Ghetto Streets

I'm trying to find a warm spot on this Cold and frigid rock.

Even when the temperature is 95 degrees in the shade of the trees

the world is so cold my breath still appears like smoke before my eyes.
Its summertime in Chicago and the rural streets of the inner city ghettos are alive with presence.

The presence of black faces hustling and bustling to get it all done...

Short corner conversations...swift jive talk...I got to run.

Half Naked babies in soiled diapers making all that noise

Hot to trot with a lollipop gum popper... watching all the boys.

Rug rats racing to a circus melody for a cold and creamy treat. Laughing at Jug head, with his messed up face, sipping wine in the blistering heat.

Remembering the nights of dripping wet, sweaty, always ready to, “toss it up like confetti” goes the phrase, praising D-Jay’s, spinning Vinyl gold 70’s old songs, that kept you dancing all niiight loooong...

Then it all got Hipper as the floor skippers, tricked your mind with joints that Popped and locked, Avoiding the rails while Painting the tales of a new culture called Hip Hop. A transformation that came from the senses of  suppressed and repressed souls, bursting forth into life, like young birds taking flight but, beware , in a world, so cold.
But now it's the Jacker's, track stars and trappers, flaunting bags of  ill gotten gain. In the sharpest vines they pantomime to  life, behind the mask of unspoken pain. 


Most of them wanna get some trim, Walk hand in hand with a lovely slim. But lack the smoothness of the Ghetto Mack. Or the words of a Cyrano De Bergerac, so they turn to the game and hustling the Herbs, call woman a chicken head and cling to the curbs.

The Stones and  Disciples all meeting up... Better watch your step or get all beaten up. Flashy hand signs and cocked colored hats, lengthy hand shakes toting  baseball bats... 

These animals are territorial... and they mark what’s theirs in the black ink  and mind piss... even the sharks are afraid to swim in these waters. 

A liquor stores on every corner with folks just rushing in... Betting all their hopes on a lottery ticket and a fifth of Juice and Gin.

The concrete Popes and Bernadine’s dressed up in their Sunday’s best. Passing the word that goes unheard while other chose to rest.

Don’t they know this shitty city won’t pity a sanctified soul, or a scoundrel, lurking the streets like Bitches in heat, for something to get into or someone to eat. 

These are the Ghetto Streets! Be it Chicago, or Harlem N.Y., Watts California or the Texas Wards... Here stands the hordes, the impoverished masses all concentrated and camping out.

Waiting for the  new revival. Waiting for a chance to breathe, and live a life meant for a human man... a cleansing of sin and servitude... a chance to be a God once again. 

But here goes Ms. Jackie. Always on the porch watching Ms Jenkins...Ms Jenkins just wants to be Mrs Jefferson but acts like Mrs. Jones...because all she seems to talk about is the expensive shit she owns... Yeah just a bragging. Trying to make you feel all small so she can stand a bit taller. Got all the gossip on everybody too.But her real problem is, she can’t love a man right! So her emptiness gets filled with trinkets and the sparkly things. It will never be me and Ms. Jones.

To think I just saw the new kind of black man... amidst a score of black sedans....in my old neighborhood...Riding right down 51^st street ,President ass live in the Ghetto too.. Now that’s my kind of leader. 
His unique charm, is now the long arm of every tested black mans aim.

With heritage gone, the faint wail of song, and the ghostly clank of chains.

The road that took us from the plantation house to the well kept lawn of the White House... now runs straight through the Ghetto. 

Some of us have lost our way during this journey and some will always be reminded that, man is a thing so low.

And there will probably always be those that would gladly place you back in the barnacles that held you, in purgatory.

When the Man of Man, wasn’t a Man at all, but they say that's only a story. 

In the ghetto streets we live the hard knocks life. Where mistakes are your only teachers. We survive like rats and hide like roaches. Avoiding all the the leeches. Where the children play, and addicts lay, and hope is faint but present. Some prefer it still over Beverly Hills but Pleasant Ville this isn't.

