A Celebration Of Life

1974-Present

"The richest man ain't the one with the first dollar. It's the one who's still got his first friend." ---Beanie Sigel

Four Years Ago This Month...

...I wrote my real first poem. There were a few scribbles and mark ups on the paper. Some of it I wrote down over the course of the day. The others I left in my head, hoping it wouldn't escape me. Some did. Some stayed. I still have those papers, written in red ink. I didn't really know what I wanted to say. So I just wrote. All I know is I wanted to say what I've always been feeling. So I wrote. And after a night of writing at a desk, on my bed, on my couch, in my car, this is what I came up with.

We always remember our first.

----------------------------

I can see the finish line. I want mine. I’m so close, but my ambition has got me missing my freedom. This week I’ve been flying high like kites, because it’s so in my sights. Like telescopes, I can see them. So, like Jesse, I’m keeping hope alive and I strive to scheme for ways to see better days. Scary parts in my heart got me going craze. Flipping the light on my fears and they scurry like roaches, while others hurry to yell their directions in my ear like coaches. I just want to be Def like Mos is. Like them times when we fool ourselves, so washed we can’t tell when it ain’t well, one-way ticket heading straight to hell when we rape the culture. They wanna see the vision dead, put lies in my head, turn around what I said and scavenge my thoughts like vultures.

They say I’ve lost my mind, because they catch me dreaming all the time. I prefer to write these rhymes instead of living boxed in between your lines. And I learned you’re blessed when you flex your mental muscles. Only the foolish fight and tussle in the street struggles. Strong words make loud-mouthed buzzards get muzzled when I’m bursting their bubbles.

And this new feeling is so good that I swear I can’t contain it. I’m breaking free, being me and I ain’t even trying to restrain it. I’ve got a feeling so fresh, so new that they ain’t even named it. They say the closer you are, the harder it gets. So I’m defining myself, locking in and preparing to commit, so I can get all I can get. And the actions that I take to negate the mental strain becomes harder and harder each day to maintain. So I cultivate my creation, display the finished product to the nation. So like The Temptations…I wish it would rain—His blessings through my arteries and veins.

A trip straight to my heart. And today it’s sharp and flies straight like darts. I see clearly now and it’s merely how I’m understanding my rights. I find myself gaining wisdom, so people like to ask me for advice. Breaks my heart when I have to leave some sad, when I ask like newspaper ads, what is the price of your life?

In the game, some chose to ride the pine, while others get off snorting them chalk lines. Their sister’s third eyes are blind. Not aware of their worth when they give away ass while others find short cuts to make that fast cash. But everybody knows how the story goes, like dummies they all crash. You slipped on your trip when you dipped on your vision, love for self and aspirations when the times got hard.

I know there’s nothing too far from the stars that I can’t grasp. I know I’m not too far from where you are. So don’t be afraid to ask, about my dream to be just Me and be blessed with everything I wanted to have. I’m gonna have bright days and good nights. I'll be the man who will treat Her right. I’ll say my wife is my life. I try to stay grounded but she urges my emotions to take flight. With precise words I’ll nurture her, say I breathe and walk this earth for her. I’ve traveled far enough, but I’ll go further for her, because when she cries I hurt for her, when I cry it’s worse for her. Joined, that’s why I’m putting in work for her, I’ll say.
And by the way, I’ve made up my mind to follow my dreams, because I deserve all those wonderful things. I just want Me to be free.

But you see, it’s all up to me. I hold the joystick I just have to play. So today I pray if this life doesn’t lead me astray. I can soon enough stand in front of you all and say…finally, I made it.

---EOB.

Nigga This, Nigga That

"But yet his eyes didn't see. The only reason you're a nigga is because somebody else wants you to be."--- Cee-Lo

---EOB.

A Story From The Sidewalk

One day a man was walking down the sidewalk, headed to his new job.

As he walked, he passed by a house. An old man was sitting on the porch, sipping on a glass of water and watching the cars go by.

The man waved to the old man.

"Hello, sir! Good morning! How are you?"

The old man looked at him and continued sipping his water, without a reply.

For a week, the man passed the old man's house, saying the same thing and waving his same cheerful wave.

"Hello, sir! Good morning! How are you?"

And for a week, while sitting on his porch, sipping water and watching the cars go by, the old man offered no reply.

On the second week the man passed by the old man's house. Seeing him on his porch again, the man offered another greeting.

With no wave he would smile and say: "Good morning! How are you?"

And for the second week in a row, the old man offered no reply.

On the third week, the man walked by the old man's house and without offering a smile or a wave, he would simply say : "Hello."

And for the third consecutive week, while sitting on the porch, sipping water and watching the cars go by, the old man would offer no reply.

On the fourth week, the man passed the old man's house without even looking in the direction of the porch. He offered no greeting. No wave. No smile. No words.

As he passed the old man's house, someone called out to him.

"Hey! Wait a minute! Come here!" the old man cried.

Annoyed, the man walked up to the old man's porch. He was sipping on his water and watching the cars go by.

The old man focused his eyes on his visitor

"You didn't speak to me today," the old man said.

"You never speak to me! Every time I speak you never say anything!" the man replied.

The old man took another sip of his water, stared out onto the street and said: "Yes, I didn't offer a reply. But that doesn't mean that it didn't mean anything to me. Your saying 'hello' was always a highlight, a bright spot. Nobody ever talks to me. You always made my day."

Sometimes in life when you believe no one is watching, they really are. Your series of small actions can become someone's bigger blessing. Keep doing the little things. Keep being someone's bigger blessing. Because you never know who is watching. You never know who is listening. You never know who is smiling. You never know who is appreciating you. You never know who's day you just made.

---EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1975-Present

"Even when the condition is critical and the living is miserable, your position is pivotal." ---Talib Kweli

The Lord's Will

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he struggled to compose himself. He held on to his son for support, as he stood in front of his entire family.

He always cried when he told this story.

The year was 1950 and Cecil, a young man, barely grown, walked with little fear. He walked with a comforting feeling that he was being watched over and protected. The air was hot and muggy as he and his group of soldiers in the Army traveled through the terrain in the heart of the Korean War.

