Monday, December 28, 2009
Show: Ducktales (Whoo Hoo!!)
Infamous For: Creating the annoying yet
catchy "Three Cheers For Bubba Duck"anthem
which is currently playing in hell as we
Last Seen: Acting as a creative director for the ill-fated
"Caveman" show that even he refused to watch.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Some weeks had past and the tale of the elephant's actions had spread throughout the jungle.Creatures high and low had heard about the elephant's perceived act of nobility. He had gained so much notoriety that the loacl hunters belived that the capture of this beast would be a great accomplishment.
The hunters procceded to set an elaborate trap to seize the elephant.True to the hunters' intentions, they had succeded in capturing the creature. The elephant let out a mighty roar, hoping that any of the jungle's animals would come to his aid. Unfortunately, they all were too busy in their personal affiars to attend to him.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Pay Them No Mind Dear...
How can I not be in tuned to You?
Just look at your radio knobs.
And I've Grown Accustomed to the Fact
That Your Alphabet Only Contains 25 Letters
Because Someone Must Have Thrown Your D's
Onto Someone Else.....
I tell Her I Go For The Food
But We All Know, Their Little Chickens
Taste Like The Sky Fell on Them
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
By D.S. Williams
Maybe I was too occupied with being.... Preoccupied.
2 busy Wearing a Watch Made By procrastination...
You know the model: The One Where
One Hand Holds Back Years and the Other
Waves "Maybe Later"...
My "See You Soon"
Kept Being Pushed To the Rear,
Thinking That, that Space Would Never Be Reserved
Or I could Water That Wallflower
When I'm finished Whispering
In Other's Secret Gardens,
I guess they all fell on deaf fears..
Perhaps It Just Wasn't the right time,
You had Caught a ride with
The other time passengers,
Your scheduled departure
Was one Year ahead Of Mine,
Soooo, some planned spontaneity and a dab of
produced a rendezvous
of familiar strangers, i knew you,
but I didn't Know You? Maybe?
So sparks was just a flicker and we blew it out
Before anything really had a chance
to light, you back to heading lines
and me to figuring out that my purpose
Was never mine in the first place, pretending
To Soar while I still Had on my training Wings..
hoping i would crash into someone...........
Two accidents later,I saw you among sirens
That alarmed at the sign of Sparks.
Yes, Crackling spilled drinks,
Intoxicated revelations, DJ Scratches
And a fevered itch.
I inched my way to the budding
illumination, only to find out, that his watch
was working just fine and realized that your
union with him was yesterdays' news....
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
I for one have never been a big fan of the “fantasy” genre, to the dismay of some of my peers. So pardon if I’m not huddled in the small corners of random cinemas with the fellow Hogwarts on the eve of the latest Potter release. Nevertheless, while jotting down a couple of random lines, I noticed that I had created a skeleton to a possible fanciful epic/short story. I'm pretty excited because I never ventured to write a narrative in such length . It is quite allegorical being that it details the events leading to a ten year milestone that shall remain reticent. Hopefully, you can derive some meaning from this entry. This is basically a summation of the story, written in metaphorical pros of course. Enjoy…
PS: I usually don't say this but your feedback and personal interpretations would be greatly appreciated
I’ve been chasing a Loch Ness
With a Likeness of Myth like …Distortion
Strapped with an Array of Amulets
Adorned by Lady Luck every 7th of July
A Checklist of a Checkered Past
That Pass as Experience,
And a Vile Filled With Shards
Of Shattered Dreams That fell
From Climbing Tall Tales
On a Rickety, Makeshift
Rainbow That Needs Five Coates
Just to Appear Faded...
So Off I go, into an excursion of relief,
Taking temporary residence
In splintered cardiac lodges
Pumping through dissected lifelines
Its' residents offer their aid-first,
But I must take this trip alone
Off into a Cavalcade of Pulled Sirens
Flight Deficient Sprites
And a chorus of Pseudo Queens of hearts
That sing fractured fairy tales
Of Tainted Jewels Circumvented
With Enigma's Purpose (Sigh)...
Some of the nights were caressed with a colored lunar
And sprinkled with rose pedals…
Awakening latent abilities
Allowing me to Paint (Stroke) Paint
Pictures With the colors of eye sores,
Still, I saw that fragility still existed
So more swipes of edged words at
Vanity fairs carefully shielding the
Corrosion of armor while battling
Barons thought to be dead by
Jousted personalities left
Me on the wrong
Side of witch like ways in a world
Of what if wonderment,
Held together by the hands of twine
(Such a Brave Tailor)
I can’t return to a ravaged home
Constructed with punctured memories
I rather fill it with the next six months
As I arrive at ten years
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
I for one have not been sucked into the Drake hype, especially since I firmly believe that he can not hold a candle to the young west coast native named Blu. Below, there's a link to his track entitled "Remembrance of Me". Be sure to check out his album (Below The Heavens)
DS (Strength in Letters)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
We Should Really Catch Up
or (Take it Down)
I don't spend enough time with you
And yet you never complain
You just let me rest
Though at times you disturb me with your pictures
They are few and far between
Our language is silence
and other times grumbles on cue
In you we are all equal
In estranged familiarity
I just don't want to meet your cousin.....
