Dreams (Forever...Today)

Grand Canyon, AZ 1/2/16

I always dreamed of being someone great. Someone remembered. A man with great accomplishments, achievements, accolades, awards, trophies, notoriety, and fame.

I always dreamed of crowds screaming my name. Of having everything I could ever imagine. But as I got older there was… this resonance in my dreams. This void that could never be filled with the materialistic objects of this world.

My dream of riches, luxury and notoriety began to end with trying to drink my way to the bottom of every bottle; into trying to work my way through materialistic goals. Or sleeping my way through the depth of infinite loneliness.

I envisioned having everything in the world, with memories I couldn’t ever share. Because with everything I had, in every dream, it ended with me aging in tears, not just years and receiving care from people who just do it for a check and not out of love. It ended with me as an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die alone. With everything I could ever want but praying for death long before it ever greeted me. Sore, bitter and alone. With no one left to spill my regrets to. Just an old man who likes to sleep on the couch because beds are made for two not one. My dream became my nightmare and I prayed my dream to never come true.

But I met you. No, not like you remember. I met you long before I ever saw your face. I fantasized about you in classes when I was young. I saw you in college textbooks when my vision blurred from lack of sleep. I saw pieces of you in my mistakes of past thinking they would be my present but ultimately coming to the realization they would never be you. I saw you every time I closed my eyes in visions, no not day-dreams, because a dream never felt this real or kissed the way you kissed. I held hands with yours and our son who I can close my eyes and see now. The difference is when I open my eyes, I now see you. But when I close them again, I see us and our seeds to come.

Success to me is more than just legacy, its family. Everything I make in this world will eventually wither away, but I want what my dad has. A strong god fearing and loving family. I want amazing memories. I want stories that most will probably forget, some might never see, but that we will remember. I want to grow with you, mentally, physically and spiritually. I want my vision to become my reality. You now and forever more.

Will you love me? Even when I get on your nerves. Will you travel with me? Even if I wanted to go to the end of the world. Will you pray with me? So god can provide or give us peace through our every needs. Will you take care of me? When I am too sick or too old to take care of myself. Will you grow with me? Mentally, spiritually and physically. Will you marry me? Not for now but til death do us part. Not for just the years because the one guarantee we have in this life is that troubles will arise. Not for my hot looks because those too will fade but as my father I will age like wine not milk. Not for my charm and whit because those too will change as I age into wisdom and wise words. Will you marry me for me? For all that I am to be? For all that I am? The good and bad.

Will you marry me?


by: Moises Seraphin

SeeThruVision Spotlight Series

The book is still in the works. Trying to stop being lazy and keep writing. But so far....its good.

-M.Seraphin

My Jazz

(Press Play Before Reading)

"An ode to this music I love..."

I like my jazz…served with a cold side of blues brewed to perfection, drizzled with soul and pain; I like my jazz maimed. Cut in 32s of staccato and lip tongue action.

I like my jazz…allegro.

But you know what, as a matter of fact I like my jazz…slow. The kind of slow that requires you to hold someone close and dance toe in toe. I like my jazz to be cool and calm. To set the ambiance and tone for a suspenseful eve of crescendos  and a climax  to rival no other.

I like my jazz smooth. Entwined in the emotions one feels after a long day of pulling rhythmic bass stings or playing whole notes. Smooth like a brew of honey jack on the top of a piano. And it’s hard to explain how after hours of playing and drinking I can feel every single key. I feel the vibrance of every single note. Pure legato.

I like my jazz featured on the sexo… I mean the saxophone. The machine of the articulate tongue that works wonders in the right hands; alto only though because if I whip out a baritone it might be too deep. 

I like my jazz…nasty. Funked out of its frame just disgusting jazz jizz on sheet music. Full of Skeedits, DooBops, Beedeps Deedits, fat notes and dissonance.

I like my jazz to swing. I like my jazz fast, making me have to move my a** and double step to the beat.

I like my jazz to touch my soul and love me unconditionally. I like my jazz to mambo with a taste of Latina suction I mean the seduction of conversing with the gods.

I like my jazz Dixie and Ditsy. Or to give me a chant and cannon over and over again.

I like my jazz on trumpet. Because when lips touch brass it’s to only plays strong. And if you can’t handle the range there is a mute to soften the roar. The Weeees and Woaawoaaws bellowing from the cup.

I like my jazz to be manufactured my Mingus, Davis, Ellington, Parker, Marsalis, Coltrane, Gillespie and every other bad mama-jamma to ever touch an instrument and mastered the art of this music I love.

This is where you da capo.  (repeat)

The coda of this dedication to jazz is me allowing Mingus to finish writing this poem and keep on Moanin’.

You let the track play to the end and DJ, don’t dare touch the volume, stop or pause. You let this one RIIIiiiide out…..

-Moises Seraphin

Capacity to Love

“You”, “Her” or “She” can be anyone; any women deserving this kind of love. And if it is you...your seconds have turned into minutes and I pray the minutes turn into a lifetime.

My capacity; the maximum amount of energy required for me to love you. I once thought I had lost the ability to love. Yet soon I came to the realization my capacity just changed; my maximum just spiked to a prodigious amount. For a long time the energy required exceeded that of even the longest of lives. But as I matured my capacity changed once again; it decreased to a…modest amount. If quantified one could reflect it in the form of seconds… less than 300 to be exact. And my heart is the metronome and counter.