The Ghetto Streets

by Levan Cold

Ghetto Streets are built of pain and anguish. The sorrows of a misguided people. but these streets can be rebuilt, a new road paved of character and esteem. One that will lead us to a brighter future and a promising tomorrow. My hope is to live enough to see us leave petty desires behind and strive to reach the highest calling of man. A future where we all can live peacefully and proudly and more Godly

Warmth in a cold world

This world has grown so cold that it is  likely man will force the prophecies of annihilation to eventually become our reality.

The war and pestilence scaring so many living souls everyday punishing the  people all around us like they were the ones guilty of all the sins of man. Children having no idea of what's it's like to walk in the sun worry free and stare at a bird soaring high in the sky above the clouds. The children have no idea why they carry the look of loneliness and sorrow  in their faces and the tears that fill their eyes. This child's mother maybe faceless to you and I but to that child that depends upon her for food and love, she is the  most important person in the world. Unlike the man that walks in the shadow of his ego claiming the tittle that is rightfully hers. She tends to the wounds and weeps for her child  who has lost both limbs to a land mine that  violently erupted beneath him. Leaving  his side she takes a moment to look from a window at the armored caravans and men with riffles and backpacks walking  up and down her streets like this place, she calls home, was theirs from the beginning.

An what of  these soldiers; that line up to carry out their master's agenda like trained circus animals  performing before an intimidating crowd of loud ruckus voices, that  have to stow away their fears and march forward..march on...bring home the victory in a  game no one could possibly ever be a winner. 

At home a mother tries to be strong, tries to ,"Hold it together"..while a stranger so  poised and gallant delivers  to her the news of  her babies  recent demise He hands her a neatly folded flag, his words echoing distantly  through her mind, and she wonders how this man could possibly believe this gift will replace the child she no longer has.

Has God finally had enough.. are the earth quakes, hurricanes and typhoons a way  of saying stop this.. I will have no more. Do I have to take someone away from ever single one of you before you finally realize how much you have. You have each other, what more could you possible need? You have love, to share with one another, what more could  you possibly want? 

You have the sun and the moon and the stars in sky. The trees and the ocean and the birds flying by. The wind and the rain and the boys and the girls.And the warmth of each other when it's cold in this world.

Why am I here?

The warmth has been sucked out me; like the air in the timeless, periled void of space, by the nature of man.
What's left is a shell...a shell of a man seeking the answers to questions that have probably plagued us since the beginning of our existence. Why am I here? Is that even a relevant question anymore? Have all the wonders of life and creations of man, simple not been enough to appease that yearning. What place do you have to reach, or rather sink, to even begin to really wonder about it. Do the wealthy in all there extravagance and luxury need to even know..do they even care, or, is the moment of now enough for them. The unknown may just be a  fleeting thought them in between the wine and champagne toast and lively dinner chatter. The envy and greed. The jealousy and hatred that is sometimes so common among those of means.

If the wealthy are to embroiled with trying to master every guilty pleasure known to man then maybe it's the poor like me who find or arrive at a  place in time. Who come to a point. Where the next step  forward becomes  an exhausting struggle and  such a force to resist you just simply want to lie down  and be done with this tiresome existence. Don't get  me wrong..I may be feeling a bit of despair and uncertainty but I  have no intentions of taking my own life. At least not today any way. I just want to know  what it feels like  to truly accomplish a worthy endeavor in life. One that I can take pride in and know that I left a mark on this world.Stained it's fabric so the memory of who I was will never be washed away in the raging river of time and I will be appreciated even a just a  little my contribution to our existence.