Thursday, July 2, 2009
1971 marked the year that acclaimed song writer and performer Don Mclean released his highly regarded song “American Pie”. At the ending of each verse, filled with ambiguous pop references whose meanings have been debated since its creation, Mclean somberly refers to "The Day the Music Died". This reference describes the tragic plane crash that took the lives of the immensely popular rock roll artist Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper J.P. Richardson on February 3, 1959. Being that I was not even a mere twinkle in my mother's figurative eye, I could not witness firsthand the ramifications it had on pop culture. Little did I know that on June 25th 2008, I would soon experience such loss and despair.
I was returning home from viewing a mind numbing hodgepodge of a poorly developed characters, sophomoric dialogue and illiterate, jive talking robots in what some people call “Transformers 2: Revenge of The Fallen”. I simply will refer to it as "Man, that seven dollars plus gas could’ve gone a long way in this recession." Anyway, I turned on my radio only to be pleasantly surprised by the rhythmic sounds of Michael Jackson’s “P.Y.T”. After I shouted the exclamatory chant of "Aw Shucks", I proceeded to do my best set of dance moves that I had been practicing since the age of four whenever a MJ track would play.
Immediately following that song, another in it’s’ place followed, then another and another. While I was definitely enjoying the Michael medley, an ominous feeling began to come over me. "Why are they playing all of these MJ tracks?" I sheepishly asked myself. When I decided to change the radio station, Thriller was already on its’ third verse.The once glee filled nostalgic trip down rhythm review lane begun to turn into a constricted dead end street. So I turned the station, all the while privately coaxing myself into believing that this is just publicity for his alleged “comeback” tour. When “Man in the Mirror” begun to play however, my ominous vibes were now coupled with eerie provocations topped with a spark of denial. "No, no! Nothing has happened to Mike,” A message that begin to drown out the melody of the introspective track. However, when the song had concluded the VJ sighed and preceded to utter words I thought I would never hear, “Michael Joseph Jackson has passed away.” The words that followed were nothing more than jumbled, white noise. I sunk into my seat and begin to swerve, speeding as if I was trying to out pace the announcement. With each frantic turn of the radio dial, I vehemently searched for some sort of relief, revealing that this was a hoax or more of the media conspiring against my favorite artist.
I became stationary in the parking lot of my grandmother’s apartment complex. As I walked up her stairs, with every heavy step bringing me closer to the burden of proof, I could hear my grandmother confirm the news. I began to quiver and told my "Nanny" that I had to go. When I got back into my vehicle, I began to unabashedly weep. At first, I was upset with myself. I would always mock those who could cry profusely over the death of a celebrity. What great emotional connection could you possible possess with someone that nine times out of ten you have never encountered? For the next three days that answer became more apparent as I was trapped in an undeniable state of melancholy and mourning. I would steal away into corners so no one could see my grief, nevertheless it was quite apparent. In no way could I register that Superman had passed.
I have never known a world with out Michael in it. My earliest memories of music are embedded with his presence. My living room floor would transform into any given stage as I attempted to glide with an awkward precision that could only be alleviated if Michal was tutoring me himself. Sure I got teased by my other cousins, who were fully enamored with New Jack swing acts such as Guy and Keith Sweat, but Mike would always be the man in my book. For the past four days, I submerged myself into his music, connecting songs with postcard memories, weather I was arguing with my classmates in kindergarten about his musical relevance, asking advice from my friend Pedro about how I could pull off a show stopping rendition of “ Man in the Mirror” with assistance from our choir in the sixth grade (sparkles and all), exchanging verses from the Girl is Mine with my high school girlfriend, current confidant, into the wee hours of the twilight while reading her yearbook inscription quoting the Jackson 5’s “All I do is Think of You”, purchasing “Off The Wall” as my first ringtone or strenuously practicing Michael and Janet's'' Scream” routine in a dorm room, that lacked air-conditioning mind you, to entertain the incoming class of 2003 in one of the best summers of my life, Mike's music, which has been said by so many already, was the soundtrack of my life.
But Mike meant much more to me than just an audio cue for memories. Someone asked me, “How can you aspire or relate to someone like Michael Jackson?” I replied, “How could I not?” Michael rose from the confinement of urban decay and transformed himself into a transcendent entity that would touch billions of lives. But on a more personal level, I empathized with Michael’s struggles, whether it was dealing with and breaking the confines of stringent, barnacle like religious ideologies, feelings of inadequacy due to a battered self esteem fueled by an unhealthy desire to achieve perfection and acceptance, or the strain of artistic endeavors that are not quite understood by your contemporaries. I related to Michael so much so that my moniker and current stage name D.S is taken from track six disc two off his album “History Past, Present and Future Book 1.”So I not only lost my favorite artist, I lost a kindred spirit.
