step outside the World see
all there is to see
oh you can be
oh you can be free
only as much as you want to be.
Oh so snug
Is that old rug
With a tight hug
on the tile, unsmiling
floors keeps her
warm from chilling
foot steps in my
House Of PAIN
Oh so dusty are
on the walls
“Has it been that Long?”
Oh the grime
in the sink
Even China can stink
And I with a
trigger finger aiming
lucidly at the Television
praying for a medium
to states of Mello-drama
Step outside the World see
all there is to see
oh you can be
oh you can be free
only as much as you want to be.
been a while
since we rinsed our
past with alcohol in
ceremonial squals remerals
of late calls, echoes of the
“Childs cryin’ again.”
“Look what you’ve done.”
broke down the wild child
saw em’ cry
Like uh, oh yes
“There was a whole
generation who knew how
to deny death.”
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Re: New Poetry site for submiting of poems (FREE) -- Anonymous, 06:15:53 12/20/04 Mon
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