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UrbanKore September 2015
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URBANKORE 1.4
SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 2015
MAHRYN BARRON
NATASHA RIA EL-SCARI
DENEAN WINSLETT JONES
TREY LOOMIS
BARRY MARCUS
TONY NAPONIC
CHRIS ODAM
THE END TIME SCRIBE
JOHN ISIAH WALTON
®
2
URBANKORE
SEPTEMBER 2015 A Note From the Editor
Welcome to this fourth issue of UrbanKore magazine.
My purpose in this journal is to help promote the urban art scene in
Kansas City.
There are no advertisements, just the art.
Enjoy and consider supporting the artists in this journal.
- Harold Smith
- 9/15/2015
All material is property of the artist.
All rights are reserved by the artist.
Reproduction or duplication by any means is prohibited.
5
Tragic Heroes
They took all our salvation in one hand,
Blew it to the wind like tumbleweed seeds.
They ripped our hearts out like the roots of weeds,
They tried to make it that we could not stand,
Pried us open and forced us to disband.
We had to find each other with no leads
While we were kept from going at great speeds.
They thought they left us hanging on a strand;
We don’t have to be the tragic heroes
When we are not the stars of film noirs;
Light is spreading underneath the nighttime,
Heat is warming the absolute zeroes.
There is time to handle and heal our scars,
And we can listen to the birds’ bright chime.
(This is an Italian sonnet with its characteristic rhyme scheme and use of a
contextual turning point.)
7
DO YOU SEE ME?
Thick chocolate lips separate
Anticipating the release of
I love you!
Hearts beat rapidly
Prophesying action that will solidify
All that we tried to deny
Temperatures rise
When lovers collide
In a sweet embrace
Body to body
Face to face
Sharing one love
Illusive of time or space
Making wholes out of fractions
Releasing chemical reactions
Brought on by intense passions
That run so deep
They prevent sleep
Keeps lovers weak
As they attempt to maintain
Normal functions within a love-sick brain
Omitting constant waves of love’s daze
Circulating thoughts of when
Lips meet
Hands intertwine
Bodies interlock
In a slow grind
Two hearts beating unto a grove as one
Sharing a love that must have begun
8
Centuries ago
For its depth and its soul
Lie immeasurable
Within the anticipation of every desire becoming tangible
In the here and now ….
There is a heightened inflection
Exuding the sweetest affection
Like that magnetic connection
Interfering with the body’s electronic transfers
Leaving us able to feel only pleasures
This love be like morphine pumped into the main vein
…..super vena cava
Releasing all pain
The mind
The body
The juices
Flow like hot lava
Within an existence that is both spiritual and carnal
Sharing a bond that rings affinity eternal
A love that evolves, defiant of convention
Not a completion of one
But of two, an extension
Baby, did I fail to mention
That I see you!
Yes Luv I’m not caught up
In what others say or do
Because that thing I love in me
I see in you
That spark ….that spark of divinity
That which makes you kin to me
9
I see
So as I open my heart wide
Preparing to take you into me
Promising to love you
Passionately
Intently
Within divinity
For all eternity
I have but one question.....
DO YOU SEE ME?
By DeNean Winslett Jones
10
Real Men Cry
.
August 31, 2010 at 12:42pm
with a sense of urgency
he called out to me
rushed towards me
collapsed into my arms
his weight threatening to buckle my knees
I stood strong for him
as he has done for me
trembling lips
palms glistening with sweat
the look in his eyes
I will never forget
as they begged and pleaded
for me to be all that he needed
in that moment
his pride and ego lie dormant
his heart filled with ach
his soul filled with torment
he clung to me
fingers clinching me so tightly
I could FEEL his pain
murmuring words I could not comprehend
as he attempted to explain
that which could not be explained
the magnitude and layers of emotion
11
he had been taught to deny within the notion
that men don’t feel
pressure building up so high it could kill
or force one to
like the guy who came up the block
pulled out his glock
commencing to pop, pop, pop
into the crowd
the voices in his head had become so loud
he viciously, senselessly, and effortlessly
took the life of another
a friend
a son
a brother
GONE
he had done nothing wrong
living every day to spin a song
encouraging others to dance along
within the spin of the record he’s gone …
leaving his brotha to grieve
so as he came to me
I prayed to God
that in that moment
I would be
all he needed me to be
as in my arms …
this MAN cried
12
Loving Him To Death
.
November 10, 2010 at 4:44pm
by DeNean Winslett Jones
The pressure and pain of loving him took over
Her heart felt like it would explode
Tears stream from her eyes, she whimpers
Curled up in a ball of regret releasing a waling cry
With a bold blade of reality she pierces her aching heart
Turning slowly to bleed out the pain
Glancing at the tarnished band upon her finger
She feels her heart sink even further
All the sacrifices of a rib unto her Adam
Yet of his love not one token
In oblivion she stares at the bright red streams
As life drains from her pointless existence<p> </p>
She lies there lightheaded, weak
Bleeding from every realm of her existence
Then out the corner of her weeping window
She sees him coming towards her
Is he coming to save her from herself?
To declare his regret?
Wrap her in the warmth of his passion?
Drench her in cascades of his love ?