The biased media will do everything in its' power to tarnish someone who they could not control. Whether it includes ignoring his business savvy, glossing over his immense charitable works or misconstruing his attempts to discover a lost childhood, one only needs to look at history and the efforts of this hierarchy to discredit one who is an anachronism, so advanced that it seems that he did not belong in this time. Did he engage in behavior they may have been interrupted as questionable? Perhaps. Was it ever proven that he engaged in heinous acts of child exploitation? Absolutely not! In no way am I exonerating the vile act of child molestation, but in my heart of hearts I have always found it difficult to believe that such allegations were true. Yet, despite the treacherous, unfounded claims heaved in his direction, not once did he retaliate with maliciousness.
To those who harbor resentment towards this man for allegedly “turning his back on his people” ,I implore you to read the article entitled “The Source Remembers Micheal Jackson: The Humanitarian “found on the Source Magazine’s official website.* Michael has donated millions of dollars and time to such organizations as The United Negro College Fund, Watts Summer Festival, Transafrica, NAACP, Minority Aids Project, and the Congressional Black Caucus. When others turned a blind eye to the devastation and decay occurring in Africa, Michael gathered over forty artists from all genres of music and created the USA for Africa coalition. Through the song “We Are the World” USA for Africa would go on to raise over 100 million dollars for Africans suffering famine and disease. Beyond his financial philanthropy, one should also consider the social messages, be it blatant or subtle in context, that Michael brought to the forefront. He depicted Egyptian royalty as dark skinned beings in his “Remember the Time” video, spoke of the racial injustices in “They Don't Care About Us”, tenderly described his love for his African object of affection in "Liberian Girl", proudly displayed the athletic ability of urban children in his video for “Jam” and courageously shouted” I aint scared of no sheets" in “Black and White”. Mike has always been an advocate for issues that affect individuals in the Africa Diaspora. Perhaps it was we that turned our collective backs on him.
My dear Michael, you can now rest. For forty five years you have endured under constant and public scrutiny. I can not imagine the courage and strength it took to sustain under such immense pressure brought upon all that surrounded you. No more do you have to suffer attacks from the soulless hate mongers whose decency and love has been sacrificed for sensationalism and profit. No more do you have to withstand against the unimaginative quips of tasteless comedians and anemic artist. No longer do you have to yearn for a father because you now have countless patriarchs and matriarchs along with a host of sisters, brothers and children who will cherish you eternally. You are our hero, brother, friend, and artistic inspiration. In your song “Childhood”, you meekly pleaded, “Before you judge me. Try hard to love me." Believe me; loving you is something that is not hard to do at all… at all.
Mile's Rendition of Human Nature patiently plays
As the words become escape artist from a captive disbelief
I read the headlines until they were in arms reach
Trying to grasp what had been announced. ...
The sunken feeling delivered by the anchor
You had gone,leaving footprints on the moon
That we all tried to follow in our space
I looked away, stiffen lip as if my masculinity depended on it
But This tin Man Could Not Return What Oz never Gave Him
Rusted Emotions screeched as they had never been moved
like this before...
You were taking too soon, but later still would have been
too early.... (D.S Williams)
© copyright 2009 by Sherman S. Williams, all rights reserved
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
A Man Stopped By,
Broad Shoulders defined without reference
Adorned in Pinstripes that had a stringent Geometry
His tone, a chained banality
of rehearsed mistakes and familiarity,
He left a pamphlet folded with great compulsion,
I knew he'd be back....
1:35 Am 6/25/09
Like Shows Starting at 6:37 Sharp
My Train Of Thoughts' Schedule
Is Written in Crayon.
That's The Only Way
To Arrive At Such Colorful
I'm Usually Able
To Have My Cake
And Eat it Too!
I guess That Makes Me
One Smart Cookie!!
Or One Who Visits Bakeries
1:15 Am 6/25/09
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
(I wrote this piece for a Kwanzaa celebration back in 2006. Each performer was giving the task to create a poem that demonstrated one of the seven principles of Kwanzaa. I was given Ujima which means collective work and responsibility.)
Discretion memory at lit incense Sensed
Are we what to pretense A
Visions translucent is were we what for
Spells Dry quench to palms into soul out Pour
Acts Misguided in cast being from Sour
Place a without countenance, face out with eyes
Race a without those
Castaways on rely people jettisoned
Deaf the leading blind the like is
Mute the with speak to
Dosage of Collectivity helps us move forward
Toward self responsibility
Ability to add clarity to the absurd
And Make sense of what is backwards
Sensed incense lit at memory discretion
A pretense to what we are...