"I wasn't afraid," Cecil said, wiping more tears. "Because I know He was with me."

A man of faith, Cecil prayed every day, asking God to forgive him for the men he had killed. The thought of his next murder frightened him and he prayed each night that another man breathing his last breath, at his hands, was something he would never have to see. He prayed that God would deliver him from evil. However, on this day, evil would knock on his door.

As the soldiers traveled through the landscape, they were surprised by enemy fire. Hearts raced. Bullets hissed through the air and screams of fear and pain reduced hardened men to their foundations, creating frighteningly intimate moments that, in any other instant, no one would be allowed to see. Gun shots continued and fire was returned.

Cecil could not think now.

With bullets humming and cutting through everything in its path, Cecil, for the first time in battle, stood frozen. As if he were of another world he watched this moment in history unfold in front of him. And soon his history would be re-written as well, as he was thrown to the ground. A bullet had hit him in his chest. He remembered screaming.

Cecil shook his head, still held by his son.

"It hit me so hard I flew to the ground. I felt like I was hit with a hammer and everything just seemed to stop," he said. "I knew I was dead."

He paused for a moment before continuing, his eyes focused on the floor.

"I thought this was my life, the Lord wanted to take me right there."

Only for Cecil there were no pearly gates, no angels and the only bright light that shined upon him was the one provided by the sun, as he lay on his back, gazing upon the sky. Frantically he clutched his chest and felt no blood. He said he cried moments later.

"That bullet should have killed me, out of all places, it hit me in my chest, straight in my heart, " he said. "But that bullet was stopped. It hit me in my heart, my shirt pocket, and in my shirt pocket was my Bible. It hit my Bible. My Bible saved me. God spared my life."

He once again broke down and cried as he slowly made his way to a chair to sit down.

Of course Cecil survived the war, healthy and with all his limbs. After returning he swore to himself and God that he would live a life which was acceptable in His eyes. Years later, he would meet his wife and they would have a son. He became the rock of the family, always with a smile to share and a hearty laugh even in the most disappointing moments. He became a man who was an example-- strong enough to lead, yet weak enough to submit. When threatening to break apart, he became the string which held the family together. He was a calming grace and a man of great character. He showed them all that sometimes it's all right for a man to cry. He showed them all that sometimes it's all right for a man to live.

However, this was just no ordinary story and this was no ordinary man. Cecil was my grandfather and that bullet, that Bible, changed all of our lives forever.

---EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1975-Present

"You would rather have a lexus, some justice, a dream or some substance?
A beamer, a necklace or freedom?"--- Dead Prez

Interlude Pt. 2

A Celebration Of Life

1971-Present

"If you catch me dreaming, please don't wake me till I'm done. Just leave me sleeping until the morning comes."---Anthony Hamilton

My Pen. My Train. My Name (Freestyle Poem)

I'll bet Conroy, Pat felt trapped in a taboo world when he fell in love with a Black girl.
Met her on a train.
Didn't know her name.
Disappeared quicker than she came, like an apparition.
Heat-induced visions.
Mirages.
Communists in colleges.
Psychologists.
Misogynists.
Retired Friars, fired, prior to Providence.
Some are shakers.
Some are movers.
Some are sayers.
Some are doers.
Some play when they maneuver.
Cuss words pointed at shapes of J. Edgar Hoover.
Some wear Armani, like they're Toomer.
Approached by Army recruiters.
There's an accuser.
Who's the shooter?
There's a girl in Aruba.
Had to school her, like I knew her.
While the red is getting redder and the blue is getting bluer.
Got gang signs on my mind and liquid in my veins.
I'm an Invisible Man, like Ellison.
Baldwin, James.
Nobody Knows My Name.
My pen is mightier than your sword.
Ignore the score and cherish the day---like July 28th.
They should have left me where they found me.
Hunted me for the bounty.
Break my knees.
Slit my wrists.
And I bleed Wyandotte County.
And they say high IQs and loose screws makes a cute dude crazy.
My review's incomplete.
Suspense has got me waiting.
Discriminating.
My rating's originating in the 80s.
Which makes me an 80s baby.
118 degrees outside.
Hasn't been in the 80s lately.
My pen hates me and it's told me as much.
When I hold it, I clutch with five fingers.
I write through wringers.
Legacies run like DMC and pantyhose.
A snot nose.
With my eyes closed, I wrote my first poem when I was eight, in my head, sitting in detention.
Learned to escape, like space.
A new dimension.
Born to be great and release this state of tension.
Dale and I used to sit on the fence and...
Just.
Dream.
Little did we know, they'd be more real than they seemed at the time.
We finish at the beginning and we start at the end.
Which leads us to the middle.
One boy. One voice. One man. One pen.

----EOB.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus

A Love Letter to HER

My life changed that day.
And in an instant this seems so fresh and new.
"He's just not the same," they'd say.
Inside jokes about yellow and blue.
But my life changed.
Blame it on that day.
I claimed it.
Slow dancing in the rain.
Romancing the thought of HER whole name.
And my Whole has changed.
A guiding light in the darkness.
A voice of reason in the banter.
This is where it all starts.
If yesterday was the question, then that day is the answer.
My life changed that day.
And I can't stop smiling.
Piling minutes together until they become a full day.
And if seconds build a minute and minutes build a day, then this moment is my Genesis.
A blank page and fresh clay.
And moments like these seem to manipulate time.
Seconds slow until they show a new identity.
Could this get any better?
Could this last forever?
Shield my eyes.
I tell no lies.
For now I know the truth.
My life changed that day.
My life changed the day I met you.

---EOB.

One Question

When you've exhausted all your options and you've fallen off the path, tell me what would you look to do if the pen is all you have?

Would you completely fall to pieces like the shattering of the glass? Or would you create a new way of thinking, as if you've birthed it in the lab? Would you look toward your future and stop thinking of the past? Or would you understand the importance of preparation?

Your first chance may be your last.

Tell me. What would you do if the pen is all you have?

