See some of my poetic pieces throughout the years below. I add new selections weekly, so make sure you come back and visit.
You hound me for my number like
it’s such a crucial thing,
but then I give it to you and
my phone don’t ever ring.
You say you gone so much ’cause you
just “handlin’ your biz’,”
but if your “biz’” ain’t playin’ mind games,
then I don’t know what is.
Been tryin’ to find you for three days –
you gone without a trace –
then got the nerve to call me from
your babymama’s place?
And oh, speakin’ of mamas: why
you still livin’ with yours?
A damn-near thirty-year-old man
still doin’ teenage chores.
Instead of goin’ to work or school
for some financial gain,
you spend your days with video games
and nights with Mary Jane,
but while you always have enough
for clothes, new shoes, and ice,
your ends don’t fail to fall short when
I just want somethin’ nice.
Keep this in mind for the next time
you wanna step to me:
a boy must first become the man
that he pretends to be.
(© 1999 Marcus Harris, originally published in Songs In Search Of A Voice)
I’m tired of always hearin’ how
you dog me to your friends,
complainin’ ’bout how cheap I am
’cause I don’t share my ends.
Spend all your dough on weaves and nails,
so how can you get hot
when I won’t spoil you ’cause you waste
what you already got?
I gotta have fresh clothes and gear
to keep me lookin’ fly,
’cause if I don’t, then you’ll just quit
me for a flyer guy,
and when I’m hangin’ with my boys –
which I know ain’t no sin –
I can’t be gone ten minutes ’fore
you page me to check-in.
You always think I’m tryin’ to creep –
like all men just can’t wait –
but just because the hook is there,
don’t mean I’ll take the bait.
Remember this each time you think
my life is yours to run:
already got a mama – I
don’t need another one.
(© 1999 Marcus Harris, originally published in Songs In Search Of A Voice)
Every day
it takes 18 years to smoke, vote,
see R-rated flicks,
in 21 we can hit the cut and
take a little sip -
but at 14 we can share cells
with 40-year-old Crips…
and how can it be
at 17 I can lose my life fightin’ countries
that never threaten it
to defend the one I was born in,
which never respects it -
’cause it lets me lose it at 12
at the hands of those sworn to protect it?
And it’s sad how
20 seconds of fun can cost us
20 years of pleadin’
while Wall Street brokers steal life savings
from grandmas who need ’em -
but dirty cops are the baddest crooks,
’cause they can steal your freedom…
how
do you change a rigged game
that’s been designed
to put adult consequences
on juvenile minds?
(© 2017 Marcus Harris, originally published in #snapshot)
We used to
reach for the stars,
now we just
reach for our phones,
so distracted,
so many reasons
to look down,
drifting, floating through
cyberspace,
lured by
hypnotic flashes of
artificial light…
When
I first saw you,
I felt like an astronomer
who discovered some
brand new star -
but
truth is,
stars aren’t new,
they’ve been around for
millions of years,
their light always shining,
seen everywhere else in
the universe -
truth is,
they’re just
new to us,
reasons
to stop floating, drifting -
like you,
reasons
to look up again.
(© 2017 Marcus Harris, originally published in #snapshot)
© 2024 Marcus Harris. All Rights Reserved.
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.