Poet’s Corner: Couple of Free Verse Poems by Ya Boy

Poet’s Corner: Couple of Free Verse Poems by Ya Boy


I done fucked around and became something like a teacher. Who would’ve thunk it? It’s a cool gig. I’m learning a lot about myself, the system, human beings . . . it’s a lot to soak in to say the least.  There are some pretty prominent drawbacks to teaching, especially teaching in the capacity that I do, working predominately with “at-risk” youth. Proofreading sucks ass. Always have always will. Wanting to have more say in regard to curriculum and lesson planning is an irritant I didn’t anticipate. However, it’s not all bad. There’s a  definite upside to teaching as well. Aside from the obvious like — inspiring/encouraging youth, being a role model, meeting a variety of personalities, etc — I’ve really enjoyed being obligated to write poetry again. If you guys weren’t aware, I got my undergad degree in poetry/screenwriting. But I can honestly say, I probably hadn’t written a POEM in close to three  to four years before the onset of September. I’ve written RHYMES — RAPS — but no poems; there’s a difference.

That being said, I’d like to share some with you guys. They haven’t been worked or anything. Just lil woopty bams that I wrote while my kids were writing. Nonetheless, let me know what you think.

Stay Woke.


This Ain’ Livin’

We work to live

We cashier

We sale

We lift

We bend

We hustle

We grind

We take advantage

We . . . ain’t livin’

We’re survivin’


Able to put food on tables

Yet we have cable

And iphones

Without service

“I use it to know what time it is”

But we don’t know what time it is

We live

On Twitter . . . Facebook

Viewing our lives through cracked screens


Up before we switched from bottle to sippy cup

Screw drivers, empty glass sent flying

Slurred words

Burned by cigarette but

She’s just trying to cope

Dope on counter tops

Cops surround black boys

In baggie jeans and

Pound on doors in black neighborhoods







Children . . .

Minimum Wage

Rage inducing

We poor

Why wage war on the defenseless?

What’s this all for?

Why is it so hard?

For us?

The majority

Shit’s been wrong so long we think it’s normal

To hurt

To ache

To break

Down in tears

To incessantly compete with our peers

To the point that we kill

Them . . . us . . .we

Need to . . .

To do something

Get mad!

Blurt out obscenities!


Break everything in the vicinity!


Our lives depend on it.

Untitled – Urban Pastoral

Overcast sky

Gloom ever-present and overbearing

Horns blaring

People smile in faces and glare at backs

Minnesota nice

Slip and slide down downtrodden streets

Ice sheets and snow drifts

Flushed cheeks

Chapped lips

Wet socks

Rushed weeks

Sloshing through slush

Hushed speak

Trying to make it to point A – B – C

Leafless branches on

Lifeless trees

Reaching into the sky like ancient arthritic hands

Warmed by garbage cans


Bodies lost and found


‘Cause they weren’t chosen to have a bed that evening

A roof over their head that evening

You win some, you lose some

Unless you’re talking about life

Only get one of those

Running around frosted lakes

Runny noses sniffle

Frosted flakes caught on the tongues of angels

In neon colored body armor

Somewhere under fifteen layers

Of infused polyester is a child

Who’s figured everything out

For You

Stolen kisses

Sweet nothing and

Feel good rhythms

That shake souls

Lost in lake like eyes






The language of love

Piquing curiosity

Corroding thoughts of life sans you

I can’t



Cause you understand me.

Perhaps better than I ever could

And I like it

I hate it

I love it


All over the place

In case you haven’t

figured that out yet

“Tell us your ‘how you met’ story”


It’s too early for that

Though . . .

That’s kinna weher you take me.

Drop me off.

Break me.

Brake me.

Slow down.

Tell me to.

Or I’ll speed up.