DEAR POET
Why you write that neo-surrealist
Intertextual quiltwork of untreated fabulation stuff
That seems to make no sense
And gives me a headache trying to figure out
Why brothaz like you
Mr Ronnie McGrath
Anthony Joseph and Sun Ra
Be complicating things
And filling our headz with nonsense about
The African Origins of UFO’s
“Breaking out the sky like the indelible mark of a comet
Like an ankh”
Like the “Negro of my features is as absent as the pharaohs nose”
The “Provocative lips of your colouring pencils drowning in a watercolour”
Come on, man!
What’s that about?
Lets face it!
You brothaz be getting praised
Be getting paid for Nothin!
And now white people be laughing at us
Thinking that we have truly lost our mindz in an
Outpouring of a perpetual search for the new
Thinking our body of literature is penned by four year olds in kente-cloths with dashiki patterns
Thinking our music isn’t really music at all
Just a sound texture in search of form
YEAH!
Thanks to you
Ronnie McGrath
Thanks to you
Anthony Joseph
Thanks to you
Mr Kamau Braithwaite
Nathaniel Mackey
Bob Kaufman
Amiri Baraka
Clarence Major
Darius James
Ted Joans
Ornette Coleman
Cecil Taylor
Sun Ra
George Clinton
And the most out-there of you all (if there is such a thing in your feral bunch of Gypsies)
Mr Lee Scratch Perry and his “arkworks of inventions.”
“I’m a toaster, not a boaster” indeed
Come on, Scratch,
What the hell are you playin’ at?
It’s 2007, MAN!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you all make some fuckin’ sense – PLEASE!
Ronnie McGrath
DEAR READER
PEEPle be sZtukk
In their wayz
2 mch telvizion
& a lack of imaginashion
Stopping them frm dreeeeemin
A mch Bettah wirld than
they con-sum-e in alcho-pops
And mair-I-warna cunvirszations of
How high they wir the weak/week b4
& how they cdn’t stop larfing frm the effekt of weeeed smowke
Stomach bus-sted open
twisted up
buckle-drunk on
krazzy ssshit powems
with ttwisted eyeballs tht cud’nt C strait
Their abstrakt thowt patterns
maykin them think
diffrently abowt themselvez
C-ing the worl 4 what it reel-y is
not perm-an-ent
or outside of clothes and L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E
Bt drezzed up↑ in texts
in the illuzion of what they call sense & lojjikc
in the illuszzion of what they call formula
the countrees of their mindz in need of chaos and serendipity
loosen their limbz & pass the peace-pipe
Dear REEDER
people
be stuk in their own shooze
their own clothes
wearin’ 1 pair of glasses
& drinkin’ frm their favourite cup
drivin their own karrs
to their OWN homes
to C THEIR CHILDREN
Bt stukkk in the lonely traffikk
By themselvz
Their musikk
An ipodic world of graate distance
Pluggin’ them into even more lonliness
Their roadz leadin to nowhere
‘cept from whenz they kame to go bck again
Mayke sense??????????????????????????
Ronnie McGrath