In less than 5 minutes I can tell if I have the capacity to love you. It’s always less than 5 minutes. It doesn’t have to be 5 minutes of observation all at once. Most of the time it’s cumulative. Its 6 seconds of me watching her briefly as I turn my head to pass her on the highway. Its 12 seconds at a stop light when I look over, only for 3 seconds at a time.  Its 2 minutes and 15 seconds when I am on stage at an open mic pretending not to be staring at her and focusing on her side of the room using my peripherals to keep her in my gaze. It’s the 20 second conversation we have once a week in passing.

And the irony is, there are many if not hundreds out there with the capacity for me to love them. But to date I have only met less than 30 of the few and proud.

I used to think there was a “one” true love. But I’ve come to learn there are far more anomalies on this earth; souls worth sharing the world with. And maybe I can’t give her the world but sharing mine with her should be enough.

There are hundreds of you, constantly adding seconds on a daily basis. The 4 seconds I can still smell your perfume after you leave a room. Even the second or two from imagining the silhouette of your body in my peripheral view. The seconds spent dreaming about…her. Damn…I wish I could show her my dreams.

And there are even songs that remind me of you. The figment of my fantasies and nightmares; the torturer of my imagination. The one that causes my heart to beat faster to cheat the clock in the rarest of forms; heart racing and chasing after…her. The imaginary girl of my dreams whose spirit lives in a few hundred girls; but only 2 by my skin and fingers count.

And the worst part is when she has been shown to be worthy of my love… Miss 300 with my chronometer for her now in the hundreds of thousands; but she is in love with someone else. Someone who never counted the seconds. Someone who uses another 4 letter word starting with “L”.

But who can blame him for using and abusing a goddess knowing he has her bound and can drag her by her aorta and pulmonary artery. And who are we to tell her she fell in love with the wrong one. And she…is afraid to admit, she has made another mistake. And yet my heart still ticks for her, praying for her release from his grip. And as much as I try my timekeeper cannot tick in reverse.

Enticed by curiosity at times I count foolishly with the watch on my wrist and not my heart thinking I can force myself to fall for something that was never meant to be. Trying hopelessly to tell my heart the clock is at 3 minutes and not 3 seconds only later realizing my attempts at forced love are futile. And that she, just as thousands of others will never pass 10 seconds. And my heart never lies. Because for every 10 second stare, 3 minute conversation and 1 hour dinner it accumulates a fair amount of wasted dollars, wasted energy and most importantly wasted time. So my heart does not play… even if I do.

It doesn’t play because of what is at stake. Langston described it in what he would do “To Artina” saying, “I will take your heart, I will take your soul”. And my heart is its key. The key to unlocking immeasurable wonders and joy, trust and interdependence, and maybe we can’t change the world but we can change the world around us. Maybe I can’t give you the moon, but I can take you to the stars. I can heal and soothe your battle scars and touch the inner you. We can have a covenant and begin a new chapter in history starting with our seeds. Hmm yes indeed.

But the question is… do I have the capacity to love you?

Am I counting your seconds?

Or just wasting your time.

-Moises Seraphin

Written while listening to:

Man I Am

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"Happy Fathers Day"

I don’t call my dad as much as I should. Occasionally I pick up the phone and think about giving him a ring but end up calling mom instead; and I’ve come to understand where my hesitation comes from.

Most don’t know but I used to be afraid of my father. Not scared like one is of odd insects or monsters; but afraid like the fear of God. Not just fear of judgment either, but the fear of disappointment.

For a long time I could never recall seeing my father smile when thinking of my youth. I only remembered the instruction, the discipline, the lessons, the arguments, the work and his stern face.  I remember spending hours learning scripture after scripture. Spending what seemed like my entire weekend cutting the grass, pulling weeds, cutting trees, plumbing, painting, fixing a car, or performing any other task that typically kept me from what I believed to be a world of fun. I remember playing football in the street with my friends and them stopping to look in the distance at a stern dark man with a machete waving and them asking, “Who is that”…and me answering them by saying, “I have to go home”. And for a long time… that was all I could think about when it came to my dad.

It took 21 years for me to have my moment of clarity. It was Junior year and by far and to date the hardest time in my life. I remember sitting at my desk, eyes bloodshot from going so long without sleep, emotions torn from another failed relationship,  mind drained staring at nearly 60+ pages of Matlab code and stomach growling from hunger. Never in my life had I ever felt so broken. And I already knew what my mom would say if I called. So uncustomarily I called my dad. He asked how I was doing and I said, “I’m alright, trying to make it” (Or something of that sort) and he abruptly stopped me and said, “No, you are blessed and highly favored” and asked me to repeat it. The rest of the conversation wasn’t long and I can’t remember anything else from it but those 7 words…were all I needed to hear.

I think now of what my mom would have said, and imagine it taking a thousand or so words before she made me feel better. For my dad…it took 7.

And I think back now to the instruction; my dad sitting at a board with me even before Pre-K showing me how to do math.  I remember the scriptures, him making me recite hundreds of passages, but always starting with Romans 8:16 “I am a child of God”.  I remember the yard work but him stopping the progress holding two mangos, or two coconuts and telling me I was doing a good job and showing me the essence of hard work.  I remember my dad and only my dad being at almost every Band Concert, every Track Meet, every school function, and even taking me to college.

