Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Broken Record

Enlarge poem

He died with a copy of 1984 in his back pocket
We shot’em in the back of back alley of a public library
See he knew too much…wouldn’t shut the fuck up
We whipped him until he said his name correctly
Launched Co Intel Pro the same day
We outlawed slaves from reading
She flaunted femininity in our face for fun
Seduced the men of Rome
While cultivating the pyramids of civilization
So we raped and called her Medusa, Frida, Emma, Angela, Delilah
Mindfucked missionary style
Broke faith and had her believing in a blue eyed Jesus
Burned her at the stake
When she claimed she could talk to God
Nailed him on the cross when he claimed
He was God
Ate his body for supper
Then smoked her ashes
Out of a peace pipe we stole
From a red skinned warrior
Who fought for the preservation of his people
So we consumed his land and birthed
Biological warfare infecting his tribe with smallpox
Infecting his tribe with crack rock
He was a nigger with a brain
A mick that hated the English
A spic with a silver tongue
For stirring the crowd
He took the red pill
We placed a bug in his belly
Tapped his phone thanks to the Patriot Act
Followed him on his pilgrimage to Mecca
Hid his identity
Declared him a Communist
Ripped his name from the pages of the history books
While humming Ole Man River
This broad had the audacity
To sit her black ass at the front of the bus
So we locked her in a prison cell in Rikers Island
Locked him in a prison cell in Robben Island
He froze to death in a prison cell in France
Because he taught his Haitian brethren how to fight
We threw away the keys
Picked up the morning paper
Found out she was free
Sipping mojito’s in Cuba
Posted dead or alive signs
Demanding the return of the 300 slaves
She brought to freedom
Sucker punched him square in the face
As he sat in lotus position on the soils of India
Whispering namaste
So we whispered back how’s that for nonviolence
And as we beat him to death on the outskirts of Johannesburg
I said no more college rally’s for you
No more youth breakfast programs in Oakland
Then we gave him what he needed
Eased his pain and injected his veins with heroin
Cancelled his untelevised revolution
Financed a Coup d’etat on his ass
And blamed it on Oswald
Blamed it on Bin Laden
Blamed it on Saddam
And the list goes, and the list goes on
Dropped the atomic bomb on Heroshima
While building concentration camps in California
We’ve been at this game for centuries
Middle fingers placed on checkmate
Check your dollar bills
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
So do us a favor and stop rockin the fuckin boat
And sit pretty
Or you’ll end up like her
Hung at the center of town square
Under a flickering lamppost
Body dangling like a piñata
Her hot pink skirt flirting with the wind
A copy of 1984 floating in a puddle of blood water
2 inches from the cobblestones
And on his tombstone it read
The cause of my death was intellect
And on the last page of her diary it read
Line after line
Like a broken record
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death was…

The Mighty Third Rail

Featured Poem:

The Undead

Enlarge poem

I see dead people…all the time
During catnaps in the form of my grandparent’s youth
They approach me with uncomfortable smiles and they say…
They say…we are the undead
We are the ones thrown overboard
We built a city out of our bones at the bottom of the ocean
Made a home near the ruins of Atlantis
We march from the shores of the Atlantic
The wind lifts us, carries our spirits
And spreads our ashes through the valley’s of this land that has forsaken us
We are souls of mischief
We leave puddles of Katrina water in the oval office
Place grains of Iraqi sand near the president’s bedside
We are small pox infected
Tuskegee experiment perfected government approved
We are the history omitted in your public schools
The unspoken genocide
We are the runaways that never found freedom
Tortured and burned
Ransacked and raped
Gagged, gouged, and gutted
Left as food for the maggots
Tossed in the Tallahatchie River
We are celebrity rappers slain without a clue
We are the foul smell of injustice
We are mistaken identity
From 41 to 50 shots and beyond
We are the melodies of plantation songs
The unsung verses in your battle hymns
The click and clack of chain gangs
Whose prisoner’s were wrongfully accused
We are invisible men…and women
The split atoms of Japanese children
The story of four little girls
Flowers cut before bloom
Faded chalk outlines
Single digits in today’s death count
We are peacekeepers and revolutionaries
Pacifist and activists
Assassinated ministers of God
Do no call us victims
Or casualties
Or martyrs
Do not doubt our presence
Do not shed a tear for us
Because you can’t get rid of us
There ain’t no stopping us
We are the undead
Possessing you and teaching you
To speak in tongues which you call poems
We are the chill you get
When truth crawls up your neck
The backbone that aligns your spine
To walk with pride
We are the cool in your strut
The willpower that pushes you to victory
The fiber in your muscles
Flexed and toned towards the finish line
We made redemption an art form
And birthed culture
We are the bounce in your dance moves
The pop and lock in your Hip Hop
The swagger in your Funk
Our screams are the high notes in your Jazz riffs
We are murdered but remembered
Gone but not forgotten
Battered but never broken
Existing forever in the banks
Of your memories
Prominent, brilliant, bold, thriving, and alive
We survive through you
And you…got a whole lot work to do

thirdmightrail

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Biography

The Mighty Third Rail, aside from being a clever riff on that special rail on the train tracks that will shock the ish out of you, and aside from being a metaphor in politics to avoid controversial issues, is also a three man trio that mixes the elements of Hip Hop, poetry, beat-boxing, violin and bass. From poetry cafes to colleges to concert halls, whether it’s jamming at the legendary Nuyorican Poets Cafe, Joe’s Pub, The Brooklyn Academy of Music, or performing at the prestigious Lincoln Center , The Mighty Third Rail undoubtedly delivers.