13
His is so handsome, his eyes shine so bright at his image
Even as she lies dying, he stands selfish
Angered that she takes her own life
For he longs to continue killing her slowly
Within the threshold of death she still seeks to please him
Her lips tremble in an attempt to smile for him
He turns away in a grand gesture of disgust
The whip of his pride stiffened cape slapping her in the face
On the cold, hard pebble ground
She lie, eyes wide open
Watching him walk away
Loving him to death
23
But Brutiful
He slings his guitar 'cross his chest
And round his back
Dressed in ebony from head to toe
He is the man in black
The auditorium's filled with fans
Attention is not a thing he lacks
All the cable news shows cover him
Though it's just the fringe that he attracts
Sing a song of hatred
Sing a song of blame
Stir the audience to joyous rage
It's entertainment
But Brutiful
But Brutiful
Just the same
He looks a bit like Hitler
Especially with that mustache
And his Fourth Reich Band
Dances with a goose-step
And talk of racial clash
24
They sell records in the millions
The radio plays most every track
Some folks say this is the new music
Some folks say that it's an attack
Sing a song of hatred
Sing a song of blame
Stir the audience to joyous rage
It's entertainment
But Brutiful
But Brutiful
Just the same
Can I have your autograph
Says the fanboy to the star
I really love your music
Though I'm not sure who you are
The singer seems quite amused
He has a slight twinkle in his eye
Then he scribbles just one name
Adolph
The last name was implied
25
Sing a song of hatred
Sing a song of blame
Stir the audience to joyous rage
It's entertainment
But Brutiful
But Brutiful
Just the same
There's always a stage for the provocateur
Like a train he'll find his track
Where he'll separate
The bad from the good
It's his talent he has the knack
There'll always be target
Be it Muslim, Jew or Black
Sometimes we dispose of this phantom force
But don't worry
He'll be back
Sing a song of hatred
Sing a song of blame
Stir the audience to joyous rage
It's entertainment
But Brutiful
But Brutiful
Just the same
Adolf packs his instrument backstage
He lights up a cigarette
He tries to remember how it all started
But that just makes him all upset
26
Then in a flash the band is out the door
On to their next set
Leaving the oder of stale smoke behind
And the shadow of an uncertain silhouette
Sing a song of hatred
Sing a song of blame
Stir the audience to joyous rage
It's entertainment
But Brutiful
But Brutiful
Just the same
34
On Hoarding
Chris Odam
Down in the basement where the trash pile grows,
lives all the old stuff that we used to know.
One white drumset under a pile of aluminum pans,
old wooden things from distant lands.
An old couch resting home to bags upon bags,
once saved for cleaning, but now just dusty rags.
Clothes for a baby I still don’t have.
Old styles and colors that make others laugh.
But there is a pathway right down the center,
so Mom and Dad wade through as they enter.
I know they rub the past as they walk by,
the path ever smaller, their legs won’t lie.
I once the messy one and them the clean,
but when I call a mess a mess, now I’m the one who’s mean.
So down in the basement where the trash pile grows,
reasons are piled on reasons that nobody knows.
Must be purpose to keep stuff, like somebody in Haiti,
a man down the street, or a newborn baby.
But c’mon Mom, take this solemn vow,
let’s find the floor again. Soon, maybe, now.
36
Because your words
are the reflection
of your fruit
and the world
needs to hear
your seeds.
Be poet.
Because the cruel
harvest of politicians
has failed to yield life
due to their corrupted
fields that should
have nurtured the
roots of truth
to produce righteous
youth for which
the world hungers
but instead is starving
from eating all the
genetically modified
oppression offered
by outlaws in office
who conspire to off us.
Be.
Because to not be
is to violate your
calling and Jonah's
37
example should
well suffice.
Be poet.
Because preachers
are no longer concerned
about repentance or redemption
but pimping and living
luxuriously off the sheep
not to mention digging
deep in the wombs
of women and rectums
of children who offer
their forsaken souls
as living sacrifices
at pastor's pagan
altar for Satan.
Be.
Not still
but educate.
Be.
Not still
but agitate.
Be.
Not still
but organize.
38
Be.
Be poet.
Compose nuclear verses
to destroy Babel's twin towers
of injustice and hate.
Be poet.
Write with love &
indignation then spill the
blood of the pen on
word torn sheets
that have collected
metaphorical bodies
which fall fresh on
open mics.
Be poet.
Drop poetic
bombs in buildings
where it's occupants
repudiate human rights.
Be poet.
Swing your tongue
to decapitate serpents
39
Be poet.
Unload your artistic
arsenal on any insurgent
who has the audacity
to portray activists
as terrorists.
Be poet.
Punctuate the way
to freedom.
Be poet.
Indent paragraphs
to expand
the marginalization
of social engineers.
Be poet.
CAPITALIZE ALL LETTERS
TO BRING EMPHASIS
TO THE EXPLOITATION
OF THE INTERNATIONAL
MONEY FRAUDS ROBBING
THE PEOPLE OF THEIR SUBSTANCE
40
Be poet.
Grammatically
restructure the
dysfunctional system
of government.
Be poet.
Edit the ignorance
of the people
into enlightment.
Be poet.
Cast righteous spells
to correct society's behavior
with your verses.
Be poet.
Promote your propaganda
to win the ears hearts
and minds of the people.
Be poet.
Swear allegiance
to heaven's Kingdom &
humanity alone &
then encourage the
masses to be
41
Be.
Be poet.
Be bold.
Be courage.
Be real.
Be truth.
Be.
Be poet.
Be firm.
Be life.
Be light.
Be you.
Be.
Be poet.
Be now.
Be then.
Be change.
Be free.
49
UrbanKore is a journal dedicated to Kansas City’s urban arts scene.
Published by Harold Smith Jr.
Next Issue: November—December 2015