It’s now through our conversations I realize the troubles I face in life have already been overcome. And his wisdom resolving those issues surpasses my understanding.

I don’t call my dad as much as I should. Occasionally I pick up the phone and think about giving him a ring but end up calling mom instead.  And I’ve come to understand that it is because when we stand next to each other he sees a mirror image of what he used to be, and I see the man I will one day become. And I am afraid of falling short and not being even half the man he is. My pride often forgets I can see into the future and answer any “what if” question by asking my father.

He is the man I pray to be.
He created the boy I was.
He molded me into the man I am. 

-Moises Seraphin

The Senses of an Untold Story

(Video from 2013 Nikki Giovanni Poetry Slam)

Shh, can you hear me? Hear me swinging? Like a child in the park on a warm spring day.

Shh… Listen… Can you hear the water below me; with my feet dangling above the Pear River?

Can you feel the slight summer breeze? Or that swinging…swinging …swinging; or what about my fear?

 From them accusing me of an unforgivable crime… Can you feel the cold cuffs slapping my wrists; Followed by fists and those hard batons? And my momma screaming…

Momma, she didn’t even know my name, build, hair type, height or weight; only that I was a black male. Pulled me out of the line-up …and said I raped her.

Shh, can you hear the grand jury? “One count Rape, Two Counts Kidnapping”.

And now I can taste what’s to come. That bitter taste… And It’s been 4 years and I aint goin’ out like Bobo. They aint gunna do me like young Bobo. That young Till boy didn’t deserve to be done like that. So I will fight. I am 23 years old and strong. I will go out on my feet and not my knees I will fight something fierce in this injustice….

Can you hear them, calling my name; Mack Charles Parker, Mack Charles Parker, Mack Charles Parker.

Those hooded white men are now at my cell and I tried to escape, I swear I tried, but I couldn’t and my punches landed nowhere in vain and now they’re beating me with their clubs.

Can you smell the blood streaked across the courthouse floor to the door?

Can you see them, dragging me into that car?

Shhh, listen close….and you will hear the gunshots into my body off the side of that cold road.

Shhhh, be quiet and listen. Listen to me swinging. Something like Strange Fruit; out of place and hanging off a bridge and not a poplar tree. (1959)

-Moises Lee Seraphin 

Breathing Life (Years Young)

Before you Read, Press Play above. 

Part of what inspired this poem...

Breathing life. One breath at a time. 

He was only…..He was only…years young. Because he was far too young to be any number of years old.

Dad always told us not to be wild. He said, “Don’t ever let anyone toy with your emotions. Because they will play with them until you are used and abused and eventually every toy breaks”. Dad said, “Don’t be stupid. Or go calling yourself or thinking yourself to be Crazy because eventually you will meet a girl named Deranged.” Dad said, “Don’t be wild.”

But he couldn’t help it. He was like Simba in his prime and he loved to roar. You see, the secret to his sanity was noise; Always consumed with being taken out of the world’s boxes. He stood out when surrounded by a crowd of millions…because he was the only one with a mic. And even if he didn’t have one, his voice would echo to reach every ear. He was a teacher. I mean, he could teach you how to love a rock. So what makes you think you couldn’t be taught how to love him. His words would resonate to touch every soul. And if he couldn’t touch yours he would take it, as if his name was Langston and you were Artina. And don’t think yourself clever enough to escape his grasp. His infatuation with the abstraction of a woman’s body surpassed all understanding. Because he would be that guy holding the sign for free mammograms with hands always ready.

And he was only….He was only…years young.

Momma always said, “Don’t bark at cops. She said shut your damn mouth. Turn that music down. Speak only when spoken to.”

“Because if they kill you…we will scream. If they kill you we will wage war on them, until the system changes. We will riot, and burn everything resembling injustice to the ground. We will march. We will fill the street with thousands of black men that look just like you. If they kill you we will change the laws to let this never happen again. If they kill you we will build monuments in your name. If they kill you we will fill churches with your friends, family members, and anyone who thinks you might have been a distant cousin. If they kill you will we cry; we will cry because you died. But if they kill you….you won’t be alive…to see any of it; any of what we have done in your name so shut your damn mouth, turn that music down and speak only if he doesn’t have a gun, my son.”

And he was only….He was only…years young.

Who would’ve thought you would no longer be breathing life. The victim of a premeditated murder; conceived long before being pierced with hollow point to belly button, nipple, nose, shoulder and leg shots. And silly of us to think we feel you; because we can’t. We cannot feel you. We cannot feel your pain. We cannot heal you; because we are not numb. And the pain we feel right now is unbearable. We are broken. And our soul hurts, because you were a part of us that’s no longer here. And no we can’t feel your pain. And you can’t feel mine because you are cold in post-mortem. And I stand here soul broken… enraged…hurt…building monuments and filling churches…

Because he was only…..he was only….years young. Breathing life. Only to never breathe again. 

-M.Seraphin

(Still about 3 more poems I havent put to paper. Losing my ipod I lost a many of notes. But I still have a few new things to post. Stay Tuned. Or catch me at an Open Mic.)