Beethoven wrote the greatest symphony. Edgar Allan Poe went mad. Mozart became a martyr, though his climax was so sad. Some paint pictures of pain, with wounds that never heal, as if they're picking at their scabs. You walk the road few have traveled, when the pen is all you have.

The pen summons all emotions with articulations on the pad. It puts money in your pocket, so it keeps you from living on the Ave. It shows you visions of things both clean and obscene. The pen navigates you to places within that few have ever seen. And it guides people you've never seen through your visions and dreams. Like LeBron and Harrison on your screen, you're a Witness. You're not afraid to let people into your business. You're different. Call it literary fitness. Your pen is like weights as you build mental muscles. Exercise every day and watch them swell. Only time can tell whether your pen becomes your heaven or hell.

Can you depend on your pen?

Don't pretend that your pen is all you're interested in. However, it is your longtime friend. It's something to believe in. Would you leave your pen if everything seemed to work? Would you never let it leave your side when your disappointment never subsides and your pride is hurt?

When all you have is your pen, at the end of the tunnel, you finally see the gleam. Like Malcolm and King, you dare to dream by any means, of inner-revolution, letting freedom ring---within you. Your pen will reveal truths and it will unveil lies. It will create a mirror in front of you. And the reflection leaves you surprised.

Is it a curse? Or is it a blessing? Either way, all you have is your pen.

Search for your purpose, as it hides. Count to 10. Open your eyes and let the journey begin.

Would you desert your pen only to drive a Mercedes? Or do you write solely so this life wouldn't be driving you crazy? Does your pen grow stronger when you're mad? When you're happy, your writing is silently lazy. I depend on my pen because it'll never betray me.

Would you make a mistake if the pen is all you've got?

Remember, the pen got Biggie shot because he was beefing with Pac. The questions never stop. A savior? A tormentor? What's your definition? Your pen makes it all your decision. It's speaking to you. All you have to do is listen. Like your soul, your pen is eternal. Long after you're gone, your words will forever live on. It's your devil like Taz or an inspiration like jazz. But the answer lies within you.

So once again I'll ask.

What would you look to do if the pen is all you have?

---EOB.

Three Names

I'm numb. It's the sum of all fears. Nothing's clear and the Grim Reaper's whispering in my ear. He said he's near.

My city's engulfed by the sea. People around the country watch helplessly as they wonder how many Katrina will seize before she destroys and leaves. It's my birthday. I'm turning 23. At 5:08, I'm awake just in time to escape from the back door of my home. Flashing waters. Floating bodies. Now I'm residing in the Super Dome.

They said we'll be sheltered but they're not obligated to feed us. The roof is falling. What's the difference? Inside or outside? Hunger or thunder? In some way, the storm's bound to defeat us. No money to get out so I guess they didn't need us.

I wish once more I could play my guitar. On my cell phone, I have one bar and I used it to call family back home. I heard through the grapevine that Celine Dion made an appearance on CNN. With sincere tears, she spoke for me when she said we need immediate help and prayers more than her ends. I feel like we're observed with blind eyes, sort of like Apartheid and the Rwandan Genocide. It's ironic. Not many nights ago, I dreamt I drowned in the most unlikely of places. Does that mean the washing away of phases? Or a revelation? My soon-to-be expiration.

I'm weak. And to look past this is like trying to sell cocaine. There's no gain. Like Spokane, slow rains wash hopes down drains. Rumors of murder. Blood stains grow like Rogaine. Intense pain goes untamed with no shame. Who's to blame? I can't give in. I'll continue to fight.

Who am I? My name is Mike.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

I'm packing my bags, ready to step into life all alone. I'm not worried about lonely nights. I just want to take flight and disappear into the night before he comes home. Heavy fists drop on my body cavity like gravity. If I tell them about Daddy, I'm scared they'll be mad at me. But I have a strategy. Because last night I woke up from my rest, holding my chest and trying to catch my breath. Because in my dream a man left a bloody mess on my doorstep. And it was me. Watch your step. You won't believe what you'll see in the corridors of my mind. I swear he'll kill me. I'm running out of time.

It's my birthday. I'm 16 years old. I've been raped since 10. I can't escape and people wonder why I don't feel comfortable around men. Sometimes I think it's my fault. Other times I just wonder why. This stings like cuts and salt. I pray but I don't know if God hears my cries.

He beats me in the chest so he can hide the evidence.

My name is Evelyn.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

So, I'm into big business. Of a company, I'm the owner. For a better life, I moved my family to California. Now it's stressing out my wife because our son is selling white on the corner. The mood's somber. My kid's a loner. I only thought this happened in the world of the poor. My son got a hold of the boy next door. He got him strung out. Now he's shooting up with the whores and stealing from his parents. It's that crack. He's wanting more. He had a bright future but it's wasted because his mind's gone. His parents just can't take it and they wish he'd simply come home. Now the only time they see him out is on the streets. Glossy eyes. Rotten teeth. Sporting coats in 103-degree heat.

And I'm blaming myself because quality time was not invested. Now my son is frustrated, feeling so rejected. Thinking he's neglected, he ran into that Vest kid who introduced him to the streets. And now his mind's infested. I didn't think this would happen. So how could I expect it? This game is a shame and I wish I could reset it.

Now I'm crying on my birthday. I'm turning 42. I'm thinking of my son. What's a father going to do? I thought this was fantasy but now I know it's true. If it's happening to me, pay heed, I can see you standing in my shoes. I saw the evidence but I didn't have a clue. I'm wondering how I'll make it through.

So, with no immunity I'm reaching out in my community. I stand next to other soldiers in the battlefield. I never want another to feel what I feel. I'm just another parent of a teen who got killed.

My name's Neil.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

---EOB.

Her Name Should Have Been Poison

I was 18 when I first met her. I ran into her while visiting my sister's job and we hit it off on the spot. She told me her name was Crystal. We exchanged numbers, and soon enough, we began hanging out.

