"A King Worth Killing" ft. Mindless

Discussion in 'Poetry Realm' started by Atticus Prophet, Mar 2, 2006.

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  1. Atticus Prophet

    Atticus Prophet Hears to the Mute

    Oct 24, 2005
    Atticus - Regular
    Mindless - Itallics

    Under that black top hat
    Stitched within its barers
    Cause rests Uncle Tom,
    And a delightful game
    Of ring around the rosy
    Meets the ashes of
    What's to come while
    All the kids fall back,
    As they watch Rosa
    Run in circles looking
    For the head of the pack.

    Then he stood, a foot in the grave
    as they gave the tipping point
    a blunt wrapped in those ashes.
    I smoked the bones of the land
    and braved to go on the brim,
    as ••••••• splintered the thin
    lumber and Black Jack Johnson
    turned limbs towards the kids;
    calling "timber!" until white men
    went limp, in the heat of summer.

    Coreta's in the corner,
    Making Martin's death bed,
    As the sheets get caught
    In that stubborn old birch tree,
    While the willows trembled
    And their passionate tears
    Burn two holes through
    These thin covers of purity,
    Before they go opaque
    And twist their corners in
    To hug her screaming throat.

    We came engraved on stumps
    from the cherry tree that was
    chopped down, which became
    our coffin as drops of resin
    incased our tasteless eye.
    The golden ••••• was stolen
    from the hands holding time.
    Washington watched them
    enter the garden and pick
    leaves from the money tree,
    that brought dead presidents
    crumbling to their knees.
    So sit at the head of my table
    and tell me of the minorities
    who's basket came back empty.
    Then reach for the blood sun
    with the rope between the dirty
    leaves where poverty is hung.

    Monotony sowed it's seed
    when stores showed how deep
    we breath into hollow roots.
    We wore shirts that spoke volumes
    to listeners that were mute.
    They clothed our hatred and
    naked, undressed resentment,
    that loathed complacent truth.
    We all followed suit, soon enough.
    We all supported it, sporting outfits
    from innocent fists of infants
    gone missing under wheel barrows;
    carrying deals scandals materialized
    to hide narrow wrists peeling proof.

    Mississippi state of mind;
    Paths are being blazed,
    As Fredrick Douglas
    Leads a train of thought
    Underground, directly
    Through the grave.
    Meet at the safe house,
    But mind the barbed wire.
    The plantation stands
    As the sun's eclipsed
    And each step leaves
    An asphalt highway.

    Roads are overgrown hospitals
    since we sold peace by the kilo
    to those homes in the ghetto;
    knowing young ones loved fame,
    wanting to snort the light, but it
    distorted the bright faced horizon
    into sporadic afternoons, where the
    moon shine quietly made life frightful
    of black men that had broken bottles,
    but their guns cast no shadows.

    Hear the dogs bleed
    Their hungering screams
    Into the dense air,
    As Jesus yanks the collar
    So hard that a spark
    Is born in dry atmosphere,
    While the darkness
    Watches from between
    Gaps in the forrest's fingers,
    Before the flame
    Dances up the arms
    Of a quivering evergreen.

    The two thick trunks burn
    Steady until all their limbs
    Have been singed off
    And all that remains
    Is a charred may pole,
    As Jesus starts dancing
    Hand in hand with ignorance,
    Before the polls falter;
    Land crossed on the ground,
    As embers light their pride.
    And as all these new
    Constellations fall from
    The rippling skies,
    Jesus opens his eyes;
    Falls upon God's lost cross,
    Into his transfixed crucifixion
    And begins to cry.

    ... And there, Betsy Ross
    Sits on her colonial porch
    Watching it all happen.
    Gazing threw the spaces
    Of the railing she watches
    Every black man there
    Trapped between the bars
    Of that white picket fence;
    Then tilts her heavy head
    Down and continues sewing.
    As the needle of that syringe
    Cracks her ivory thimble,
    As all seven red stripes
    Began to bleed away,
    Leaving a clean white
    Page To fly at half mast.

    This past is nobody's flag that is
    flown over the rags of epitaphs.
    Our plague is on parade and we
    walk with crooked swags that
    are gladly bound and gagged.
    Who will praise this symbol if
    it's raised with simple prejudice
    for the thimble and the thread
    as we dragged our feet with bliss?
    They proclaim to wave proud
    and brag about names mentioned,
    being ashamed of the attention
    willing to make them a famous
    nation, over a king worth killing.

    Continue to pace crab
    Grass and broken shards
    Of that stained glass
    Window that decided to
    Kiss the blarney stone.
    As the windows opened,
    The fog ran in, then
    Tiptoed over every note
    And began to dance...
    Hand in hand, toe to toe;
    Jesus was romanced.

    The music led; fog followed;
    As the choir stood in awe
    And watched the swallows.
    They just stood there,
    Providing the soundtrack
    To the last site of equality...
    Before the fog became
    Tangled in threads of sanity.
    Faster the two twirled about;
    Thread growing titer around
    The Minister's cold throat
    As the two continue to dance;
    Following the orchestrators
    Hands before he raises them...
    As the noose tightens,
    And Malcolm wears an "X"
    Over each eye lid...
    As he dies on a high note.

