Tag Archives: Poverty

Shelf-Life

Poetry, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
I was born with an expiration date,
hung from my neck,
stamped like a license plate
It was a notice to the world stating
Get what you can from him because he won’t see 18
He won’t make it to college, not through high school
And do not listen to him when he tells you these are his dreams
Because they’re lies, and whether he recognizes it or not
We, have plans for him
And those plans neither include a family nor a happiness
Because neither are sufficient motivation for him to comply with us
No! for us to get what we want from him,
he must be, broken, shattered, hopeless
And he must believe he is the one responsible for his condition
He must believe it is the result of, his, decisions
That he chose his position
That he had an equal opportunity with everyone else to do something different
He can never know that the wrong side of the tracks
was really red lines on a map
drawn down at city hall
That it was the National Housing Act of 1934
That laid the path for the rise of the ghetto,
urban farms, where it’s not crops that are grown,
but people, stock for cell blocks,
to subsidize markets locked
by inflation from free trade participation in a nation
that ain’t never done shit without enslavement
These are the things he can never know
He cannot know that poverty, like wealth is created
He cannot know that it wasn’t chance,
or a roll of the dice that planted him in impoverishment like cracks in the pavement
He cannot know that the ghetto is not inevitable,
that it is not unchangeable, that being poor is not a fate, not predetermined
but planned, scripted, constricted to particular segments of the society we live
Because should he ever learn these things,
then that is the moment we lose control of him
And we need a continuous supply of workers, strong, and ready to go
Who will accept never drawing a check,
never checking the drawing and asking,
did I ever actually have a chance to live?
Is having a shelf-life really living?
Knowing you are member to a group of human beings they call and endangered species, they, call me, an endangered species
I was never expected to live
Imagine the weight of a license plate like that
If it hung from your neck could you ever stand fully erect, would you perform to your best, if the best you could expect was to somehow slip detection or to die in prison, stamping the plates of future children who will be following your steps
How would you feel?
How would you act?
If you knew the system might have more to gain from your death?
 
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What is Really Going On

Black Radical Thought, Prison Abolition, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Street crime, drug addiction, and delinquency have been asserted to be the result of the immorality of the impoverished. Therefore, poverty, which is a human creation, that is, it is an institution which is being blamed for the depravity of the people in our society. The extension of this is that those who are most disenfranchised and without the power to influence and shape society are being blamed for the creation of the institution of poverty. Yet, there cannot be poverty if there is not the massive consolidation of wealth. Thus, if the object of the “Tough on Crime” and “War on Drugs” campaigns that lead to the development and expansion of the Prison Industrial Complex were really to heal the immorality of our society, then the most obvious solution given the underlying assumptions would have been to eliminate poverty and diminish the pervasive disparities of this country. This would mean that the best method and strategy to limit the harms that occur in our society is to redistribute the control of wealth merely beyond the threshold of their being people who are impoverished. It is not the case that people do not want to work yet, it is the case that many cannot afford to work because the minimum wage in most states does not even begin to permit a family to escape poverty. When a person has a forty hour work week and still has to rely on welfare to eat and maintain a place to live, and at the end of the month are still in poverty is the quintessential example of the creation and maintenance of a system of impoverishment. But, this solution has been rejected because it is believed to present too much of a short-term burden in exchange for a long-term peace and moral maturity. Those who claim to be the most concerned with the immorality and depravity of our society, and who are also the most responsible for their existence, are also least interested in doing what is necessary to solve the problems they themselves have created. Instead, to retain their comforts and privilege they blame the people least responsible and most disenfranchised, while expanding the penal code and criminalizing even the smallest infractions, that are then arbitrarily enforced by the police institution, to put these people behind bars to further fatten the pockets of those most responsible by increasing the prison labor pool.

Hustle for Life (New Hip Hop Music) by Renaissance the Poet

Music, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

(Lyrics)
Streets are alive
With the hustle for life
Man on the corner
with end on his mind
Jesus Saves
What you read on the signs
But its Hard to tell
from the scope of the lies
Death in the veins
See the truth in the eyes
Pray to the what
Watch it darken the skies
Rims on the ride
That’s the rich roll on by
Girl in the stoop
Beggin somethin to buy
Nap knotted hair
Bags everywhere
Life on the block
But the People just stare
No where to go
Why would she care
Nothing to give
She Filled with despair
Doesn’t wanna to live
never been fair
Always felt odd
That much has been clear
A little outta place
In the race, and the case
Is that rats in a maze
With their hunger ablaze