At that point in my young life, Crystal was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She stood about 5-foot-7 inches tall with gorgeous eyes to match a bright smile. She had long hair and spoke with an accent that drove me wild. To her, I was a novelty. I was quiet and shy. On occassion, during our conversations, I had that knack of saying something that would blow her away. We were two totally different people. She was outgoing. I was an introvert. She was from the country. I was from the city. She lived life fast. I liked to travel slow. However, those differences somehow brought us together.

"You're different than other guys," she'd say. "I kinda like that. I'm curious about you."

I'd make her laugh, but at the same time, I could make her think, too. She saw me as a challenge, an unknown territory she wanted to explore. We talked a lot and things moved swiftly. Eventually we got closer and began doing things that people usually do in a relationship.

But we weren't in a relationship. Her life was too wild for my tastes. So in that regard, I kept my distance. I was too young to deal with that kind of stress, I thought. So we had our cake and we ate it,too---with no strings attached.

We shared secrets and revealed things about our pasts. One day the conversation steered toward old relationships.

"So do you know Jamaica James?" she asked.

Sounded like some movie character to me.

"No," I replied. "Who is that?"

She seemed surprised.

"You don't know Jamaica James?"

"Who is it?"

"He's my ex-boyfriend. I had just broke up with him when I met you. He's a drug dealer. He still tries to come around, but I keep telling him I don't want anything to do with him. He's crazy."

I took her for her word. The news was kind of disturbing, but I shook it off. On Valentine's Day, I surprised her on her job with some flowers. She appreciated them. However, Jamaica didn't like the jester at all. I got a phone call from her the day after.

"Um, I saw Jamaica today," Crystal said."He came over."

"What's he talking about?"

"Same thing, trying to get me back," she answered. "I told him to go home, but he wouldn't. He saw the flowers you gave me. You should have seen him, he got mad. He was like 'Where you get them flowers?' I lied to him and told him my aunt gave them to me."

Once agan, I didn't sweat it. Jamaica believed her---or so I thought. A few days later, Crystal met me for lunch. She had some news for me.

"Jamaica called me today," she said.

"He won't go away."

"No."

"What'd he say?"

"He said that he was thinking and he knows my aunt didn't give me those flowers," Crystal said. "He told me that if he ever sees me with anybody, he'll kill him."

She took another bite of her food and smiled.

"But don't worry," she added. "He's not serious. He's just talking crazy."

She seemed so calm, but I was choking on my food.

Don't worry? Don't worry? This man just threatened my life and you're telling me not to worry? Don't worry?

When I got home that afternoon, I made up my mind I was going to leave Crystal alone.

But I didn't. We continued to hang out. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe he wasn't serious. In fact, eventually, I did believe her. The threats kept coming and Jamaica never went away. However, the two of us never crossed paths. So eventually I began to ignore them--until I visited my friend one night.

I had dropped by my friend Tyrone's apartment to catch up with him. Coop was already there. Shortly thereafter, Tyrone's cousin came by. I think he was between 28-30 years old. He liked to school us in the game of life. Over the course of the night, he began talking about his past experiences.

"I knew this dude, back in the day, this dude named Jamaica James," the cousin said. "That man was crazy--not funny crazy, but crazy, crazy."

For about 30 minutes straight, he told us stories about Jamaica James. Each one of them was just as terrifying as the last.

"There was this time Jamaica was at the house with his boys," he said. "And he got mad at his girl, they started arguing. She's pregnant with his kid. Jamaica gets up and he's hot."

The cousin began to demonstrate Jamaica's every move.

"Jamaica tensed up and smacked her, like this," he said. "She went flying on the couch. She tried to get up, but Jamaica went at her again and punched her. Boom! She went flying on the couch again."

"What happened to his boys?" Tyrone asked."They didn't break it up?"

His cousin looked at him as if he were stupid.

"No!" he said. "They were afraid of what he'd do to them!"

He continued his story

"Next thing you know, Jamaica is going to the kitchen and he grabs a butcher knife. He jumps on top of her, raises his knife in the air and yells 'If you don't do what I say, I'll cut my baby out!'"

The three of us sat still with horrified looks on our faces. We knew crazy men, but not Jamaica crazy.

"There was another time Jamaica got into it with this group of dudes," the cousin continued. "All of a sudden the dudes pull out guns and they start shooting at him. Jamaica pulls two pistols out of his belt and starts busting too. All of a sudden, they're in a gun fight. They hit Jamaica in the leg but that man didn't stop shooting. He fell on the ground, bleeding, but he kept shooting and yelling. His boys tried to drag him away, but he kept wanting to shoot, eventually they got him out of there."

In the early 90s, there was a shooting at Schlagle High School. That incident became the school's reputation for a few years, all the way until I got there.

"One day Jamaica was at Schlagle and he saw some dudes he had beef with," the cousin recalled. "Next thing you know, Jamaica pulls out a rifle and opens fire into the crowd. He didn't care who died. He was just wanted to shoot dude."

"That was Jamaica?" I asked with a stunned look on my face.

"Yeah, man. That was Jamaica," the cousin replied. "That man is crazy."

To my two friends, Tyrone and Coop, they were just entertaining stories from an older guy's past. But to me, it made me realize this man wasn't playing. I could die at any moment. My heart started beating fast. He really is crazy.

"Man, I'm kind of talking to this girl that says she used to date Jamaica James," I told the cousin.

He looked at me shocked.

"What's her name?"

"Crystal."

The cousin shook his head and looked at me as if he was seriously concerned for my welfare. He parted his lips slowly.

"If I were you," he said. "I'd leave her alone."

His face became serious before he spoke again.

"That dude's crazy."

When I left Tyrone's apartment I knew what I had to do. That was almost nine years ago. I never found out what happened to Jamaica James. Some say he got attacked by a group of guys and they cut his legs off, now he's bound to a wheelchair. Others say he killed a man and now he's in prison for the rest of his life. Another story said he was killed in a violent shootout. I really don't know what happened to him.

The only thing I know is I never called Crystal again.

---EOB.

