I wrote this poem inspired by a walk on the streets at three in the morning. I started thinking about the things I’ve seen in the long years of my life. (Heh, heh, you didn’t think I’d give you clues on exactly how old I was did you?). Some of it didn’t actually happen to me or even in my neighborhood. Some did but they all come together in a gigantic caliscope of memories. Some I have seen on television on the news about things that have happen in or around my area in Brooklyn. Then there are the street people I’ve observed in my neighborhood. There is this store I go to for ‘loosies’, cigarettes I buy and there are some people there who let’s just say their store is a hang out for ‘Charecters’ and just leave it at that. But what I’ve seen that is bad isn’t all bad and what I’ve seen is good but is all subjective. Depends on how you look at things. What have you seen? Do you see hope for change? I do. Enjoy this poem and look for hope. M.A.R
I’ve Seen
(A Poem)
By M R
A Prayer or maybe a Psalm.
Young rouges, Roughnecks, Middle-aged Hustlers.
One after another, sitting at one table.
One dreams, one schemes, one stays on top.
Some are grizzly old bears, some are just fops.
Lower down pants, showing off the muscle, do-rags.
Wife beaters, staying on top.
All are wannabees, never do they last, one down,
One upmanship, having the last laugh.
One sees them all come down the pike, livin’ in
the ‘hood. Think you’ve seen them all, if only
you could.
I’ve seen bell bottom hustlers, guys with ‘fros.
A city on fire, glass Molotov cocktails thrown. All on
T.V, some in front of my eyes, tough guys,
losers, all in my sight.
Guys with knives out, brass knuckles on their fist.
Gold chain wearing guys, you can not miss.
Kangol wearing, cocky motherfuckers. Class
Clown cut ups, cutting all the classes.
Corner store hanging, smoking all the weed,
Forty drinking, sitting on their asses.
Scheming, big dreams, livin’ in the ashes.
Threatening old ladies, some are living scum.
Leaving their old ladies with all the babies.
Baby mama drama, who’s your man?
Protesting Grandma’s, doing what they
can. Going to church expecting the worse.
Bedstuy do or die. Drive by shoot outs.
Young men dying. Cooking the books,
Cooking the crack. Dividing the territory,
lying on their backs. Plotting, planning,
All have come to naught.
Then came nineties, and wasn’t that grand?
Young men came to earth, needing a new
plan. Charities gave a damn, programs came.
Still the hustlers still stayed the same.
City on fire, do you hear our prayers?
Street corner preachers, do you really
Care? One day it will all burn. Can you
Find a plan?
I’ve seen it all and seen it past. Good
Things are coming back to back. A black
man is President. A lie is understood.
Things are changing down in the hood.
I see a city on fire and ashes on the street
with a Phoenix rising in the air screaming
To the beat. Hustlers, wise men, little babies
growing, young men, vibes felt. A city in
the morning.
A new dawn is breaking. Bums have a care!
Roughnecks, Young rouges, bow your head
In prayer. For one day you shall see…..
..A Young Phoenix in the air.