Stairway to the Stars

"A beautiful sight whether your on the way up or down"

What if you could take a stairway to the stars…

How much would it cost? Would it be reserved for those trying to grasp a moon for love cowboy style? Maybe it would only be for those searching for solitude from the anguish of a troubled past or present.

How many steps would it take? Would you be willing to take the trip knowing there is only one way up, and only one way back down?

What if you could take a stairway to the stars…

I picture folks lining the steps praying. Asking wishes come true before the night ends and the stairway disappears. I think of couples trying to prove their strength by making it to the top; hopefully together.

What if there was a stairway to the stars…

Would the top step be called hope leading to a diving board called love? And some wouldn't be told to grab a “trust” parachute before they made the climb.

I imagine the bodies falling by the thousands. And every so often I’d see a chute open. Just as long as they got the complete parachute that had a primary pull-cord called “reliability” and a secondary called “truth”.

It would be funny to see some falling with their chute searching for a cord that was never there or have it fail and or not have a backup as they drop into the dark abyss.

A stairway to the stars…Wouldn't it be a marvelous thing.

Being able to touch the heavens without having to strap yourself to a million tons of fuel. Yet the likelihood of surviving would be one in the same.

And the irony of it all is I would take a climb. Suddenly becoming bored watching peoples futile attempts at reaching the heavens and trying to show them how it should be done. I imagine climbing high enough to see the entire Milky Way. I would get so close I would feel the radiance of the lights warmth on my skin. So high it would be difficult to breathe. I would dive off and pray to land somewhere on the clouds. And hopefully be stuck forever gazing at the complexity of the heavens above; none the less satisfied and happy knowing that I tried to reach for them and came so close.

How amazing would it be to play among the stars? The beauty of vast galaxies; Distant; Unseen; Uncharted. Somersaulting off of love and praying to grow wings and explore, gliding down to try again, or falling…landing on a cloud or to an untimely demise. 

-Moises Seraphin

If I Was In Love

“If I was in love… I might just keep it to my damn self.”

If I was in love…I would feel this way. I would feel exactly like this….when she’s away; with distant memories haunting me of what used to be. As if it was a sick joke from the heavens above of what could or could’ve been. Like being touched by an angel and never being touched the same way again. And having to live knowing nothing you feel would ever match the intense moments of bliss. Damn if I was in love it would hurt like hell. And sometimes I would drink. I would pour my soul into a bottle to refill the anguish of having loved and lost. I would dance alone and reminisce on past moments wondering if they were actually my present.

If I was in love I would be tormented by being left this vulnerable; being jealous of stupid things. Like seeing guys that I think she might be interested in and hating them instantly. Saying, “Always trying to like this pic or that one.” And, “Keep your comments to yourself. With his no neck, Terry Crews lookin….No one wants to hear you sing lullaby’s anyway. Real lovers spit poems.” And I would hate his guts. And I would hate feeling this way about a stranger.

If I was in love…I would be purple in the face. Because love would be in the air and I would have to hold my breath. To not be engulfed with such a sad sickness.  

If I was in love I would be down on my knees praying, “If only I could love you, if only you could love me, if only I hated loving you, if only I loved loving you, if only we were in love, if only….” (*snap)

If I was in love I would feel miserable; because when left alone I would be powerless. Even if everyone else knew me to be strong, I would feel as if the void left in your absence was filled with kryptonite. If I was in love…

I would feel powerful; because our strengths would be intertwined in interdependence. And we would be unstoppable. We would have the kind of power that can stop the world; pause time; profoundly poetic and immeasurable. If I was in love…

I would remember that this feeling comes maybe once or twice in a lifetime and destiny is a matter of choice and not chance. I would know that your beauty is way more than skin deep. I would say things like “OuuCha and OuuNa” just because I liked the way they rolled off my tongue. I would scream it to the heavens! If I was in love…

I would marry you, you’re heart and your soul; writing vows to each to seal our covenant eternally. We would have kids; 2-4 of them. And I would pray to god to not have more than one girl. For fear that I might be taken out of your arms one day; for taking off my belt to some ashy knucklehead trying to be slick. If I was in love…

And you asked me to kiss you I wouldn't hesitate to. If you told me to love you unconditionally I would. If you begged me for my heart it would be yours. If you cried to share my soul I would get down on my knees. Because for once in my life I can touch what my heart used to dream of.  If I was in love…

I would feel…just like this. If I was in love…

I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world. Because the greatest thing I’ve learned is to love and be loved...even if for but a moment. If I was in love….

It would be with you. If….I was in love.

-Moises L.Seraphin

Sing of Freedom, Think of Love

From Kendrick..... (Freedom 3x and Crash Course*)

Written: March 2013
Completed: August 2013

When the lights shut off and it’s my turn to settle down, my main concern….promise that you will sing about me. Promise that you will sing about me.