Desire

"Hello? You play to win the game! You don't play to just play it"---Herman Edwards

I was five years old when I almost died trying to achieve something that meant a lot to me. It was the summer of 1985. I was in summer school, on a trip to the local pool for some fun in the sun. The atmosphere felt right. The temperature was warm, everyone was having fun and there I was---out on the side, watching it all unfold. It was eatting me up inside. I wanted to swim, too

The problem?

I wasn't that good. So I watched. I noticed all the kids swimming and playing, enjoying the day. And there I was, still sitting on the side. I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to leave logic at the door and act. I stood up, all four feet of me, and took a few short steps to the edge of the pool. I looked out at the crowd and then down at the water. I did it once more, bent my knees, leaped high in the air and dove in. I took a dip into the area of the pool that was five-feet deep. And though I wasn't skilled, I was holding my own. But it wasn't enough. I needed more of a challenge. So I moved to my left and drifted off into the 10-foot area of the pool. Instantly I knew I had a battle on my hands. The water was too deep for me, too strong. I fought. But it seemed as though the more I fought, the harder it became. I was fighting a losing battle. The water was moving from my chest to my shoulders, as I was sinking. I was screaming, calling for help but no one seemed to hear me as the water now was moving up to my neck. But I didn't stop fighting. For those few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, I fought until my body was tired. I fought for my life. Soon enough I couldn't fight anymore. I had given all I had. As I was engulfed by the water, all outside sounds ceased to exist. All that was left was silence and my thoughts. The end was near.

This is how I live my life. For good or bad, I've been taking chances for years. I've played to win. Sometimes, in some areas of our lives, it's necessary to recapture the child within us. Children are fearless. I knew the risk I was taking when I entered the pool. But there was a goal I wanted to achieve. And nothing else mattered at the time. In this life, it's all about risk taking, moving on a dream, moving on a feeling placed in our hearts. Historically, the winners have been the ones who have moved on their aspirations, followed their hearts and were willing to take a step forward when logic tells them to take two steps back. The time has come for us to allow our hearts to become the shepard of our sheep.

Our biggest adversary is ourselves. Our biggest battles are fought with our fears, our fears of stepping outside of our comfort zone, a fear of being great, a fear of trusting ourselves. We play not to lose. We should play to win. You'll lose from time to time. Sometimes failure can be the beginning of your biggest victory, if you learn from your mistakes. Failure makes you fearless. And to be fearless is to be free. Playing to win is giving it all you have. Playing to win is planning, execution and belief---even when some don't understand what you're trying to do and where you're trying to go. Playing to win is knowing you'll win even when you lose. Playing to win is understanding the law of averages, knowing your time will come soon. Playing to win is having patience. Playing to win is having desire and focus.

Every day you're on stage. The lights are on--they're shining bright upon you-- and the whole world is watching. All you can do is perform. All you can do is give it your all. All you can do is give your heart to the world. And after you've done everything possible, all you can do is hope your audience received it. It's all that's required. I've been sharing my heart for a long time. And knowing that gives me peace. When don't I have peace? When I know I didn't do my best, when I know I held something back. I don't have peace when I revert back to that child in '85, who's standing on the side, when I know I should be diving in the pool.

I've failed a lot in my lifetime. I've won my share, too. And since that summer day, I feel like I've been living on borrowed time. But, that's OK. I'm here. I'm breathing. We're breathing. We're not here just to live. We're here to do something special.

We're here to win.

For a moment my future seemed bleak. My final hour was near, as I sank deeper into the water. I was too tired to fight anymore. And as I was just about to give up, two hands grabbed me and lifted me above the surface. I gasped for breath as a stranger carried me back to safety.

"Are you OK?"

I smiled.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I said. "Thank you."

As I sat on the side of the pool again, I watched as the stranger left and met some friends in the middle of the pool. I replayed the moment in my mind a few times. I caught my breath. I stood up and looked out at the pool. I smiled.

And you know what I did after that?

I jumped right back in.

---EOB.

She Said...

She said she wants more time. I contemplate whether I should make it.

One second. One minute. One hour.

She said every moment she spends with me is laced with a slow breeze and rose petals that lead to a place which serenades her to windows with reflections, exposing an unclothed soul.

She sees so clearly when it's naked.

Emotions she once played with have been molded into faces of love and regret.

Like sunsets, memories fade of relationships built like masons.

She said she wants more time.

She has visions of us sharing moments so sacred.

I say I want more time because my mind's not made up.

Why? Because there is so much I must take into consideration.

Yet she holds firm to her request. She asks for more time.

A highlight of my past. She asks if I will give her enough time to become my future.

How long will this last? Her words once served as the judge, my thoughts the jury and our actions the executioner.

And she said she wants more time.

I don't know if I have much of it. It's me she covets.

Someone as special as she, has always noticed the value in me. In my passion she's always trusted.

It's what she fell in love with.

This is why she wants more time.

She urges us to turn back the clock. She yearns for more time, enough to transform our yesterdays into our todays, cherishing every second until time eventually stops.

---EOB.

When Rage Called

They wanted to murder him. He and his friends took a vote. He wasn't concerned with them. My cousin thought it was a joke. He said he needed a smoke, so he reached deep in his coat. He pulled out a blade and he slit my cousin's throat. On his own blood, he choked. That's what I was told. They dragged him out into the snow and left him to die alone in the cold. And he just had a kid. Now, he'll never know Joe. This is what Stan did. Robbing his son, like Cano. And now it's obvious. I knew Stan had to go.

Rapidly I'm coasting in a whirlwind of emotions. Anger. Sorrow. Confusion. Venom. They say these are all symptoms.

Symptoms of rage.

Now, I'm speeding down the street to meet my man Tyrese. I knew he'd hand me the piece because he and Stan's got beef.

He said: "I know where Stan sleeps, wife looks like Gabrielle Reece. Hide the piece under the seat incase you get stopped by the police."

I drove off with a screech. He texted the address to my phone. Several minutes later I'm outside Stan's home. And I'm sitting with eyes low. My surroundings I scoped. I hope Stan dies slow for slitting my guy's throat. He's a sheep in wolves' clothing. All of time has stopped. I watch Stan leave his house. I follow him down the block. Such a thin line. The darkside is my side. I see life through the eyes of those high guys doing drive-bys, or them wise guys with those mob ties. Who would have thought it'd be I, in the ride, thinking of homicide.