A few people I knew growing up with have passed away now. Some of them were pretty close friends and others I knew of we'll. Most of  them are younger than me and that has me thinking lately about my own mortality. What if It had been me? If that door to eternity opened for me right now, what would I,  leave behind. An sadly to say  if it was to happen right now today it would be nothing. On the other hand I have few close friends I also came of age with that are doing things today that I feel are very impressive. I will talk about three in particular. One an author, another an actor, and the final an artist. How many A's did you count in that last sentence. Growing up we were all fairly talented but none of us had any special ability that would cement a life of grandeur and reward. Fact is we were all pretty clueless, doing what we pleased and just trying to have fun while we were young. I think these guy all just began making their mark in these last ten years or so. Myself, I started to write and perform spoken word poetry a little before any of them had did anything significant. My battle with drug and alcohol addition took me to a place I nearly couldn't escape from. Ironically  like most poets, I was able to tablet my feelings and experiences and I began to share it with other people. I'm  not highly educated, and I don't have a large vocabulary but I think I can get my point across.Baldwin i'm not. My grammar is horrible but what is grammar anyway. In this day  and age of instant messaging and curtailed speech does anyone even pay attention to spelling and punctuation. IKR. As long a you get the meaning across. The intricate stuff is for lawyers and politicians right.

My first friend is Dr. Khalid G. Muhammad. Last year he published a book tittled: The Condemnation of Blackness:Race,Crime, and the contributions to Urban America. It's on sale now at Amazon.com. Khalid is the cousin of my next friend for over 20 years Robert Lewis Clark. Rob was always known best when we were teenagers for being a most exciting break dancer. He was one of the best in Chicago and thats  saying something but he quit and found other hobbies and never returned to dancing.Street bike,in line skating, Motor cycling and Chicago pro league football were just some of his hobbies as well as entertaining the ladies and his own particular fashion sense which to is indicative of his artwork. Yes today he is an aspiring artist. I just got  to finally get a glimpse of an exhibit  he  had on display at the Gallery  Guichard in Chicago last summer. It's funny, I will never forget the day he should me his first painting.when I saw it  I told how I felt about it. It was lousy  to me, but I'm no expert but I know what I like. I was honest with him because he was my friend. My best friend actually  I won't disillusion my friends like other people will do and allow you to not do your best because you think you did your best. I knew he could do better. He just needed to open his vortex and paint from his soul and he would probably  have a chance at being an artist. I'll bet you any thing,  today he wouldn't dare exhibit his first two paintings with his recent  works. I didn't like his painting and that's OK, however I never called him a failure or suggested he stop. But let me see, what I know your capable of. That's what friends are suppose to do for each other if their really friends. We'll today I'm very impressed with his work and glade he continued to paint and I  wish him all the best.

My last friend with who took up stage acting is named Andre Peoples. He recently was in an production in Chicago but I really don't have any more information. He say's  he's done a little film an he expects to move on to bigger projects. I pray for Dre. I love him very much. His mother was very kind when we were kids in spite of  our behavior and reputation. Dre's pretty self centered and conceited but that's never been a real care for me. I ate meals at his home when there was no food in my own. So I will always have a deep appreciation for Dre no matter what he feels our relationship is today. We were never best friends but we were good friends. The kind you could count on and turn to for help or just conversation. Most likely the conversation would be about him, or girls. I'm glad he's doing something he can be proud of and he enjoys. If he  wasn't any good I'd tell him so, but he's  very good and I know he will become a big  success in show business if he stays focused on his craft. So basically we all started to find something that inspired us and we pursued it. In my case however I fell  back into the thralls of addiction  while going through relationship problems with  the mother of my oldest son and that was the end of my career for the moment.