Will lose ever trace
Of the face that they had
Turn on each another
Till tummies turn glad
That’s a gun in the jack
He Pullin the strap
What he learned in the rap
Is the money come fat
What it mean to be Black
Is ya packin the stacks
Hundreds and fifties
And ya fast on the mack
Wagin, War on ya own
Till the gate at ya back
St. Peter at the entrance
With his hands on the map
Finally set free
From a Life long trap
He wrapped in boxt
hat never endin nap
To die a good death
What’s better that
If not to be rich
Then not to be bitch
Cuz cowards die quick
May live a little bit
But their image is shit
Ain’t got no heart
And that is far
From being Par
With the mark of dogg
Dyin BIG, livin small

A slave to the rich
Another turn snitch
Succa packin books
Gettin mixed in the twis
tHoles in his sneaks
can’t afford no kicks
Spent on tuition
His dream is a mission
But he missin the kissin
Doin math in the kitchen
Wantin out the ghetto
Cuz this gimmick isn’t livin
Never knew his father
nother man in prison
3 strikes hit him
& Sent him down river
Like he had a decision
A choice in position
Economy dippin
& Jobs been stringent
No education
teachers went missin
Like the rent, the food,
The Electric bills and
So, he hit the streets
With dope in possession
To keep himself safe
He was packin a weapon
Then sold to the wrong
Turned out to be a cop
That’s all it took,
Like that, he was gone

So, never knew his father
& his mother never home
He know where she be
But, never think on
Ashamed,
cuz of how she meets
The needs of the weeks
Bringin in the CHEESE
How she Pays the rent
Buys what he eats
Keeps him in clothes
Puts shoes on his feet
Roof over head
All the books that he read
Every thing he is
Is owed to what she did
she, Grew up the same
But, the game ain’t fair
Not, for a woman
Hungry kids in her lair
Then be surprised
That what she’d never do alone
Changes real quick
When there’s children at home
And a man will divest
His purse of the rest
Of his cash and his checks
For a chance to invest
& molest her breast
And shatters her pride
When it comes to the sex
The apex
Of her moral conquest
And utter Distress
she resorts to drugs
To quite the stress
At first, a means
To cope with the mess
But soon, She’s lost in the hell
With the rest
Strung out
Doped out
The end never come about
Needles in the corner
Dying all she ever think about

This on his mind
Hittin books on the grind
Doing every thing he can
To make a better life
But, times have been hard
He fallin behind
He doesn’t look the same
See the end in his eyes
When his grades start slippin
& The pressure up & quickens
begins to lose hope
he can make his own footprints
Stead of follow dad’s
Right into prison
The only difference
He had a decision
Not like, the man
On, the street, with the sign
Old age, bent cage
Near blind, crook spine
Denied, confined,
despised, resigned
display signs
But what it reads
on its only line
Silent
but The loudest Scream
cut through the ages
every fiber of being
This decadent, vagrant
Fallin, caved in
Misses by the system
Even though that it made him

Hopeless, how he wrote it
Totin despair
wishin that somebody care
Enough to spare
Time enough
To see what is there
On that cardboard sign
Scribbled in felt
A life of trouble welled
Spilled and dispelled
into 4 letters spelled
The surmise of his life
And the same is true
For everyone else
& The sign read
Simply,
HELP…

The Streets are alive
With the hustle for life
It’s easy to see
But, we like to deny
This hustle ain’t shit
& these people will die
They’re not like us
All they had to do was try
It’s not my fault
This world is contrived
rich above the poor
Grindin, riskin their lives
For a piece of the pie
Bein spoon fed lies
just the way it is
Underneath these skies

But, if I care, for my own
Then I’ll, be, alright
Cognitive Dissonance
Used to defy
Just-if-ic-ation
to cope with the lie
that the response we need
doesn’t require
People to rise
Open their eyes
Seek and devise
A way to revise
How we’re livin our lives
Marginalized
here is the end
See the truth in our eyes

Help, is what you
Hear in our cries
& not because
We’ve have never tried
But rather because
We’ve been denied
Consigned, front line
War on Prime Time
We fight, by right
To have, their life
Even if you make it
A crime

This is why the streets are alive
& This right here
Is a Hustle for Life

“The Real World” (Verse Two)

Music, Poetry, Politics, Rapolitic, USA, , , , , , , , , , , ,

In the realm of the Dream

Life is served on a palter

the work, it doesn’t matter

add-up, laughter come cheaper than Präda

Worries and Woes are absent

flaccid, pass it by,

with a  flash of the passion

but if you ask’em

how lonely the mansion

he’ll lack  an answer

cuz the fact is a phantom

holdin him ransom

runnin in tandem, droppin in random

arbitrary standards

magination damned him

cuz… this is the land of the real

Where hard work

pays perks, quench thirsts, and hurts

time bursts, through curse

and friends are survivors

Standing and walking the road there to shoulder

the weight of the burden,

defendin the verdict,

your struggle is worth it,

a hint is emergent

that hurdles averted

and, outcomes are real

tangible the feel

hold them in your hand

like them cards you have to deal

and you get what you’ve got

but have to use your skill

cuz nothing comes cheap

In the land of the real

 

