A poem written about loss, as I imagine it would happen.

Death Be Not Proud

poem, reading and cover photo by Marcellus Nealy

Jazzman (poem)

Trump Rally

Double speak in feigned squeaky cleanliness
Has become a burden they no longer want to bear
Because it is too hard for them to breath 
Underneath the clownish white hoods
That made their necks burn brighter with abominable hate

I sit here across the ocean watching dumbfounded
By the backward tumbling crumble of America

“They are not good people. No more political correctness.”

The code for “kill all niggers and the spicks”

How can this be happening again
Miscreants under the brutal baton of bigoted oppression 
They cannot make our country great again by destroying 
The path that led us through so much suffering
Fathers and sons dusting off the twisted jute
Testing the branches of poplars and sycamores
Sending the fallen to hang their heads in despair
And weep with me over the edge of our future’s horizon 

“Facing the rising sun of our new day begun…”
Only nothing is new and the sun is not rising 
Not raising in America

Trump Rally

Flowers for Prince Roger Nelson

You left me without words
in this vacuous place
So surreal I refuse to believe
Cannot believe that 1999 came so soon
Much sooner than all the moaning shouts
You did once upon that plane  
In your up and locked position

Electro funking super bad
Sexing music so cool
It made even you blush back to Jehovah
While we poured our wines and wore
Resplendent suits made of threads 
Loomed from your Melodic imagination

You might laugh at this but 
I was you for a while
Limp walking and smooth talking 
Poetic smut not denied by dogma

Hotel lobby magazine exploits, 
you understand
Were the dream of all charlatans
A celebration of life on this planet

(silence)

It’s just like you said
Sometimes it snows in April
I feel the cold lonesome wind
Frozen rain the color of amethyst and aubergine
Careening your figure up 
to where you once told us you were from
You might not know it now
Is what you said but

We knew all long ago, dear Price
We knew

Flowers For Prince

Flowers for Mohammed Ali (born Cassius Marcellus Clay)
by Marcellus Nealy

Early this morning I felt a quake
The rumble racket wobble shake
Momma upset cause it felled the cake
Hear that great tumble, Ali is awake

He laughed so loud the sun went bright
He smiled so big he destroyed the night
A monumental man in every fight
He fears no evil cause he brings the light

See him till you don’t and think it was a trick
Fastest of the fast the Ali is too quick
Baddest of the bad he carries a big stick
The man is so bad he makes medicine sick

Fists like thunder for the way they behave
He fought all the devils back to their cave
You can call him a knight never call him a knave
Call him a nigger you’ll be off to your grave
 
God’s got him now so hear the angels sing
Satan is scared cause Ali is in the ring
The demon has heard about his holy swing
How they call him the champ and call him a king

Yes he was the greatest on that we can agree
The float that he did his sting like a bee
He never closed his eyes when he needed to see
Every punch he threw was to set us free

Every punch he threw was to set us free

From our long oppressive plight 
From our five century fight.


Flowers For Muhammad Ali

Music and words by Marcellus Nealy
Guitar Yukihiro Atsumi

Shine On

This is a live recording of piece that was performed in Tokyo.  The recording may be a bit hard to hear.  I posted it as a record of the Tokyo underground's past.   

The performance starts off as a written poem "Ode to Music".  When the music kicks in it transforms into an improvised poetic odyssey.

This was my offering to the gods of music.   

Marcellus DN

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