Modern Thought

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.