I woke up this morning with this… thing on my mind and wrote you this letter so I could tell you. My mental is hurting and no one can hear; hear my pain and fears. But I remember you back when I was slanging, ganging, doing the things that I did, and making enemies every day and the day to day lives I took wearing my cold blues. But I have no one to tell anymore by you, the last of kin and the only one to tell my sins. You won’t judge me though my confessions, or those of my former weapon. Like that day I accidentally shot that kid; The one whose face still throbs on my mind and my mental with his blue shirt jeans and jays, holding that damn pig skin. He was 15, a scholar, a baller. Someone somebody loved; someone they will no longer be able to hug. And it sucks because at his funeral I blended in. And to my surprise I met his brother. His brother sat, sobbed and cried saying it should’ve been he who died. He was the banger, the once upon a time slanger. Yet he was the only civilian to see it all. The only one to view the lead pierce the soul of innocence. And I had no idea he could see what unfolded through the blinds and blinding lights. And I stood there trying to find the words; to say it was me. Through his eyes he cried and he wished it was he who would have died. He even looked at me right in my eyes. As if he could see through my soul, I felt cold as this 7 year old looked into the depths of my conviction, a victim of my hands; The hands that began to make it hard to stand. So I ran; Out of the tomb of my conscious and memories of sin; I ran. And I wouldn't be mad if it was he who grew up to slay me in the fashion his brother was maimed and pained.

And it hurts most because I know you are that to me. You are my brother and to this day I know that if he grew to seek vengeance or to get me I wouldn't feel bad because of the pain I would feel if it was you, and what I would do. I know years have passed from this memory of tragedy but lord knows I want to tell you more of my life on the police force and the memories of those lost through my negligence. Like my son and how he always asked for me to Speak to Him1 and how he…”Pop..Pop..Pop” (Shots ring out)2

When the lights shut off and it’s my turn to fade away, my main concern...promise that you will write about me. Promise that you will write about me.

(Shift) I heard the message you left on my girl’s phone. Aren't I the one that you dogged years ago and left solo sitting alone? Holding memories of flowers pulled to the last pedal, I began to settle and find something that made me sing… “Because…she reminds me of a girl” That’s Nothing Like You.  So today I decided to call you up on the phone and let you know that I hate you for all of what you did to me. And I will not let you mess this up. Because it took me a while to find the origin of my trust and lust issues, the insecurities obtained from a girl that didn't care, now saying she was scared. (Shift) And yes I’m speeding because of how mad I am at the flicks, flips, and stitches I now wear to keep my heart patched from your misery. I’m shifting gears unafraid of death; except the fact that I have been saved and healed by a new love, a new girl, my new world (Shift). Someone who accepts me for me, and has stitched me back one thread at a time with patience and love. And the nerve of you to leave a message on her phone, pleading and begging, trying to convince me to come home. Why…(Shift) How can I tell my new world that I still have feelings for another girl. I can’t because I can’t bear the feeling of losing her soul healing, and yet I know a void still lies because of something that was unrequited, a tragedy already decided. So I will drive until an answer comes from the heavens above or on this road on how to keep strong and not fold. I will wait until an answer comes for me to take control….of this situation and make a decision. But I can’t because of this turn; I can see my answer begin to unfold but damn this tight turn. My answer is that.... wait! I’m swerving and drifting, I losing control, and now all I feel is the car roll and roll and roll and roll and roll…..

When the lights shut off and it’s my turn to die today, my main concern....promise that you will think about me. Promise that you will think about me.

-M.Seraphin

*Still being written

Author Notes (To understand the history) 1. Read poem Speak to Me 2. Read poem Freedom Freedom Freedom

Poetic Knowledge "The Knowing"

"TEDxVirginiaTech"

I know why 4 times 4 is 16; because in the third grade Ms. Campbell taught me. Proving to me that 0 times 10 isn’t 100 and that teachers don’t live at school. 

I know how to solve all of our issues with education. I know because Lean Six Sigma taught me; how to maximize quality and minimize waste. Imagine if our educational system operated at manufacturing students at a rate of 3.4 defects per million. Using DMAIC, define measure analyze improve, control. I know because I’ve had a few black belt teachers. 

I know everything, and the only thing you know is you’re a jerk. 

I know why you are scared of tests. I know why you do not excel in school. It’s because someone told you C’s and D’s equal degrees but never told you there aren’t any 2.0 (GPA) jobs. 

I know it all. And it is because I am so poetically prophetic. 

I know why stomachs growl; because Ramen is more than an arm’s reach away and the McClone combo and genetically modified everything never looks like it did in that commercial. But the taste is always worth it. A small dash of high blood pressure, a few spoons of high cholesterol, antibiotics, steroids and meat glue. I know because I’m hungry right now. And need something that’s finger licking good. I know.

I know what makes you mad and grinds your gears; because Kony 2012 taught me. We get sucked into the current trends and forget all about the issues that truly matters because of a real nice video clip and a Facebook page that everyone likes but no one wants to come with me to start Fargo 2013 and I know more people in debt than with degrees and next time, we should occupy the highways.

I know why you sleep. Because of Mary J, or that needle piercing your vein and every other drug in your blood sang you a lullaby, the constant self-medication for meditation and why you survive by the backs of Law abiding citizens who struggle day to day and check to check from working their butts off.

I know everything, from The Weekend. Because I’ve been good since Thursday. 

I know how to spit a quick 16 bars, because the fact remains that your favorite rapper went to college. These rapping actors perform daily, “Microphone, Lights, Camera, Action, Spit bars about murder, crime and served time, CUT” then go home. I know because I’ve seen each and every last one of their degrees. 