All the morals I've ever learned, in a moment I'll forget them. For tonight, I dance to the rhythm.

The rhythm of rage.

Tears fall down my face as I'm brandishing the gun.

I scream at the top of my lungs: "Stan, tonight you'll meet The Son!"

Stan decided to run. I squeeze off three quick shots. With a swift dodge, Stan dips off into an alley next to the thrift shop. I release my fourth and fifth shot. Lead and flesh connected. His body falls to the pavement. Stan can die at any second. Fixated on my weapon. For mercy, his eyes seemed to beckon.

Only God is watching and the street lamps are buzzing.

Stan blurted out: "It wasn't...."

Before he finished the sentence, I shot him for killing my cousin. It's how I got here. The interrogation room. And if karma exists, death will call my name, soon. For my mistake, it's only right for me to meet my fate.

"So it was rage? How does that control you? Those emotions don't exist. I hope the judge doesn't resist to give you 60 from the bench!"

Of sorrow, I smell the stench. I've lost all control. I hear the heartbeat of my victim, like Edgar Allan Poe. And they're banging on the table.

"Young man, why would you do this?"

"It was foolish, but I had hate in my heart and Lucifer knew it!"

The spotlight was hot. With shock, they continued to listen. I mentioned in any other instance murder would never be my intention. Suspense is in the air. A man enters with a paper that he's clinching.

"This is information that was just given to me. We know who really killed Joe."

"It was Stan!"

"No, Tyrese."

I sat back with disbelief.

"Tyrese killed Joe. He slit your cousin's throat. He committed the murder and he blamed it on Stan. He knew you would kill him---Two birds. One stone. No blood on his hands."

Now I understand. A moment of insanity. If only I would have missed him. And now we're all victims.

Victims of rage.

---EOB.

My Mistress

"The column came into my life in 1961. And it took it over. A column is more than a demanding mistress. It's a raging master. It consumes you. It's insatiable. It becomes more than you. You are not a person"--- Jim Murray

I dislike what my pen has made me. Yet, I love what it's given me. It gives me freedom, yet I am a slave. It's shown me things about myself. I am what I am. It's helped me unlock secrets. It's my freedom. It's my enemy. It's both a blessing and a curse. It consumes me. It's shown me I have so much more to offer. Versatility. A silent quality. I am a chameleon, blending into my surroundings. I am only able to observe, afraid the unveiling of my presence will lead to my destruction.

For 12 years I walked away. Yet I always heard its call. Like every true love, I return. I believe in my pen more than I believe in you. I pray some days, asking God to remind me that I need Him more than I need It. My pen restricts my tongue. Instead of speaking, I'd rather write. It's challenging. It has strained relationships. Yet through it, It has helped me communicate with special people I never knew existed. It connects me. It has distanced me. My pen has created an entity constructed of complex simplicity. I am just like you. I've witnessed both sides. It's helped me see the darkness in the light, and the light through the darkness. I appreciate and respect both. I channel my emotions through it.

It has given me a dream--one I'm living. It's awarded me with passion. It's my gift. It's why I'm here. It's a necessary evil. It urges me to find balance. It's helped me experience things I only dreamed of. Because of it, I look beyond the surface. I want to see things for what they are. I've found the simple answers within such a puzzling life. It's my art. My creativity. An avenue. I pay attention to detail. Sometimes I write so angry. It gives me a place to vent, sharing the secrets I harbor. It absorbs my pain and uplifts my happiness. It opens a window into my soul, my aspirations and fears. My dreams sneak through my pen and shows people the true me. I am courageous. I am the person my guarded heart won't let you see. It's an heirloom. It's an attraction. It has isolated me. When I have no one, it has me. However, it's the reason why they were not there. I'm excited. I'm afraid. It's the reason why I can't sleep. It's why I have peace of mind. It torments me. It comforts me. I've come so far. I have so far to go.

I dislike like what my pen has made me. Yet, I love what it's given me

Jim Murray died, surrounded by love. His mistress never left him. I can only hope for such a fate.

---EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1963-Present

"Hard work is a prison sentence only if it does not have meaning. Once it does, it becomes the kind of thing that makes you grab your wife around the waist and dance a jig."---Malcolm Gladwell

My Door

I shall lock my door.
That way I won't hear the voice's noiseless plot anymore.
I should lock my door.
Throw away the key.
That way outside elements, seeds of doubt, depression and embarrassment-standing on the outside- won't bother me.
My door should always be locked.
When I decide to go, They always make me stop.
But They couldn't speak to me if my door was locked.
I'd lock my door and hide under the covers.
I would ignore Their voices by falling into a deep, complete slumber.
Seems to me like They earn salaries by pounding me with reality.
But all I want to do is dream.
I should lock my door.
So someday I will understand.
I dream to live and dream to plan.
My dreams and focus goes unnoticed when voices dance ignorantly-without listening to me.
And since They are the so-called voices of reason, then my reason cannot be reasoned with the unreasonable.
So we find a common ground-and we find it right now.
I will lock my door and continue to dream.
You will stay on the outside-and refuse to cease your torturous screams.
But trust and believe, on today I will lock my door.
This is my world.
I am free.
It is not Yours anymore.

--EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1955-Present

"Getting up in the morning is not for the faint of heart. Being a man is not easy. But it never has been, I would guess. The demands on us are many; the hours in the day are still capped at 24. We get tugged, second-guessed, pulled in different directions, and at the end of the day we are left wondering what happened. And sometimes it seems like those are the good days."---Tony Dungy

To Know Is...

Mo Battle taught me chess by explaining it's philosophical parallels to life. "You can understand the game of chess if you understand the game of life and vice versa,'" he said. "In life the person who plots his course and thinks ahead before he acts, wins. It's the same way in chess."