I look at  my other  friends  Malik Yusef who use to catch me  and my boys Hippin and Hopping all about  town  back in the Mid 80's and he looked up to us because we trying to  make moves and we was putting down real Hip Hop before Chicago even knew what it was. We wrote rap music but Malik started doing poetry. He was featured in the movie Love Jones which is  where most people know him from. Though now he's doing big collaborations with Common and Kanye West. Two more Chicago born artist from the South Side. I'm from Chicago if by now you haven't guessed , and a lot of these cats that are famous today was checking us doing our thing back in the day. They probably have no idea who we are today but I know the memories of us are resting  in  the layers of their sub conscious because wasn't many  people as real as we were when it came to expressing the art form. Nobody had the knowledge we had about it all because we had friends from New York. Michael Bellamy for one. Who had a brief stint in the NFL. Taught us every thing we knew about Hip Hop back in 82' and 83'. The real roots. When most people were still listening to Curtis Blow, we had the original Rap music from groups like Kool Moe Dee and the  Treacherous Three, Jazzy 5, and the Cold Crush Brothers. New York artist who began Rapping in the 70's  before a Sugar Hill Gang. Common even talks about the beef  he had with some of my friends in Hyde Park  on one of  his latest songs, one friend in particular who died a few years ago. Jason Hardy and his friend Keno. Bought  good rapper themselves self but not motivated to succeed. These were the kind of  guys I spent most of my time growing up and hanging out with. Wanting success but not having any idea as about how to achieve it. So we spent most of our time joking around, drinking and getting high as the time passed us by. I held out hope that someday we make a real effort. I'm still waitig..RIP JRu

I was kind of  a follower when it came to our business with music. My biggest mistake in life. Waiting on the next man to lead us to the promised fame and fortune. Never happened and the flame slowly  flickered out and eventually died. I still write a rhyme every now and then but I really suck at it now. Poetry is still my thing but after I won my bout with drugs it left me in a deep depression with heavy feelings of remorse and regret. I've just now diagnosed and started to treat my condition and to soon be able to continue where I left off. I've been clean now for  over 5 years but the years I decided to use were my best ones. And now  their  gone and  everything I wanted to try got tossed aside like old debris in a vacant Chicago lot. Actually, this is the first time I've written in almost five years which Is really why I'm going on and on because I want to see if can get back into that groove in the pavement and rekindle the spark and reignite my passion Spoken Word Poetry. I've got two books and a script to finish and I really want to nationally publish my Poetry Book I finished almost 8 years ago but have never took  to print. I don't look to my friends to lead the charge any more but I can at-least draw inspiration from someone who was close to me. Someone who was just like me. Some who made it which tells me I can make it also if I can just find the will to believe in something again. Believe in me again. Or maybe believe in me for the first time. Who knows. I just know if I  don't climb my way out of this ditch I landed in by the side of the road soon  I'll surely take my last breath in here.

So here I find myself asking that question I posed earlier again. Why am I here? What will I do  to separate my self from the instinctual man that I loath so much. Every time I see some ones shortcomings I see three more of my own and  it makes me want to turn myself inside out just so I don't have look at what I've done and who I've became.  The past does not exist and I know this concept is very note worthy but I cannot escape it nor can I  release myself from it's shackles and run like a freed slave to the promises of  hope. Give me back my squandered youth! I just want to yell that at God, but even I know it doesn't work that way and the action would be a  wasted effort.

I'm so limited  myself  it's really a task just  for me to accomplish anything. I have to muster everything on my own in order to get anything done. I can't trust anyone fully enough to assist me with any of my dreams.  My need for isolation also impairs me.  People won't consider you unless your present for them most of the time. People place so many  issues behind decisions to help people or join in on something  it's ridiculous if you ask me. Even though the knowledge that countless of  ideas that turned out to great achievements were first looked upon as foolish or not thought  worthy. Then later come to find out the idea would have or did become someone else's raging success. Just ask Steve Job. When  I  do need to turn to another for  the help I have to have it's usually just better if  I  tackle the venture on my won. My past relationships with people;and I say people because that is all inclusive and that's just how it seems to be, have done more harm to me than any good . So  goes the clich'e "If you want something done...etc..etc.".. With them,and I'm referring to my friends and family, I  can only surmount the tiniest of goals and fulfill the smallest of needs and usually after I call on someone to carry out a request. I end up in more trouble or further away from that goal then when I began. An so I fear people really...man is a  monstrous  aberration as well as the most  challenging  of all enigma's and  if I were any good at figuring out riddles I would commit an exorbitant  amount of time to figuring that one out for myself.