Featuring the dashing Darian Dauchan on vocals, the indelible Ian Baggette on bass, and the courteous Curtis Stewart on violin. With daring vocals, booming basslines and a vivacious violin, this bold, urban collective creates politically challenging works that push the boundaries of Jazz and Hip Hop to define the next generation’s voice.

The Mighty Third Rail

thirdmightrail
thirdmightrail

Biography

The Mighty Third Rail, aside from being a clever riff on that special rail on the train tracks that will shock the ish out of you, and aside from being a metaphor in politics to avoid controversial issues, is also a three man trio that mixes the elements of Hip Hop, poetry, beat-boxing, violin and bass. From poetry cafes to colleges to concert halls, whether it’s jamming at the legendary Nuyorican Poets Cafe, Joe’s Pub, The Brooklyn Academy of Music, or performing at the prestigious Lincoln Center , The Mighty Third Rail undoubtedly delivers.

Featuring the dashing Darian Dauchan on vocals, the indelible Ian Baggette on bass, and the courteous Curtis Stewart on violin. With daring vocals, booming basslines and a vivacious violin, this bold, urban collective creates politically challenging works that push the boundaries of Jazz and Hip Hop to define the next generation’s voice.

Broken Record

Enlarge poem

He died with a copy of 1984 in his back pocket
We shot’em in the back of back alley of a public library
See he knew too much…wouldn’t shut the fuck up
We whipped him until he said his name correctly
Launched Co Intel Pro the same day
We outlawed slaves from reading
She flaunted femininity in our face for fun
Seduced the men of Rome
While cultivating the pyramids of civilization
So we raped and called her Medusa, Frida, Emma, Angela, Delilah
Mindfucked missionary style
Broke faith and had her believing in a blue eyed Jesus
Burned her at the stake
When she claimed she could talk to God
Nailed him on the cross when he claimed
He was God
Ate his body for supper
Then smoked her ashes
Out of a peace pipe we stole
From a red skinned warrior
Who fought for the preservation of his people
So we consumed his land and birthed
Biological warfare infecting his tribe with smallpox
Infecting his tribe with crack rock
He was a nigger with a brain
A mick that hated the English
A spic with a silver tongue
For stirring the crowd
He took the red pill
We placed a bug in his belly
Tapped his phone thanks to the Patriot Act
Followed him on his pilgrimage to Mecca
Hid his identity
Declared him a Communist
Ripped his name from the pages of the history books
While humming Ole Man River
This broad had the audacity
To sit her black ass at the front of the bus
So we locked her in a prison cell in Rikers Island
Locked him in a prison cell in Robben Island
He froze to death in a prison cell in France
Because he taught his Haitian brethren how to fight
We threw away the keys
Picked up the morning paper
Found out she was free
Sipping mojito’s in Cuba
Posted dead or alive signs
Demanding the return of the 300 slaves
She brought to freedom
Sucker punched him square in the face
As he sat in lotus position on the soils of India
Whispering namaste
So we whispered back how’s that for nonviolence
And as we beat him to death on the outskirts of Johannesburg
I said no more college rally’s for you
No more youth breakfast programs in Oakland
Then we gave him what he needed
Eased his pain and injected his veins with heroin
Cancelled his untelevised revolution
Financed a Coup d’etat on his ass
And blamed it on Oswald
Blamed it on Bin Laden
Blamed it on Saddam
And the list goes, and the list goes on
Dropped the atomic bomb on Heroshima
While building concentration camps in California
We’ve been at this game for centuries
Middle fingers placed on checkmate
Check your dollar bills
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
So do us a favor and stop rockin the fuckin boat
And sit pretty
Or you’ll end up like her
Hung at the center of town square
Under a flickering lamppost
Body dangling like a piñata
Her hot pink skirt flirting with the wind
A copy of 1984 floating in a puddle of blood water
2 inches from the cobblestones
And on his tombstone it read
The cause of my death was intellect
And on the last page of her diary it read
Line after line
Like a broken record
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death was…

Featured Poem:

The Undead

Enlarge poem

I see dead people…all the time
During catnaps in the form of my grandparent’s youth
They approach me with uncomfortable smiles and they say…
They say…we are the undead
We are the ones thrown overboard
We built a city out of our bones at the bottom of the ocean
Made a home near the ruins of Atlantis
We march from the shores of the Atlantic
The wind lifts us, carries our spirits
And spreads our ashes through the valley’s of this land that has forsaken us
We are souls of mischief
We leave puddles of Katrina water in the oval office
Place grains of Iraqi sand near the president’s bedside
We are small pox infected
Tuskegee experiment perfected government approved
We are the history omitted in your public schools
The unspoken genocide
We are the runaways that never found freedom
Tortured and burned
Ransacked and raped
Gagged, gouged, and gutted
Left as food for the maggots
Tossed in the Tallahatchie River
We are celebrity rappers slain without a clue
We are the foul smell of injustice
We are mistaken identity
From 41 to 50 shots and beyond
We are the melodies of plantation songs
The unsung verses in your battle hymns
The click and clack of chain gangs
Whose prisoner’s were wrongfully accused
We are invisible men…and women
The split atoms of Japanese children
The story of four little girls
Flowers cut before bloom
Faded chalk outlines
Single digits in today’s death count
We are peacekeepers and revolutionaries
Pacifist and activists
Assassinated ministers of God
Do no call us victims
Or casualties
Or martyrs
Do not doubt our presence
Do not shed a tear for us
Because you can’t get rid of us
There ain’t no stopping us
We are the undead
Possessing you and teaching you
To speak in tongues which you call poems
We are the chill you get
When truth crawls up your neck
The backbone that aligns your spine
To walk with pride
We are the cool in your strut
The willpower that pushes you to victory
The fiber in your muscles
Flexed and toned towards the finish line
We made redemption an art form
And birthed culture
We are the bounce in your dance moves
The pop and lock in your Hip Hop
The swagger in your Funk
Our screams are the high notes in your Jazz riffs
We are murdered but remembered
Gone but not forgotten
Battered but never broken
Existing forever in the banks
Of your memories
Prominent, brilliant, bold, thriving, and alive
We survive through you
And you…got a whole lot work to do

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (0)
  • Reflection (0)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Broken Record

Enlarge poem

He died with a copy of 1984 in his back pocket
We shot’em in the back of back alley of a public library
See he knew too much…wouldn’t shut the fuck up
We whipped him until he said his name correctly
Launched Co Intel Pro the same day
We outlawed slaves from reading
She flaunted femininity in our face for fun
Seduced the men of Rome
While cultivating the pyramids of civilization
So we raped and called her Medusa, Frida, Emma, Angela, Delilah
Mindfucked missionary style
Broke faith and had her believing in a blue eyed Jesus
Burned her at the stake
When she claimed she could talk to God
Nailed him on the cross when he claimed
He was God
Ate his body for supper
Then smoked her ashes
Out of a peace pipe we stole
From a red skinned warrior
Who fought for the preservation of his people
So we consumed his land and birthed
Biological warfare infecting his tribe with smallpox
Infecting his tribe with crack rock
He was a nigger with a brain
A mick that hated the English
A spic with a silver tongue
For stirring the crowd
He took the red pill
We placed a bug in his belly
Tapped his phone thanks to the Patriot Act
Followed him on his pilgrimage to Mecca
Hid his identity
Declared him a Communist
Ripped his name from the pages of the history books
While humming Ole Man River
This broad had the audacity
To sit her black ass at the front of the bus
So we locked her in a prison cell in Rikers Island
Locked him in a prison cell in Robben Island
He froze to death in a prison cell in France
Because he taught his Haitian brethren how to fight
We threw away the keys
Picked up the morning paper
Found out she was free
Sipping mojito’s in Cuba
Posted dead or alive signs
Demanding the return of the 300 slaves
She brought to freedom
Sucker punched him square in the face
As he sat in lotus position on the soils of India
Whispering namaste
So we whispered back how’s that for nonviolence
And as we beat him to death on the outskirts of Johannesburg
I said no more college rally’s for you
No more youth breakfast programs in Oakland
Then we gave him what he needed
Eased his pain and injected his veins with heroin
Cancelled his untelevised revolution
Financed a Coup d’etat on his ass
And blamed it on Oswald
Blamed it on Bin Laden
Blamed it on Saddam
And the list goes, and the list goes on
Dropped the atomic bomb on Heroshima
While building concentration camps in California
We’ve been at this game for centuries
Middle fingers placed on checkmate
Check your dollar bills
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
And we won’t stop…cause we can’t stop
So do us a favor and stop rockin the fuckin boat
And sit pretty
Or you’ll end up like her
Hung at the center of town square
Under a flickering lamppost
Body dangling like a piñata
Her hot pink skirt flirting with the wind
A copy of 1984 floating in a puddle of blood water
2 inches from the cobblestones
And on his tombstone it read
The cause of my death was intellect
And on the last page of her diary it read
Line after line
Like a broken record
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death will be intellect
The cause of my death was…

Comments

Your email address will not be published.