One day, I made a move to capture a pawn of his and gave Mo Battle an opening to take a valuable piece. He smiled and said, "You can tell a lot about a person by the way he plays chess. People who think small in life tend to devote a lot of energy to capturing pawns, the least valuable pieces on the board. They think they're playing to win, but they're not. But people who think big tend to go straight for the king or queen, which wins you the game".......The most important thing that Mo Battle taught me was that chess was a game of consequences. He said that, just as in life, there are consequences for every move you make in chess. "Don't make a move without first weighing the potential consequences," he said. "Because if you don't, you have no control over the outcome."

---Excerpts from Nathan McCall's "Makes Me Wanna Holler"

Be quick, but don't hurry. Move fast, yet remain in control. Believe, yet remain humble. Be motivated, but not overwhelmed. Be great, not good. Be brilliant, not smart. Think big, yet make wise choices. Life's already made its move in this game. It's just waiting to see what you're going to do next.

-----EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1975-Present

"If Ghandi can forgive persecution surely you can forgive me for being so petty...I'm only human."---India Arie

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Freestyle Poem)

I know why the sun rises in the east, sets in the west. My heart's travel through a dangerous nest of glorification, the seconds of my days when each minute seemed to bounce like leather round balls. North to South. The wrong call, like pork into the mouth of a Muslim. I tripped over my own feet, and cussed them. Customs, I've brushed them off, like dirt on my shoulders. Over and over I've explained my life's synopsis.
Options, choices. I've discussed them in late night rendezvous with good friends. Wood bends in the presence of mutated gravity. I am not talented. I am not gifted. I am simply maximizing my potential. Wishing on a well. Simple philosophy tells us your body is a temple. And women have missed the class, re-took it and never passed. Fifth-year seniors with a filthier demeanor. Take a bath in tearful delusions and haven't come out feeling any cleaner. I put five minutes into this. Never have a chance to replenish my thoughts, with a lack of sleep. A tragedy of all sorts. A car crash. Slammed doors. A blood bath. Young lads, trapped in a burning store.
My sea never reached the port, or my blood never seeped through the sore. My dreams are rotten to the core. I will lead. I will follow, fulfill and restore. I never wanted to be you. I never wanted to see the truth. Twain said the truth dies while lies live forever. Placed in a phase, I escaped to a maze filled with haze. I search for the phantom. When your worth, for too long, lay in a search of numbers, no wonder things never seemed to add up.
I was going to offer the wrong thought, but I kept it. Sweet memories of what I left behind. The etiquette of an edifice that will never let me in.
I want to speak the words of 1,000 tongues.
Walk in the footsteps of 1,000 men.
Live 1,000 lives and die 1,000 deaths, only to be revived again.
I want to build a bridge. Future to the past. Break it down and build it again.
For I live. The words I speak, the thoughts I generate, created from my life's experiences, broken down and regurgitated into my mind.
And my mind won't connect with my flesh and my flesh won't mesh with my heart. My mind and flesh are at odds with my heart----and with my heart is where it all starts.
I left my problems, standing alone, 1,300 miles away. To the desert from the plains. If it died today, I would not visit the remains. Yet, I am reminded daily. I am the creator. I am the author of my own tale. I believe I will see the rewards. I pray I will not lose my faith. I pray to find a way.
Someone miles away is thinking of me. And I am thinking of them. When I write from the top of my head. I don't know what to expect. I cannot hide what I am feeling inside. My fingers construct a picture, painting an image seen much clearer.
I so desperately want to break it all down and build it again---with my pen. I want to write something so strong that the strongest of men will bend in pain. I want to write something, something like Revelations, which will beget blood in the sky, trickling, pouring like rain. My disguise is a sly smile and a soft-spoken tone of voice. Inside is my pain, my joy, my defeat and desire.
Aspiring minds are programmed to chase blue eyes, heels so high, connected to blonds with bodies shaped like Coke bottles. Despite what Chuck may say, you are a role model to the youth. Half a world away and I am still in love with Wyandotte County. In an infant stage, when I was thirsty, the 83rd street nursed me. The city which birthed me.
Can't find anyone worse than me. Yet I can't find anyone better.
The ending isn't the ending if there never was a beginning. And the beginning has no name if there never was a finish. A loser is not a loser, if there's no one there to win it. And this is never in existence if I wasn't alive to pen this.
As long as I can wake up, I'll give it all I have until there's nothing left. I'll keep living and fighting, seeing and believing, until God takes what's left and I stop breathing.

A Celebration Of Life

1945-Present

"When life knocks you down, try to land on your back. Because if you can look up, you can get up. Let your reason get you back up."---Les Brown

Because I Feel Like Laughing...

---EOB.

My Life Story

Shout if you feel the way I feel.


----EOB.

A Testimony For The People

"In search of Victory, She keeps alluding me. If only we could be together momentarily. We can make love and make History. Why won't You visit me? Until She visits me, I'll be stuck with Her sister. Her name is Defeat. She gives me agony. So much agony. She brings me so much pain, so much misery, like missing your last shot and falling to your knees."---Jay-Z


The number Zero is special to me, one which, holds a meaning. It is the shape of life. It is my life. No beginning and no ending. Constant movement and no place to stop. It is a never-ending journey. Zero is a teacher. It guides me through the seasons. Life is like the seasons, cold like winter, free like summer and a little in between, like spring and fall.

In a year where tragedies have become the norm and many are feeling the sting of the economy, the winters of this life can't get much colder. Over the last six months my world has been turned upside down. I have been given so many reasons to lose hope. I should have given up. Having come so far in life, I should have turned back and started a new road and settled for a path less scenic.

But I'm a dreamer. And my dreams have been the things which has helped me survive my difficult times. It has shielded me from a harse reality. It has allowed me to turn a blind eye to the present and focus on my future. Victory has escaped me and many times in my life I've been left with only defeat. I've learned if I stand still and remain patient, the balance of life will once again tilt in my direction. So here I am. Waiting. Working. Preparing. Dreaming. Writing. I've lost many battles. Having survived them all, I have learned to appreciate those moments. I am better for them. I am wiser because of my defeats. I have learned to celebrate when I have nothing to celebrate over. I have learned to laugh when I should be crying. My strength has come from my weakness and my character has been built with the bricks of many defeats. I have learned life will treat me no different than you. I have to earn eveything I have coming to me. Sometimes there will be no reward for my hard work. Life isn't fair, never has been and never will be. Fight when there seems to be nothing to fight for.