 

https://renaissancethepoet.wordpress.com/2014/06/14/the-real-world-verse-one/

“The Real World” (Verse One)

Music, Poetry, Politics, Rapolitic, USA, , , , , ,

Livin a dream…

Nah, I’m livin the way that it is

Cuz there is something I’m bound to miss

If my head is up in the mist

Like a fist to the gut

fisticuffs

riskin to rush

cuz I’m missin the bus

missin her love

cuz I’m trapped in the lust

In the land of the lost

betta do what you must

Cuz… this is the land of the real

where cats squeal

caps peal

Bad deals, rap sheets, not rap deals

but real bills and missed meals

Where poverty comes with a blank, check

Where is the rent, betta make, that

Racial Profile, skin is BLACK

Cops they hatin, that a fact

hood they renovatin that

Gentrification, they phasin, balzin away the relations

raisin the rents to erase’em

this is the land of the real

not the land of the dream and appeal

not the land of the cream and the fill

but, the land they tax and kill…

Using the people, breakin their backs

to make them dollars in stacks

legal contracts

all been sealed with melted wax

Do I Doom My Kids To Poverty?

Diaspora and Apartheid: Study Abroad Research, Education, Ethics and Morality, JSIS/Hellenic Studies Program, Poetry, Politics, Rapolitic, USA, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Verse #1

 

I have to find a way to make these ends meet

I’ve got myself, my wife and three kids to feed

Now this wouldn’t be a problem, if there was work to be done

But the Dictator, confiscated, at the point of a gun

The resources, that we need, to keep, our families fed

And we’re lacking Agriculture because the Markets are dead

Not because we can’t farm, but rather, because these Subsidized

U.S. Industries, have straight up neutralized us

But Irrigation, will only suffice, if and when there is Rain

But now, we’re dealing Droughts, as one of the effects, of Climate Change

And we can’t rely on aid because that mess is a curse

And The Coups and Civil Wars for power make matters worse

My baby’s crying, screaming cuz she needs something to eat

And I feel like half-a-man because I am living in defeat

I’ve got nothing to give because there is nothing to get

But, do I Doom my kids to Poverty, or risk Escaping it?

 

 

Verse #2

 

Immigrating, is easier said than done

Cuz it seems that everything is set to keep us where we’re from

Passports, Visas, Customs, and on and on

And everything costs the type of Money we ain’t got

Our options for a better life are limited and dangerous

Trudging Deserts, crammed in Ships, jumping barbed and guarded Fences

Risking life and Health, to get at better Chances

Suffering, is nothing new, but here ain’t got the answers

My daughter wants to go to School so she can learn to Read

Cuz she wants to be a Scientist to make sure all can eat

But, that will only happen, if we make it to the West

And as her father all I want is to give the best

But protected, their Feudal Privilege, keeping us at odds

Walls to Separate us, Segregated by the Laws

So, yes it’s Illegal, and it’s Dangerous

But, Doom my kids to Poverty, or risk Escaping it.

 

 

Verse #3

 

So say we make it, beat the odds, this is what we’re facin’

Alien status, like we’re not humans from this race and

We don’t bleed the same when beaten for tying

To take advantage of Opportunities you squander, while lying

Claiming that you care, but don’t want us sharing

Land, Food, Work, or Health Caring

And instead make departments like the I.C.E.

And Detention Camps to stop us from being free

Where we’re tortured, starved, deprived of Human Rights

Forced Free Labor and Deported at night

Shipped back from whence we came, like, that is more humane

As if to say, we deserve the cards laid

And my daughter deserves to not be educated

My son deserves to starve, and I to live depraved

But there is a small hope that we just might make it

So, do I Doom my kids to Poverty, or risk Escaping it?

 

 

 

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GREED

Poetry, Politics, Rapolitic, USA, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

greed,

the mightiest force in the world

the only truth that I see

the only reality I can afford

head strong

a daunting scene

the death sentence that I plead

your lies wont pay my rent

nor mouths will they feed

bomb shells to sky rises

deficit to price rises

the cleaner the city

the darker the ghetto

the quicker to pull the stiletto

meek are the sizes our checks render

our bosses despise us

hello

expendable workers

slaved till they dirt us