    Likewise, when Martin Luther
    realized how steep the steps
    where inside each steeple,
    he cried, "When I die...
    I'll scribe my Alibi in metal.
    Tell me if there's life above
    what we call good and evil!
    Why should people fight while
    time passes away our rights?"

    I've tried to turn the knob,
    I've tried to knock on the doors
    with the force of praying hands.
    But this neutral lock the Smiths
    picked to hold the broken pieces
    of people's complete soul can't
    fit through the key-whole...

    The church clears,
    The screaming spectators
    Disperse through the
    Various halls to find an exit,
    While with ever ear piercing
    Screech Malcolm lifts
    Farther into the darkness
    Of the cathedral rafters.

    Join us here, after the
    dead letters are opened
    again, and the spine of
    the Bible breaks under
    the devil's pen.
    He's drawn blood,
    while we've foregone awe
    to wonder if dawn will come.
    All it spawned was sons,
    that our daughters saw shunned
    to fields dreamed in cotton.

    But, there's a straggler.
    Harriet has lost her way;
    Stumbling through the halls.
    It seams the walls have eyes,
    They see all, and judge more.
    She stop dead, reached a fork
    In the cavernous hallways,

    To the right she gazed
    Into the light at the end of
    The tunnel, before she turned...
    Looked quick then ran left
    As she disappeared........
    ............ Into the darkness.

    The silence: deafening.
    As the walls began to cry led;
    Lifted brick fingers and pointed
    Chanting "Death... Death...

    Death went out to the sinner’s house,
    Come and go with me
    Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go,
    Ain’t got no travellin’ shoes.
    Got no travellin’ shoes, got no travellin’ shoes
    Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go
    I ain’t got no travellin’ shoes

    Death went out to the gambler’s house,
    Come and go with me
    The gambler cried out, I’m not ready to go,
    Ain’t got no travellin’ shoes.
    Got no travellin’ shoes, got no travellin’ shoes
    Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go
    I ain’t got no travellin’ shoes

    Death went out to the preacher’s house,
    Come and go with me
    The preacher cried out, I’m not ready to go,
    Ain’t got no travellin’ shoes" ​

    "Travellin' Shoes" By Vera Hall Ward (1950)

  2. Pent uP

    Pent uP I'd Like to Fight Ten Men

    Feb 17, 2001
    im going to be honest, i didnt have the attention span to read so much between the two of you

    its not that this wasn't good
    by no means;
    i will for sure be back to read this through but i just wanted to give a so-far drop

    So far (i just finished reading the evergreen line) I've gathered a lot of slave refrences...
    At First i thought this was about MLK, but then I caught an underground railroad refrence, and a bunch of racially involved shit (which was expected as with the subject and all) but now I think this is more of a freedom for people piece

    I must say though your two styles are fairly contrasting and i dont feel youve done a good job transitioning from person to person....

    i'll be back later (hopefully)
  3. Atticus Prophet

    Atticus Prophet Hears to the Mute

    Oct 24, 2005
    Ya I know its super long, but I apreciate you taking the time to drop some feedback and read what you could.
  4. UFO the Phoenix


    Aug 10, 1999
    interesting poem....well put together....I just picked off where pent up left it cause it is extremely long even for me....but the second half well blew me away....it seemed to carry that pressense and purpose of something POWERFUL....this should of been posted for black history month which seems to slip by each year faster and faster feeling shorter and shorter in compention with v-day and dead presidents I even forgot about black history and I'm black
    Anyway this poem tapped into something magical.....it seemed like a negro spiritual....it reminded me of Saul Williams latest work...and the play on words with Jesus and the Cross......Saul did something with that as well....saying I'm stuck in the "crossfire of ignorance"......standing under the kkk with cross fire.....or something it knocked me off my feet...and this poem had that same affect....

    mind blowing
  5. misspimp

    misspimp a.k.a KATURAH

    Jun 24, 2003
    Just from the title alone and the fact that this was so long....turned me off right away.....while im sure this is a n excellent piece.....it would be agony to start reading it and not finish and then end up wpndering what happened at the end....or to even make myself read the entire piece...sorry
  6. lpoet

    lpoet POET

    Oct 20, 2002
    dope..i love the way the piece flow..nice with the in and out...easy for me to read and didnt feel as long as it looked which is a good thing...lol...think this is the first piece i've read with either of you...i'll keep my eye out

  7. Nebulaz

    Nebulaz fear God, not man

    Feb 28, 2001
    Mind, first off, I'ma say that this collab reminded me of the lenght that me and H.wood use to write. And now I know of others feel with they have to read that much stuff. Fortunately for me mind and atti are such good writers and it shows perfectly here, that they are great enough and feed off eachother, that its alot less painful to read this much. in the great words of L,
  8. Atticus Prophet

    Atticus Prophet Hears to the Mute

    Oct 24, 2005
    Wow, thanks alot to all of you who chose to read even a section of this. And misspimp... Lol that was a pretty useless comment, in the time it took you to say that you could have read atleast a quater of this and maybe would have been pulled in and liked it, whatever though. And UFO, ya, I'm kind of bummed I missed black history month with this but at the same time not... Because I always feel kind of hokey when I'm writing a poem for a theme or time of month. Like when everyone does V-day ON V-day... Dunno, it just bothers me when the only inspiration is the fact that you have to celebrate it... Lol I dont even know if that makes sense but it just doesnt apeal to me. But thanks alot for all the love.
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