Modern Thought

Modern Thought is classical poetry for the post-modern reader. It is a collection of present thoughts, actions and emotions in timeless poetic form. Author Jibreel Turner creates from his experiences in the inner cities of Philadelphia and Harlem, New York all the way down to the small Mid-western towns of Ohio. Turner conjures up vivid pictures of 20^th and 21^st century occurrences using the archetypal poetic forms of Chaucer, Shakespeare and many other great poets of the past. Classical merges with post modernism in the freestyle section of this poetic collage. Modern Thought is a refreshing taste of poetry in its truest form.

Jibreel Turner was born in Philadelphia, PA on June 17, 1979. Due to his Father being in the military he moved around a lot, living and experiencing many different environments and people. He gained the passion for writing while in College at Kent State University as an English major. After School he moved to New York City to gain writing experience as well as life experience.

Jibreel’s writing style is a blend between old and new. While having a extensive knowledge of the classical forms of poetry he expands on those forms in new and exciting ways. He pushes the envelope with a combination of dynamic imagery and smooth delivery. This young writer displays great skill in his first installment into the literary world Modern Thought. As you will see he has a lot to offer.

Modern: Of the current period.

Thought: Act or power of thinking; idea; deliberation.

The definitions of these words are not put together in the dictionary, or in everyday life. At this time in society poetry seems to be dead or at the least unconscious. There is a dwindling number of poets transitioning poetry into a modern mindset. It is time to move pass Patriarch, Shakespeare, Dickinson and even Hughes. Not to forget what they did for poetry but to take it to the next level. For these classical poets transformed poetry in a way that reflected the era in which they lived. However, times change, people change and so should poetry.

Today poetry seems to be an afterthought, a literary genre lost in limbo. Except for a select few, many poets are afraid to stray from the norm; still writing in the same form confined to tradition. Poetry is life and as life changes poetry should evolve. Poetry is life to a rhythm. It is reflective of a leaf falling to the ground, a car passing through a busy street, to a child speaking its very first words.

The poetic experience you are about to embark upon is rooted in the tradition of classic poetic styles and embraces new variations of the written word. So without further delay I invite you to enter "Modern Thought".

Pain

What’s up my young dog can’t believe you’re here.

You got shot, in my life that was my only fear.

Two years younger thought you would never disappear, now I see you here fighting and can’t help but shed a tear.

My young dog thought of you as my bro, now the doctors says your mom may never see you grow, into a man. And I blame myself for that it makes me feel as if I’m the one who got jacked.

We used to go places when I scooped you out the hood.

Jealous faces, but we thought it was all good.

We stuck together tighter than any glue, now I don’t know the next time I’ll talk to you.

It was like any Friday got off about five, payday so you know everything was fine. I came to get you at your normal spot, that’s when someone came over and said you were shot. One in the chest, two in the leg I couldn’t even cry. That night I walked the street with my nine by my side, thinking "they tried to kill him now somebody got to die."

I had a clue a jealous cat we knew from way back, so I ran up on him he fled and I emptied the clip. At long distance, then I saw his body stop waited there just a second then I saw it drop. No feeling of remorse didn’t care if he was the one, all I knew is someone just like him tried to murder my "Son".

I know two wrongs don’t make a right, knowing that another night it could be me but it was my little bro and that ain’t right. The saying goes "it’s always the good ones that die," but I swear there’ll be plenty more if my man never opens his eyes.