The following is a passage from a book I've written (and have not published yet) which spoke to and through my heart. I hope it can do the same for you.

Willie got that look on his face again. It was the same expression he had etched on his face all day and it was the same look he had worn when he informed Martez of Tracy’s pregnancy. Martez just knew Willie had something on his mind.

“What’s up, Willie? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You know me too well, ‘Tez,” Willie said.

“Tell me.”

“It’s just that… I can’t believe this is happening. I just can’t believe that I’m here, on the verge of doing something great. I’ve fought so hard, ‘Tez and now I’ve made it. I’ve gone through so much and went so many years with people never giving me a chance. When I got my chance, I made the most of it. It’s funny…I was nobody last season and I was just hoping to get some looks.”

Willie looked over at the game.

“Now look at me. In two months, I’m going to be an NBA lottery pick,” Willie said. “It kind of hits you hard sometimes. You know what? Deep down I knew this would happen. I just knew it. I kept believing in myself. Nobody else thought I was worth their time. They’d give up on me. They never believed in me— but I did. Yeah, I could have quit. I could have believed them, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t believe their lies. It was hard, ‘Tez and I struggled. Yo, I have so much to offer and it just frustrated me that nobody would notice. All I wanted to do was share my gifts with the world and give them my heart, that’s all. But for some reason—one I can’t figure out— they couldn’t or wouldn’t see me. So, I had to fight for this. But, through all of that, there was just one thing that kept me going. You know what kept me going, ‘Tez?”

“What’s that?”

“Hope,” Willie said. “Hope is all I had. I kept dreaming. I kept on believing and I wouldn’t let anybody discourage me from my dreams. That’s how I made it through. I kept hoping and believing that maybe one day they’ll believe in me and I’ll make it. I kept hoping that one day, I’d get my chance and my situation would get better. That’s what kept me encouraged. As I sat on that bench for years, I kept thinking eventhough today is a bad day, maybe, just maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll change for the better. See, that’s the great thing about new days. It’s an opportunity for change, a fresh start. It’s a chance to wake up one morning and open your eyes to a better situation than the day before. And I woke up one day this year and it did get better. Faith can move mountains, man. I deserve this—all of this. I deserve everything I’ve got coming to me. I worked too hard for this.”

“I’m proud of you, Willie,” Martez said. “I knew you could do it. I was just holding out that same hope and you made the best of it when the chance came.”

Willie smiled as he watched a man sink a jumpshot in the game they were half-watching.

“I did it because I’ve learned life is about moments, ‘Tez,” Willie said. “And when you get those moments you have to seize them. Moments are like shooting stars. They don’t come too often, but when they do, you’ve gotta capture them and hold on with all you’ve got. You don’t know when or if you’re gonna get another one. And I did. I held on. This is my moment.”

Willie smiled.

“’Tez, this is our moment,” he said.

No matter what the situation may be, keep dreaming. Keep believing. Live in the moment. Let your dreams be your guide and your protector. Lose yourself in them. This is only a season. And there will be more tests along the way. Be prepared. Don't lose faith. As long as there is a chance for another day you will be OK.

---EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1975-Present

"We all make decisions, but in the end our decisions make us."---Tiger Woods

A Celebration Of Life

1945- Present

"Winning makes you think you'll always get the girl, land the job, deposit the million-dollar check, win the promotion and you grow accustomed to a life of unanswered prayers. Winning shapes the soul of bad movies and novels and lives. It is the subject of thousands of insufferably bad books and is often a sworn enemy... Loss is forever, more uncompromising teacher, cold-hearted but clear-eyed in its understanding that life is more dilemma than game and more trial than free pass."---Pat Conroy.

To Whom It May Concern

Sometimes I lose faith in You. I debate within myself and choose to hate You. I wish I could escape You and bathe You in a pool of my tears.

Your eyes see all and Your ears hear whispers of my fears. Three days ago, I left my halo at the gray door. Happy days close. This ain't what I came for. Little do they know that I've felt forsaken.

I'm running out of patience. No longer gracious, which creates an excreting fragrance of guilt. Guilty of humiliation. Guilty of disappointment. Guilty of a broken heart. Guilty of hopelessness and painful scars.

I wish You knew how it felt to be me. I wish I knew how it felt to be free. I wish You could experience these things multiplied by three. I'm searching for a release.

Take Your hand and wave it across my face. Take me to a place, which transforms my frown into a smile. Good fortune shares similarities with the blaze of the sun. It shines for only a while.

And I'm staring at the screen, wondering what, from my mind to the keys, I'm going to relay. I've moved to the screen, 10 feet down the hallway where I was starting at a blank page. Wondering what I want to say. A blank page is nothing. But it's much more than I'd really like to state. I'm disturbed by the things I've had the nerve to say. I have been hurt. My words remain close to my brain, preferring to stay.

For others, I have no sympathy. I am so empty. And I hate feeling this way.

---EOB.

Your Life (Under Construction)

The choices we make today shape our tomorrows. There are rewards and consequences. Our actions determine which one of the two we choose. I've made long-term decisions with careful consideration. I have made short-term decisions with reckless irresponsibility. I know these things. I have lived this life. The decision will always be your own and responsibility for the choices you make will follow you for eternity. Thought before action. Anticipate each movement and moment. Weight options.Responsibility is required of you. This is your life we're talking about. Good or bad, you've earned everything which comes your way. I've made my choices. I have taken risks. I've reaped the rewards. I have suffered the consequences. And I have to live with both.

---EOB.

Bet You Can't Spit Like This

Only in my dreams could I be so smooth.

---EOB.

A Celebration Of Life

1954- Present

" I'll wait for history's judgment and not today's headlines."---Condoleezza Rice