Before I Die

Before I Die, I want to do everything that dead people do. I wanna be dressed in my finest. I want to tell my wife I love her. I want to write my final goodbye I want to say my hellos. Hello

Before I die, I want to find the secret to life, I want to find my secret. The one I buried the day I was born. I want to kiss my crush one last time, or several. I want to finally be the King of the castle.

Conversations

Conversations by Basil Jackson

Trying to play a little cover corner? (I heard those corners can get out of control!)

Hell nah! (Why not an heavenly YES!)

As soon as I find a Locks of Love drive I’m gonna do that, (Wait until I get lost in your first though.)

Is the Clemson game on TV now? (No, but I think you’ve watched enough TV for today.)

Yo anybody know… (I don’t know, but what does it mean ‘to know’?)

I’m not playing beer games. (I’m playing mind games tonight instead.)

We need to text people and see what’s going on. (Yeah, better to see what’s going on than what’s coming off. Actually, not always true.)

I got an email to confirm my first interview. (Oh nice, let’s all flaunt our achievements in the living room. Great stuff.)

Tryna get food dude? (No, I’m not tryna…. or fittna for that matter either. Besides, eating with people is soooo last century.)

I think he’s got a broken arm. (Meanwhile I think I have a broken spirit, but no one’s asking me about that.)

I didn’t do that but that’s interesting. (Pronouns on pronouns on pronouns. Cool.)

Umm, I’ve only read through the instructions. (Sounds like my writing class.)

Untitled – Spoken Word

As a little bit of background, this is a poem I wrote a while ago. Though most of it is a commentary on some incidents of police brutality, somewhere in the midst of the piece I reflect on myself as well. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.


I’ve been down for long – words to die by, or maybe to drive by

Since misery loves company, and if I’m gonna ‘feel some type of way’ then YOU, you coming too!

To the grave that is, cause shit’s never been graver, they trying to suffocate me like I was Eric Garner.

But it was success that I was trying to garner.

As if this was the least of my worries. People going down quicker than snowflake flurries.

Except they’re whiter than coal.

Like the fire that burns in my soul. Burned.

Now it’s just a glimmer, a glint, a flare.

But they’ve been keeping me out the winner’s circle for too long.

I started believing that I was a loser, not just a loser, THE Loser, a regular to defeat.

I was not just the effect, I was the cause of years of depression, of no reflection or inflection.

They had won, or so they thought, for I, I had a fire still inside me small yet —

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!”

And oh boy! Did I let it shine.

As my spirit shone stronger, my blaze blew brighter. but in return my rage rose.

Was it really a surprise though?

With strength comes power, and power, that all-intoxicating nectar, can sometimes leave us blind,

this time with rage, anger, and hate. but I wanted to leave those emotions behind.

If we let ourselves attack those who oppose us, than we become the executioner.

Violence doesn’t solve the equation. Yes, it takes a highly skilled practitioner,

To equate hate with peace, like one would west to east.

I wish I can change the past, I wish I can make everybody fucking happy all the fucking time,

but I kan’t, Imman, I mean if we didn’t have the past how would we shape the future,

how would we go farther… on this path.

I must learn to barter, not with money, but with my life.

It’s a shame,

Cause I’ve been down for so long.

The Universe

The Universe by Basil Jackson

I am just the Universe

I don’t feel struggle, I don’t feel pain.

I don’t have want, I don’t have need

I am just the Universe

I don’t read, I don’t write

I don’t eat, I don’t taste

I am just the Universe

There is no need for social interaction

There is no need for personal validation

I am just the Universe

Sex is not important to me

Money is not important to me

I am just the Universe

No one is my friend yet

No one is my enemy

For, I am the omnipotent, ever-being

everlasting, and ever-expanding, Universe.

I am just the Universe_and_

I’m just becoming aware of myself.

Random Poem I did in class

Lines flicker on the page, like the boots on the dance floor.
Do I keep typing this out? They will know.
Aesthetics never really got to me, damn I’m such a bore.
Can I aspire to greatness? They will judge.
I wish I could travel down to the shore.
Will I learn from my mistakes?
I’m cold. I hate the cold. It makes me stiff like a door.

I don’t know what to write?
I don’t how to write?
Does that make it less of a writing?
Or do they know the wrong from the write?

Poems that I did this weekend (9.12.15 – 9.14.15)

That Look by Basil Jackson

Have I seen that look before?
and lips and concentrated brows
and a late evening dinner?

Have I seen Mary, a changed woman,
Washing the garments of this man,
shiny as a new Mustang
while the old one collects rust?

Have I seen spots on your, vivid spots
with a flicker of muscles that meant:
we cannot stay here for long.

Have I seen Paradise in your arms
and men with lost loves, lost triumphs,
and you among the victors cheering?

Have I seen you dans la petite mort
teetering between loves and triumphs,
and to the friends you bragged to
to tell lies of conquest, expedition, and dancing,
of feelings, wine or Marvin Gaye,
any Hugh Hefner of action of the sort
marching on their way to such a small death?

Have I seen that graceful gesture before
trying to say with the jut of those lips
something the only wonders?
Did I see a late evening Dinner?


What is Average? By Basil Jackson

Everyone has their days apparently,

But that’s not to say I don’t have mine

I sit here and I think to myself:

Is this the day? Will I break this curse?

On the average day, the answer is in the negative.

On the average day, I refuse to rise to the challenge

On the average day, I sloth and shrink back into my shell

On the average day, I am merely a puppet to distraction

Yet what is average?

Even more, is this average?

Recombine The Averages by Basil Jackson

On the average day, I sloth and shrink back into my shell

On the average day, I am merely a puppet to distraction

Yet what is average?

Even more, is this average?

I sit here and I think to myself:

Is this the day? Will I break this curse?

On the average day, the answer is in the negative.

On the average day, I refuse to rise to the challenge

Everyone has their days apparently,

But that’s not to say I don’t have mine


The State of the Poetry by Basil Jackson

Wow, that poem was good.

Wow, that poem was really fucking good. It made me think about why we exist, that’s pretty deep.

Wow, that poem was really fucking good, it should be a story. It made me think back to a conversation I had last week about why we exist, that’s not the most entertaining thing to talk about but it’s pretty deep. I wish more people appreciated poetry in their own way.

Wow, that poem was really fucking good, it should be a part of a story. It made me think back to a conversation I had last week with my brother about why we exist, that’s not the most entertaining thing to talk about but it’s pretty deep. I wish more people appreciated poetry in their own way, rather than just shitting on the genre of writing. But man, if I had a quarter.