I know that you can change a life with just a word. I’m not saying through conversation and phrases, I said just one word. I know of your thoughts of blade glides and contemplating suicide and I know that you could’ve been saved you heard just one word; because they weren't strumming your pains with their fingers or singing your life with their words but killing you softly with their silence. And sometimes that one word is “Hi”; sometimes it not you just passing by or being orally armed to do bodily harm, when someone is seemingly screaming for poetic justice. And if you can change a life with just a word, imagine how many it would take to change the world. I know because I studied a many of Words I Never Said and because I saw a million flashcards on YouTube. 

I know your problems. I know your struggles and pains. What’s inside your brain and the source of the rain in your soul that keeps your soul.... stained. 

I know why we have dreams, why we have aspirations and goals.

I know what you are capable of...achieving; because I've seen it in my nightmares and on the news. 

Think of what you know. 

I know a little bit, just a little. Like why most would volunteer to be a victim rather than a pay to be a success.

I know that if I set myself on fire I’d be a trending topic with a million views because the world would rather watch me burn. People would pay a lot more to see me fail than succeed. I know because I learned it from Mayweather, Mr. Woods and LeBron.

I know almost nothing. Or maybe just can’t remember. 

But I do know what you did. What your baby bombing I mean baby booming generation did. 

Because you see there are known known’s. There are things I know I know. I also know there are known unknowns. That is to say I know there’s some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknown’s. The ones I don’t know I know. 

I know why it rains. Each drop is that from the tears of those whose tears were never seen. Each crack of lightning is from the cries and screams that were never heard. I know because of Rwanda in 94’, Cambodia from 74’-79’, Darfur in 03’; I know what was done from 1933 to 1945. I know about 1620 to 1865. About 1865 to the present. I know because the memories of generations of pain cannot be erased and can be seen in our eyes.

I know the two richest places in the world. Sparkling with creative genius and talent. Actors ready for their Training Day, Composers that could rival Mozart and Bach, Billionaires that could’ve made their first million with ease, Authors with thoughts of writing books as powerful as a Bible, Rappers that weren't Ready to Die, but Live; because the two riches places in the world are the tomb and the womb. Souls with greatness buried or born within them. I know because Mr. Nugent said for me to “Fulfill my Passion”. And Eric Thomas said I had a unique opportunity to make my dreams become a reality.

I know why kids cry, men yell, and women scream. Because pedophiles, murderers, and rapist terrorize this earth and if or when they are not judged by what you think to be god, they will definitely be judged by mine. 

I know that I should have died a million times over. But I too had a dream and have yet to fulfill it, and am blessed to make it to this stage. 

I've told you everything that I know. I know everything....Which means I know nothing. 

Moises Seraphin

If Only You Knew

"If only...."

If only you knew,

That every morning I stand in the mirror flexing for a good 5 minutes, dancing to PYT and telling myself, “I am 5 foot 11 and a half and my muscles are huge”, If only you knew,

I used to have this dream. And I hated it because I would, walk into the bathroom, stand at the urinal and handle my business. But it sucked because every time I woke up from that god forsaken nightmare I had wet the bed, If only you knew,

That when I’m in the presence of beauty I start stu-stu stutter and look away to not be lost in her eyes. So instead I gaze at her waist and thighs, to not be sucked into her....boo...I mean beauty. And yet at times I fail miserably. If you knew,

I found the girl of my dreams and I loved her but wasn’t in love with her. She loved me more than any other but I couldn’t love her. And it sucks because the girl of my nightmares stole my heart damning me to never love again. I found true love but had my soul go cold and ripped from my chest, If only you knew,

That I don’t call my dad as much as I should. And I tell him its because I’m busy even though I’m really not. And I can never find the words to tell him he is my biggest hero. My icon... And I strive to be half the man he is. Showing me what its like to love god and all unconditionally. How to become a father, teacher, mentor, pastor, man and human all in one, If only you knew,

That my parents pray every morning for me just in case I forget.

That I’ve forever wondered what legacy I’ll leave behind and what they will say when I’m gone. Because I’ve imagined my body..... without life, If only you knew,

I should be dead 100 times over. Did you know?

I came out fighting from birth. I came out feet first with a cord around my neck...choking me.... and upon surviving hours of labor without drowning they named me Moises. Did you know?

In high school I remember a day when I was going too fast in the rain trying to beat the light and make a turn.. And my car skid into oncoming traffic and stopped feet from the others coming the opposite way who stopped....because the light went from yellow to red. Did you know?

That last school year I was going through hell. I could’nt sleep all semester...I couldn’t sleep. And the time I did...I was driving. The alignment in my car that always goes right went left and I hit the rail and didn’t go over that 50+ foot drop, If only you knew,

That inside of every manly exterior is boy who at times sobs.

In my vivid dreams I see things I can’t touch.

Sometimes I feel pain and it isn’t my own....It’s yours. I taste your trials, tribulations and pain. I feel your tears in the rain. I hear your screams in the back of my brain, and I write down everything I see in these poems, If only you knew,

At times I shred tears when I write because I feel every single word, If only you knew,

That there is a god... A god who has been blessing me every step of the way.

That I am blessed beyond measure and I spend hours wondering why me, If only you knew....

If only you knew....


And if you didn’t.....now you know.



-Moises Seraphin

Diversity

The Beauty of Diversity from t rashaad on Vimeo.

http://vimeo.com/36445765

Diversity is defined as the condition of being composed of differing elements. Just like variety with the inclusion of different types of things or people, diversity... Is what makes us, and by that I mean everyone and everything unique and special... Because without diversity, one cannot differentiate between him or her, I mean, this or that...diversity. Is what separates me from you, and you from me; the qualities of being tall, short, young, old, big, little, athletic, artistic and the differences in our melanin.

