scola

There are only so many strokes to perfection

so many notes rewritten

thousands of pounds of ink spoiled

rotten, sour, archaic, garbage

feverishly yelping "save me"

but lo there is some divinity

like grape leaves bear wine

thus the harvest unfolds.

I say, Good Moural's Gold

the trick lies within the tendering.

Therefore a good farmer which is dedicated to the 

plowing of the field might expect to yield

which he put forth. Where to

the wobbly kneed locusts scavenge

is neither his fear nor his objective.

Simply the tendering of the soil is enough.

Yet, what's said for the locusts, for like us they to tend to eat.

One can only cultivate so much

and only wish for more next harvest.

Why delay to put forth such effort

and expect to yield perfection?

Some things, just as seasons must pass

and we must learn to return to the soil.

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Rashaad.

Bird of Prey

It's funny that this is an owl.

Art by Debbie Poon. Words by Rashaad Hall.

Yes, I'm different

I've felt this way for a long time now

before i knew what it was

a way that i could hear

a wave that i could catch

it was mine,

my uniqueness

yes, they've known him to cry

or make believe alone

blasting Brandy on the boombox

creating dance routines in the basement

jumping for joy when his shoes came in the mail

sometimes playing dress up.

Yes, he's gabby

talking with friends during class

the crossing guard's daughter's boyfriend.

The sweetheart.

A gentleman.

Yes, he's polite

my boyish innocence.

A darling.

A better dancer than the girls

A very patient boy

My whimsical humor.

His pretty eyelashes.

My painted nails.

His random, my magic.

Yes, he's different

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Rashaad Hall.

The day has yet to begin

Colorful cups
Confectionery kitchenette
A salad of opportunity
The day has yet to begin
The day has yet to begin
Tasty tupperware
Delectable dining
Inviting a delicious day
The day has yet to begin
The day has yet to begin
Sipped sweetly in preparation
Sour past gets slurped
Meditatively marinating plans
The day has yet to begin
The day has yet to begin

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Rashaad Hall.

like i just ate fresh oranges

this is where i do my best thinking

the hour illuminated

this feels right

feels like i've been here before

like i know this place

and i was invited by friends

faded stories of yesterday

glimmering memories in the distance

liminal teetering tilt

a balancing act of sorts

what do we remember

what do we hide

the view is different from inside

different for all

yet warmly familiar

childhood games and songs about rain

superficial gain, and lingering pain

we all fall down

i know the ocean is near by

or that once we were a part of it 

so it can't be too far can it

or the best time to find something is monday

or the worst time is not saying 

i love you

this thing

this horrible retched thing called love

bright and brilliant formidable beast

see, perception is everything

glass tints

scene change

tea and peace

legacy and loyalty

honor, quill pens

this is one for the books

arrogance

sour joy

little do you know this sunset is a contradiction

for rising rays wake

gently caress

measuring time by the distance from hips, or freckles

eyelashes and eyes

no tea or coffee because

i'm broke

and i love you

and you love that

bright angles wings are painted on backs

we live here

this hour sits for revelation

hovers with the buzz of night

vibrant full energy, glowing to give rest

yet, brighter still than noon

casting shadows thick, bold and heavy

i've felt like this window sometimes

vibrant and full of rays

like i just ate fresh oranges

or finished a book

or after sex

or during and before sex

what i mean to say is i've felt free

a part of the world that exists in a place that's whole

all is known

where all is.

gold

 Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Rashaad Hall.

P4210143

I’ve been scared of this

The terrible therapist

Her hands around my waist

I grab her fleshy hips

They say beware of it

It’s just she’s the baddest bitch

Falling in love again

God damn her painted lips

She drop low, drop low on the flo

Metronome ticks

Swag down hard

Gold earrings and a necklace

Face to make the angels in heaven get jealous

Purple Nike blazers

She come in all flavors

Multiple times

So I call her “Now and Laters”

Bad as she wanna be

Mad cuz I’m traveling   

So hooked now she taping me

But look ma,

Yo MTV

Swag, mine I’m handling

No manager, I’m managing

From writing in my journal

To rapping like it’s poetry

Championship rings pimpin’ call me Larry B

Come back like Jesus on that ass nigga 33

I should run for president

Hit the street canvassing

My public speaking skilss just got candle lit

Wick it

Young haters didn’t vote for me

Well fuck yall--picket

And when I get there I’ll thank you

For all that you’ve given

For all the girls and the fans

I do this so yall can witness

Play me as your wing man, like 33 Pippen

Imma be Jordan cuz

I’m never slippin

That by Caroline Näslund. Words by Rashaad Hall.

Umoja!

Umoja!

Yes!

We dance a language you can not speak!

We twist and turn to the clicks and snaps around the "Mmmm's" and "Hallelujahs"

around the fire.

We LOUD AS HELL and don't give a fuck!

We told you stories as you went to sleep,

while the days looked longer and longer.

We made a way outta no way!

Sho NUFF!

We wove our own culture!

We made that shit cool!

Baby, we invented that thing called jazz, bebop, rock

We roll deep!

We still managed to break the rules,

cuz we done realized there aint never been any!

We got a spirit that is rooted to another continent

But we just as American as yo white ass!

We bad as we wanna be, but don't say nothing bout our momma!

We nice! So nice! That you tried to make us forget that we built the Sphinx with a wide Black nose!

We King Tut! We Malcom X! We Tupac Shakur!

We that uprising you've been scared of!

Letters written in hieroglyphs, passed around high school lunch tables!

Why you think we always sit together! We planning on dancing our way to the White House!

OBAMA! Habari gani! OBAMA! Habari gani! OBAMA!

If you can't cipher then you aint sposed to!

That's right we dance like we done lost our minds!

That's what we want you to think!

Umoja!

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Rashaad Hall.

The Tunnel

They say when you move on to the next world 

you see a light at the end of the tunnel...

It's always the same.

Not balloons, or t.v. shows, or trips to the zoo.

One light.

Piercing.

I've heard of your life going by your eyes

like ads posted on the long, dark walls

like a running flip book.

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Rashaad Hall.

what they're shouting

I can't focus right now
Have you seen who they traded Gonzales for?
So what they're shouting in Egypt.
What about the deal they made with the coaches?
Those shacks on the mountain
I can't believe it!
All that for a chance at the playoffs!
Maybe they need it!
I forgot to pray to the baseball gods.
I'm too busy to hear it!
Lord bless me and my team
Lord strike out the opposing team members
That way I'll forget it!
Amen

Photo by Dustin Whitehead.  Words by Rashaad Hall.

Flower Square

She’s electric

Burning embryos, cosmic

Super sonic she is

Full of myth and zing

Creating phone lines

Giving rise to children

Breathing underwater

A pink dolphin sonogram

A mermaid like chance

A birthmark shaped like Africa

A memory shaped by nutrients

She’s old, older than you think

Yet, we’ve known her to be young

Only seen her as young

But she’s old

Powerful she is

Electric she is

Incomprehensible like the sunrise

The force of rotation

She is the circle

The Jedi force she is, the

Man she is

Imploding from the inside

Stretching power from the outside, electric

Lost she’s not

Dark and cold, hot and red at once

Crying, balling, wailing,

Whose going to cut the cord?

She paid the electric bill

Good with math she is

She owns a abacus

She shot JFK

She opened the jar of pickles

Electric she is,

She’s electric.

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Rashaad Hall.