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