For what we were is chronicled in translucent visions
Pour out soul into palms to quench dry spells
Sour from being cast in misguided acts
Eyes with out face, countenance without a place
Those without a race,
Jettisoned people rely on castaways
Is like the blind leading the deaf
To speak with the mute...
A saccharin Unity, only sweat to those
Who taste defeat.A last meal I'll
Avoid if hunger pains remind me
That Our tradition of perdition is divine
Park Bench Abstractions is mere distractions
To Goals at Hand, wrapped around fingers
To Chop off headlines does not mean
That Body of evidence will not prove
Whose Guilty amongst innocent
Rather languid liaisons refuse
To translate the look of love
To Those who look away to Dixie land
Blindsided on straightaways
Graffiti On our Train of Thought
Is no different than specific Hieroglyphics
Remember Snow Whites Black Tops Crush
For Diamonds blanketed in molasses Fair
(Round 1 of An Old Rivalry)
Time to Embarrass a Wayne in a Manor (Manner)
That Befits he wears a mask
Two Faced My Letters
And Realize they were out numbered
With Utility, He Belts another Opus
Waiting for a signal that is as bright
As his concepts (Change The Bulb)
That idea is cracked like Jokers who inhale
Fumes from Smoking Aces
A second hand may be needed to hold fast
From Tripping Over Caped Fear
Still Trying to Fly (Eye C.)
Does Descents in Caves Reveal
You revel in plights of Morlocks?
Unlock with strands of Locks
Of Props for verbally weaponry
I have confiscated your armory
Tips are Rusted, Lance is Broken
In Bouts that are wasted in a one sided Verbal Joust
Perhaps If You trace over my S, you find strength
In my letters to draw to the conclusion
That My Impregnated Thoughts ..Kicks at Sides
While you look on the side for kicks
Whose lifespan is as long as your sidekicks
Sigh...Clips your wings as a new souvenir...
Bale (Bail) Out Now before you Begin...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I never could read their writing
(1/2) of their spiel cuts into my life lines
I’ll place them over the counter
To counter the temptation to count her
She outnumbers the population of a Prozac Nation
Their anthem pierces (4) Lobes at the sound of
Mumbling Morphine to curb Pain Seduced Stability
(8th) of the change acquired
By a 16 Year old running from chasers
Of (32) Milligrams and 64 Proof
That life does not turn on the (1) and (2)s,
(8) Measures is just about Infinity
Short of Heavens Height even
Finger Popping Pills to
Emphasize Drugged Points
Out of House of Ideas won’t lessen the pace
Of the gain of Migraine that stands out
Like a Rose in miles of Amber Grain
A thorn at my Pride makes this fall
That much more grounded
Instead I raised 2 (Fives) and a (six) year old
Ideas in Mars’ Backyard
So their altitude won’t come to a head.
Ached With Throbs of Entrapped Thoughts
Let Them Out….
No! Grudge Matches their Intensity
But I still Pin Lines against The Walls
Of this Parchment7-05-06
A delicate frame pictures me distorted through
A mirror image that reflects the past is presently waiting for me
Seen through double plated glass that means twice the distance
Why can't this tiny dancer preform on my stage?
For a party of one still lights two candles
Even though her flame went out years ago
Gawkers pulled the curtain that wasn't ready to call
Still sore from their bad reviews
Viewed through irises that have seen too much
So I stand in this crawl space reserved for none
And Occupy isolation's gateway
Accompanied with a repeated act
That 4 stars can't shine light on
You should be with ,instead of in me
Released through pros or silhouettes
That outline a script Ive read yesterday six years from now
Smeared on my stanzas that will always be tainted with your residue
I'll get a clue, when they prescribe it...
Until then, I think I'll cut the grass in a paradise lost... (set a blaze)...
(March 9, 2006) 2:14 am
Drawing New Conclusions and Inspirations
Without a trace of penetrating outlines
So I out line a new scope with strands
Of Sketches and shades of schizophrenic
Hues… In light of dark episodes
Syndicated for one’s amusement
Channeled through a makeshift conduit
Of Shattered Expectations Swept
Under the rug in the room of improvement,
I slept on its floor to stay grounded,
Painting my ceiling transparent so the sky can be my limit……
Those willing to be born again must undergo two deaths…….
One down….Life To Go……
So I've decided to fold under the peer pressure and create my own blog! Therefore, I officially welcome you the CogNegro’s Corner. Here you will find my spilled, unfiltered thoughts that hopefully will be pleasing to your pallet. The entries will include my personal feelings on life be it in the forms of poetry, contemporary commentaries, or just outright carefully crafted babbling. So now that the grandiose introduction is out of the way, let’s get to the art…
All artistic work has been copyrighted. Any duplication of work without author’s permission will be subject to penalty.