Occapella #3

I spit temporal lobe shit
you aint know but you know shit
life is a cold bore
a phantom menace
like the clone wars
I stay with vintage threads
like a thrift store

see I’m sick here
one does not simply understand me
Boromir

stay getting throwed like a catapult
might be the best ever but not
like Earl Manigault
my stomach is doing somersaults

but my soul is calm
I eat fire
and spit napalm

my mind a series circuit
but my mouth an alternating current
my fears mr. belvadere
they a loyal servant

hate? I aint never trippin
black dude out of place
like Lando Calrissian
but I stay glistening
even in the heart of darkness
need something?
I pull strings like guitar picks
I rap because its cathartic

and its never written
nasty but good
like some chitlins
I like beats that boom
like an atom splittin’
open your eyes
it’s hard to see the truth
when you squintin’
like running a race
when you limpin’
see I’m goofy
but I aint simpin’

my body is here
but my mind is in a better place
like a clown
with no makeup on it’s face

~C.B.M 

Slam Poetry ~ Celebrity 

Lime lights
infamy and peddled dreams
what say you
those who try to pedal the sky
vapidness rendered irrelevant
if you can just touch fingers with god
while trying to keep both feet
planted firmly to the ground
are you ready for change?
are you ready to record a revolution?
pucker gold laced kisses
and venomous disses
on some radio approved record track
don’t you understand
there is more than one reason
we’re all buried on our backs 
just leap frog the competition
there’s no such thing as too big for t.v 
life would be a lot easier
for you and me
if we just stopped thinking for a second
and listen
listen to the plastic faces
with ritualized personalities
and pixeled thoughts
listen to the oaken voice
of that announcer
telling us to come on down
and sell our individuality
for a prepackaged
satisfaction guaranteed
american certified
helping of normal 
imbue ourselves with the mundane
because hey!
everyone is doing it
look at us now
we have more Facebook friends
than original thoughts and feelings
more people following
Jamie Foxx on twitter than
who followed Jesus
our future is beneath us
half our country is more concerned about
staying on the right side of the grass
the other is worried about J.lo’s ass
can this really be human?
what about learning
laughing
being
what about
fame
loss
the game
is life really an outtake of Jersey shore?
or is there more?  

Freestyle over “shook ones pt.II” by Mobb Deep”

“Every Breath I Take”

“2 40’s and a Boombox”

~C.B.M

why does everything seem differently the same?
why do I cruise down the same pathways and avenues
expecting a change in scenery?
a different destination?
its never different
nothing truly is
here lies apathy
it worried itself life
siting on the same couch on its front lawn
more like patch of broken dreams
recoiling from the same sting
of the same whiskey it buys
everyday at 3 pm
winking at the same passerbys 
conducting the same symphony
in the studio of its mind
where is the afternoon?
lost somewhere between 
the beginning and the end of a gutted cigar
refilled with merry times 
and sutured by drying tongues
ashes of former prominence litters the ground
and it’s soul
there it sits
catching a change glimpse at itself 
in the puddle of its discontent
a pond of its own undoing
ignoring it’s reflection
watching its own urine creek down the face 
and into the slits in between the sidewalk panels
they’re cracked
but not as much as it is
thirsts whetted by the night 
memories emboldened by the sight
of stop signs and dead ends
four right turns 
and three left
that is 
the life we live
that is 42nd street
we are
42nd street 

Off the top freestyle over “Motto” By Drake featuring lil Wayne

“Nothing is a Clue”

2 40’s and a Boombox

~C.B.M

*Spoken Word*

-= Street Story =-

hopes, thoughts, and squanderings intersect
like the avenues and boulevards
behold the market place of souls
many have fallen
the new and the old
the brave and the bold
futures bought and sold
for pennies on the dollar
by the intermitingly corrupt
four right turns
the stop signs are eerily abrupt

hate is deft
ambidextrous
its all that’s left 
and always feels right
sinewy shadows creep 
in those inoculating city lights
alcohol; the vaccine
overflows from flasks and canteens

how Romanesque
what a scene 
the escalation of degradation
has never felt so clean
the purifying rush
the profane influx
of dirt caked hands
gripping rusted spray cans
trying as the can
to stay relevant
a steadfast reverent

calloused hands clasped steady 
head dipped in prayer
crying drowned in laughter
sound dripped soothsayers
relaying the youth
a pied piper of sorts
proudly feigning the truth
keeping the eggs or revolution 
scrambled
a divided clan
guns misfiring 
in a no man’s land
where do I stand

in a nation where guns pop
hearts and pipe dreams are stopped
gummed works and blood clots
where is my cathartic genesis
I need it before
my soul is seized
I don’t know what to carry for
outside of my parenthesis
Its all scary
starry
blurry
but I know
that this is just the start 
of this street’s story  

Off the top over Tyga’s “Rack City”

“Govt bread”

~C.B.M

Another off the top freestyle

“Doug Funny”

~C.B.M 

“Space Ghost”

~C.B.M

My Hood, My World

~Spoken Word

Chillin on the stoop
midnight pitch black
all of a sudden
braaaaaaaat

Some one screams out
ey nigga hold that
some how the voices
sound coal black

I’m a black man
that aint strapped
I’m trapped
this is what it looks like
when hope collapse

street signs
single file lines
broken parking meter
aint nothing fine

churches and gunshops on every block
like the foolish twins
romulus and reemus
one would hope that one gives hope
but they both give hope
and take it away
its false
we all hold gun powder when we pray
you can make a rosary out of bullet casings
that OG used to say 

blunt ashes to ashes
angel dust to dust
drugs are the material fairy tales
that we seek
but nothing is happily every after
so we live by the
once upon a times
cool cats with green backs
giving each life out of nine
to jump shots
crack rocks and pick up lines

Casanova with a pinch of tybault  
chasing a closeness so far away
rolling the dice playing nice
for a roll in the hay
look at the games people play
there’s no manual to that shit
its rob
jack shit
my hood
the world is going bat shit
I lost that feeling
I’m trying to catch it
and killing is the only thing
that match it

so lost  
churches and gun shops right next to the liqour store
its like paper scissors rock
one lover
one mistress
one paramour 
the glamour
the power
the respect
the violence
the hatred
the neglect
the -
the eagle
the tech
the nooses
around
our necks

my hood
my world
whats next?? 

 ~C.B.M