Because diversity...is beautiful. But our so called human nature struggles with embracing diversity and mold that beautiful word into the ugly nightmare known as prejudice. Prejudice...a preconceived opinion not based on reason and experience; followed by bias, detriment with prepossession, discrimination... and racism. Because the misuse of words like “All” perpetuate the cycle of prejudice. And the only way to combat prejudice is by embracing diversity. And we should teach others to reject all forms of prejudice and discrimination, including but not limited to those based on age, color, disability, gender, national origin, political affiliation, race, religion, sexual orientation, and veteran status. We should take individual and collective responsibility for helping to eliminate bias and discrimination and for increasing our own understanding of these issues through education, training, and interaction with others through our, diversity...which is as amazing as individual snowflake... as remarkable as a fingerprint. Diversity...different...yet beautiful. Diversity.


Moises Seraphin

Tears For Trayvon

For Trayvon 

Who mourns the boy you couldn’t see. The child slightly younger than you and me. Who mourns the boy that was scared and crippled by fear. The kid who screamed, but no one could hear. Who mourns the boy who spent his last moments in pain. The young one whose tears were lost in the rain. Who mourns he...That boy who looks just like me.

He went to the store. On the typical night he went to purchase the routine snack and drink. Never thinking twice....not thinking this trip to be his final destination. Ice tea and skittles in hand. Walking home on the phone talking to his girl, yet never imagining tonight he would leave this world.  And yet out of the darkness he felt eyes.  Eyes gazing into his soul. Eyes piercing into his heart. He was engulfed in fear and remained on the phone. As his assailant came closer he was stopped by a question. Heart now beating he heard,  “What are you doing here?” And out of the darkness he saw, what that question held. A weapon. On the phone she told him to run. And all that’s known was that he cried....he screamed for help. Only for his screams to be silenced. Silenced with pain. Piercing his soul with a chill deeper than no other and leaving his hoodie stained. He sank into the hands of god....he fell slain. And his name...was Trayvon Martin.

You can’t replace a life. We cannot go back in time. And there were other lives before his.... Manuel Loggins, Kenneth Chamberlain Sr, Amadou Diallo, James Anderson, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, amongst many others. And what do you tell their families? How do you wipe his mother’s tears when justice has yet to be served.  17 years old. Do you remember 17? The nights you walked home alone? Your trips to the store? Imagine if you were Trayvon....

And we combat injustice through action. We march. But I tell you...and I mean each and every one of you that I am tired of marching. Not that my feet have walked as far as Dr. Kings but because I thought I would never have to. I am tired of walking just as my parents were tired in the 1980s. I am tired of marching like my grandparents were tired in the 1960’s. Because they marched a mile so my parents would only have to march half. My parents marched half a mile so we today would only have to march a quarter. And we march today March 27^th 2012, so our children will never have to march again. We shed tears for Trayvon...that we may never have to shed tears again.

Because I too wear a hoodie. And I am not a criminal. We wear hoodies, yet we show no criminal intent. And to Mr. Rivera I say this, At night with a hoodie I look like Trayvon. At night with a hoodie you look like Trayvon. (Point), You look like Trayvon. You. And you. We are all Trayvon Martin.

And all we ask...is for justice.

-Moises Seraphin

If I had a spaceship...

"A Compilation of my Tweets"

If I had a spaceship,

I would be in Paris...Right...Now, if I had a spaceship,

I would go to Mars when Earth got boring, if I had a spaceship,

I would write poetry in the stars, go back in time and heal scars. I would say **** my damn car, if I had a spaceship,
 
I wouldn’t be eating Ramon Noodles...Right...Now. I would dine on Mount Everest and upgrade to Chef Boyardee, if I had a spaceship,

I would never feel pain, and never be without pleasure. Because I would never see rain, subtle tears, the anguish and stains, if I had a spaceship,

I would fly past the sky.....if I had a spaceship,

I would keep myself outside of the silly thoughts inside my brain, be released from my struggles & pains, if I had a spaceship,

I would be in love with the heavens above, and I wouldnt be feeling the pain of your heartbreak, if I had a spaceship,

If I had a spaceship. If I had a spaceship. Never mind because I don’t.

 If only....I had a spaceship.

-M.Seraphin

No Ordinary Call

Hello....

Oh, I didn’t think you would call......

 Yes I know, it is his birthday but.......

Well, I’m glad you did....

 Yea it has been a long time....and in the time I contemplated what I would say in the event that you called. I spent months wondering if you even cared at all...and what I would say if you ever called. I’m not gunna lie and say everything is easy because sometimes I break down crying.......

Why? Because of the joy of my seed. Holding this child in the highest esteem. And yet I know my deed is to hold he....because it’s only me. I know that this isn’t a home of three and it’s because of thee.....

Wait.....wait...let me say what’s on my mind...you’ve missed a lot of his life so I have to catch you up.

Because he almost didn’t make it to his first day. But the coach said it was fine because our child was one of a kind. One of the best ones out there.  And at his first game, he scored. He ran the ball all the way to the end zone. And, so what if he scored for the other team... in my book he still scored. Running over to me holding the ball with a huge smile...and I laughed and partially sighed. Because I knew soon he would learn to run up field.