I am man! Man in all it's  fault and ineptitude. All it's shame and denial. Undeserving of grace and in need of constant forgiveness. Even if I never learn why I am here and walk this Earth until my end feeling unfulfilled because my calling never found me or I never discovered it, I know one thing that is certain. I want to help to change this world for the  better. I pride myself when I do humane things and I feel good so deep inside it's sometimes makes cry tears. I'm not afraid to say that. I want a world where I don't have to be afraid to express a good feeling. I don't have to feel silly about telling someone something that might make them feel a wonderful emotion as we'll. When did we lose ourselves so far in our ego's that it is looked upon  as weakness or girlish empathy,  to show my  true feelings to the world or to my friends,or to my fellows,  my comrades. Why does it create resentment in others when I  express my displeasure with actions I see take place that causes a place somewhere inside me to feel that  it is the wrong thing being done here. I'm not perfect  or so righteous I  don't commit these acts myself sometimes but I don't relish in it and boast it all  about. I know wrong! But, when I'm  forced to commit an unsavory act, or find that it's the easier path and I chose, I immediately have regrets and I feel all the shame in it and  I lower my head cause there is no pride for me to be found there. I know that has to stand for something.

Everyday I pay attention to, people I come in contact with, people I just observe casually..people who, don't even know I'm there and barely  even notice that I am around. I see them hurt each other. I see them hate each other. I see them tolerate each other. Pity one another. Fear one another. Family, or friends, even enemies and associates, what ever; those words are just words when we interact with one another.Those words are just empty tortoise shells unless we fill them with meaning. So sometimes I ponder, sometimes I wonder..and I ask myself. Are these people asking  themselves the  same questions I need to have answered for myself? Or is life just keeping everyone so busy that we don't even have time to worry about so  careless and as trivial a thing as that. Why am I here? Why are you here? Why are we...here?

Together so far apart

I can’t help but wonder about all the things you could  do for me. My heart is even more curious, because of all the things you’ve already done to me.

Keeping me wondering when we’ll met in print, I don't even  acknowledge all the second so spent. Not even caring of  the tasks so stalled, in wait of  your rebuttal, no time passes at all.

My electrified words reach out to you from so  very far away but, even if it were just a few steps, I could; in no greater  way, give my heart to you.            

We’ve never even met and yet I know what it is to dread being apart from you.

Could I ever even expose my soul to another once more?…I’m really  not sure.. but  I am curious all the more.

The scars run deep from the adultrosities and deceit. But somewhere,there’s someone who’ll once more leave me complete. She won’t judge a fool by what he posses. She’ll earn ever embrace and know often his caresses. She well kiss and be kissed and treasured ,this jewel. She will mold my heart like liquid ore, and strike fast a mighty tool.

If she can show me the way,like the legions of great women before, she will never lose my ear and the gratitude will endure.

She must know however, I  am like a child who was neglected in life. Still, even the roughest of terrains, can conceive of new life.

I share her passion to  give ear to the unheard, and the children left behind with their lives so disturbed.

A chance or two Is all some will need, yet some will still manifest thorns and suffocate dreams like weeds.

More care must be tendered too the  blossoming bud and set in  the direct sunlight of a heart radiating love.

This is how we will grow our children and watch them become a delightful bouquet of colorful flowers with so much character and immersed in virtue.

 My eyes have engaged your small frame and I can see that you have been strengthened by the struggle to emerge from the cocoon, like the caterpillar's last fight before it’s final freedom gives her the right to become a  butterfly.

In this you have you found the patience needed to love the deserving. Why do we love so much, the ones who are most capable of disappointing us so?

God has separated us like two poles apart , where one will end the other must start. The stubborn man will be the rock and hold the key that unfastens a lock. He will become the wielder of your stranded heart, with the ability to console... or tear it apart.

The other will be blessed with tender poise, gentle ,yet ferocious and capable of a mighty noise. The matriarch, her northern point, meeting  at the southern tip the two shall  become a joint. Becoming the essence of woman and man with the responsibility of life, in the palms of their hands

...yeah..that sounds real nice. Even if it is still only a dream... maybe one day..one day it will become our reality. My utopia finally. My peace, on this lonely Earth.