The prediction by Jessica Care Moore

Afro-Angels hide my weapons in tangles
Black Star Spangled, fragile like hematite with the East oils I write
Despite the lack of sunlight, got my battle boots tight
Now that the government's gone, can't tell your left from your right
Winged assassins laughin while the New World's collapsin
Mother Earth's ribs crashed in, armed with cowries, I'm blastin
As the Earth rebels my womb swells
The birth of Black Magic, savin my people force of habit
You can't find if you ain't never had it
Spiritually crafted black-listed hair-twisted ghetto embargo lifted
Power-shiftin comb-fistin I predict Goddesses you runnin after witches
I kiss my fourteen stitches
Keep all my baby girl wishes
I predict all the oceans turn dry
Not one baby girl will cry as you attempt to grow broccoli from the desert
We will take our pregnant bodies, drink from underground rivers
Wash your face between our legs
While recreating humanity, we will summon yemanja
Search for our fertility, ban all pink and yellow pills
Ban all pink and yellow pills
I predict killing fields of ghetto armpatch anti-Hatch
Hate groups will be bombed
Childbirth becomes outlawed
Always will be branded numbered and logged
All paper money is gone
The few scholars can interpret our scrolls
Your sky has holes
We know the young is old
Nastradamus tell us how the story gets told..

[The fact that this was written in 1999 is just amazing]

Farewell...

 I want you to feel,
but you won't touch me

 I want you to see,

but you always look away

 I want to tell you,
but you wont listen anymore

  So I'll tell it to the birds; And they'll whistle it to the trees and
the leaves
  I'll whisper to the fishes in the streams; And they'll sail with it
down to the oceans and open seas

  I'll sing it alone between the four walls of my humble abode; And they will echo in appreciation.

Still, I'd want to tell you.
But since you've chosen your path, 

then farewell
As you go down the longest road to nowhere.

 M. kinoti. J

Copyright.  May 2012

“Where there's, more hungry mouths
Than food to eat
It's where the homeless
Roam the street
Where broken glass
And broken dreams
Are shattered and scattered
Amongst debris
Sufferation wrath
And still they laugh
And dream of a mansion
Above the half
No one to speak
Upon there behalf
Now tell me do they stand a chance?
Where there's, more food
Than mouths to feed
Where you find those who
Claim to lead
Because of all their personal greed
They always want more than they need
They don't help those
Below the half
Instead they stand aside and laugh
As if it's all we'll ever ask
When will they make a change?


Children lift your heads
To the one
Who create the sun
My children
And your light will come shinning again
Show the world
Jah love is okay
When we rise and greet the sun
Lets give him thanks and praise…”

“Stand a chance” by Damien Marley

… of these minas

 
Ignorance is bliss.
So I stick to my turf,
being at sea, seeking peace in the silence.
Patience and confusion-unknown precursors of wisdom


Try and see past these words.
Yes, I'm the carpenter's son.
Yes, you know whence I come. But,
No! Do not wait, please don't wait to call me cliche


Sigh!
... Of these minas,
even the King knows it's not that easy.

M. Kinoti. J

March 2012©

My demons

Firm scribbles on a page

Thick screeches on a pane

The demons invade my mind,

And I long for peace once deprived.     

Smoke and escape all of it,

Drink till the sounds make sense no more,

Blaze then gaze as the sands of time trickle down; one grain after another.

But the demons can retaliate,     

For I’ve been warned against these vices,     

And I heeded to the heart that cares,

But more so because of pity,

For I’ve been misunderstood,

And will never be understood.

M. Kinoti. J

Jan 2012©