Poetic Pieces
An Image of Strength
Dedicated to: Antonette "Toni" Stroman (my sister)
You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity
Your focus of reality, moves me.
To be the that potential me, you see
You set the pace
Welcomed me into this place, this space
And feed me faith off of your plate
I watched from jump rope to hop scotch
you were real, taught me how to deal with the bullies on the block
So much, I owe to you, it's true
As a little man
you taught me how to stand on my own two
And through your creative stories and the pictures you drew
You turned our inner city blues
Into colors of new hues
I saying you turn our inner city blues
into color of new hues
You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity
Your focus of reality, moves me
To be the that potential me, you see
A consistent confidant
my older sister who wore beauty so nonchalant
Of course, I was devastated when the feathers of this guardian angel wing got clip
I questioned the universe and her meaning of it
Lord knows I cried, why, my sister get sick
By some unknown virus, call encephalitis… it made no sense
I am saying we survived the ghetto
Gangsters, pimps, and the puppet masters like Geppetto
As our family moved to mountains right next to the meadows
Than you get bit, sick, by a mosquito
Now I come to grips with my own meaning of it
Your coma, a cocoon
And I had to learn even in the dark of night, there is still the light of the moon
Spirituality sought, and god found
And the world continues to be bless through her art work now
You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity
Your focus of reality, moves me
To be the that potential me, you see
By: McTate II
Dazzled By The Notes
Hip-Hop is my culture
My love, inspiring hope
With words to touch nerves, being felt by most
Tech-heads to cutthroats, infants to old-folks
With perspective, introspective, worldwide, and coast to coast
Like a Urie Bronfenbrenner ecological approach
So, as my words float one can lyrically comprehend
Or just be dazzled by the notes
​
By: McTate II
When I Say Hip-Hop
​
When I say Hip-Hop, I tend to think of Planet Rock
Cause see I use to Pop-lock and blow up the spot
From here to Ypsilanti, by myself or with my family
I was the shorty of the crew and my age couldn’t band me
Back in 83’ to my was the old days
Use to battle at Loma Alta in the hallways
Where some had skill and still had all A’s
While a young Tracy Murray, was hittin’ J’s
that were lovely
So can you feel me?
It still be, that same old ish
I now grabs the mic flip the script, and boogaloo like Shrimp
Always down for the cause, I even use to Pause
With Run-DMC, Jam Master Jay, in my Adidas
Takin’ it back to the essence of the real Hip-Hop
When I was a little shorty and I use to Pop
Walking down the street with my new boom-box
Just a Man & His Music, like Scott La Roc
B-boying every chance I got
I use to break dance to "Tour De France"
In my parachute pants
Backspin and then I pose, chose, my B-boy stance
Broke it down and started “tickin’”
Like Mr. Wave and have ‘em trippin’
Up-rock to the joint, point, and catch ‘em slippin’
Cause there was no room in the cypher for kids who wanted chill
It’s was like, “brother you next, so you best show skill”
Still I walk the streets with that same pizzazz
Yet, instead of a boom-box, I now rock a pen and a pad
And on my shoulders my, little lad
Cause above all, now, I’m just a dad
​
By: McTate II
Dissonance
Sometimes, I feel as if my brain chemistry will disperse
Forget a one man band, I am like a one man universe
Where lyrics swing like “Big Hurt”
Insight enough rhythm in Steve Martin to play the Jerk
Fuck smiles, I often smirk, for in who’s eye do devils lurk
You see I run slang like gangs bang and now I am putting in work
In my mind to find methods to spit like AK’s
While yelling, “Warriors… come out to play…”
You see stress be mad fat, I have to tell Mack, “that a few brothers hate ya”
No need to ask why, it’s human nature
One breath, two steps away from beelzebub’s chambers
BAMM!!! and now blood flows like anger
Death is that double banger, it’s either satin or the savior
As for pain, hell no, I only feel the anesthesia
Transgress to other levels while yelling, “checkmate” while playing chess with the devil
Sit on a bed of nails, flipping the script, and sparking “L’s’
Collecting made props through laptop and email
In his land and now he is lost like “Chaka”
Drinking a 40 ounce of “Ol’ E.” calming to be the “Top Nocka”
I lie focused, chant, and adapt the styles of the locus
Walk through the valley of death… and not at all be noticed
As smooth words of poetry, entice, as I dip, deep into the mind and find space for me to flourish
More mystic than when scripted… Where gassed niggas, get sifted
Now, yelling, throughout my valleys… Commanding my souls, “to get with it!”
I can go on and on, writing in their blood, if the ink stops… You see, my souls been making music way before the fucking “Ink Spots”
I perpetuate those who pose fraud and fallacious
Fuck the “Source” you can read me in “Revelations”
My heart, bends, and twist… Torture, such bliss
As I corrupt and erupt like a cyst
Now, dismiss all thoughts that lie mortal… as I bottle of up your souls and toss your bodies out a porthole
Oh it shall disintegrate through force of detraction…
Pain, past, and present shall be you only action
Like a sitcom rerun… so nigga now, “what’s happen”
​
By: McTate II