And even before that. You should have seen what you considered less of a being, and his smile when I tucked little man in bed anticipating the morning. 

And you wonder why sometimes I cry.

Because he almost didn’t make it to his first day. Because I got off of my third shift late, and when I got home he sat at the door with his ninja turtle book bag on waiting. Waiting for me to take him to his first day of school. With no help it was on me, you see. It was on me...to take care of he....

Yea..... yea I know you were busy, but let me finish...because I remember before that.

Because he almost didn’t make it to his first day. Because on his first birthday it was his worst day. He didn’t want presents or toys he wanted you; and you? Didn’t show. You wouldn’t give him the time of day. And I should have known better because for the first 12 months of his life you were just a monthly visit to our seed, knowing damn well I couldn’t give the missing motherly love or even breast feed, didn’t give the time...not even dropping a dime.

And I knew even before that what it would be. You made it clear, way before that.

Because he almost didn’t make it to his first day. Because I saw your car at the clinic on my way home. I ran in there screaming your name, coming to find out you changed your mind. Saying you didn’t have the time for he; our seed.  Holding the documents and blood payment in hand, I said I would bear it all. I would endure everything but the labor pain. No worry for you. Just 5 more months. Only 5 more months.

And before that I knew.

Because it took two to make three, and it was you who skipped that pill and begged to be pleased. You wanted me to fulfill your need. And protection was neglected because you pleaded to feel it all, You wanted to get it raw. And my dick took over because it never felt that wet before. Blacked out when I busted because you were someone I trust, because he almost didn’t make it to his first day, of life, because I definitely had a condom in my pocket.....

Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t ask for your piece so let me speak.

And sometimes, I break down crying. Because of what was supposed to be our seed. Back then we were close. But as your belly grew you wanted to leave. You didn’t want any part of he.  Your dreams were bigger than me. And the day of my inception into thee was 9 months from his birth day, from his first day.  I was the 19 year old boy with baby, who had to become a man too soon. And I have fulfilled my duty as a man, I’m talking like Flex Washington from One on One, Tamera’s Dad from sister sisters, Chukies dad from Rugrats, Jack Baurer from 24, Alan from 2 and a half men, like Michael from Lost, I’m gunna hold it down and continue my responsibility as a single parent, and yes it’s our child’s birthday and I’m not asking you for a dime....or even your time. I just needed to get this off of my mind to restore my piece of mind.

And when you call back in the next 4 to 10 years I will update you again on what is no longer your burden. No longer your child.

Hello...hello....(“Click”)

-Moises Seraphin

Verses of Love

If you asked me what your name was when we met, I would have said beauty. Because Beautiful is what I called you long before you told me your name. And back then my two words would have been, “Good Morning, Afternoon or Evening” because I trembled at the thought of saying anything less than what I envisioned in my dreams.

You see, I spent hours contemplating the words and phrases it would take to make you mine, and yet in your presence I was speechless. I was mute, I rebuked every thought that came to by brain, I was frozen and pained in the sight of your perfection. And yet as we first spoke my responses came natural as if written by the most eloquent poet. 

But what you don’t remember is that sprain or the way my heart began to feel pained. You saw me playing it cool, but inside I collapsed at the sight of your smile. I was intimidated by your swag and your style.... My heart skipped beats from gazing into your eyes. These were just few of the emotions that jolted me on the inside. But this wasn’t the day I died.

You see, that was the day I came back from hours of dreaming, planning and bore the contemplation of grabbing a meal late or even having just a simple first date. And before you said the words “I will”, my heart stopped, and on your clock it would’ve been merely a few seconds, but to me it was an eternity. Because I asked as a joke, never thinking you would even possibly say yes.  Yet you said yes, and I felt the words running into my chest. I lost my breath....and momentarily I died. If you looked close you would see I partially cried. And yet more than ever I felt alive as I said, “Does tomorrow at 8pm work?”

Date number 1 was one I will forever recall, mainly because there was no awkward silence. I do remember being upset at that one comment, that one inclination that maybe you weren’t exactly the girl of my dreams and it was when you said you didn’t believe in love. Out of confusion I found the words to go to the word and show you verse 4. Because verse 4 was the beginning of our chapter, it was the beginning of our love and after god there is nothing above love. And as our night became the morning I remember your smile as I ended the argument with, “Well if you don’t believe in love, I have to welcome you to my fairytale”. And our night was complemented by a gift. I mean a kiss. Another reason to say I’ve felt the lips...of an angel. Followed by...”Good night”. Which was followed by your mother looking through the screen saying “OH Oh, sak gen la”

Through time you presented the quintessential picture of what a queen should be. Reflecting verses 5 through 7. Because before I let you meet my mom and dad, I had to introduce you to my God. And even though I know that I’m not that good, I know that I serve a good God. Because unconditional love comes from the one above and he is the only one who can teach me how to love you. I know that I am just a man, but if we stand on his word we can grow forever together. Yes, we can grow together forever.

You are my best friend and my sun. I knew from the first time that you cooked, diri sous pwa, bannann peze, griot ak pikliz that you were the one. And when I got down to one knee I knew you would fulfill verse 8.  Ever since day one I knew we would make it to day two......and there was no doubt that you would be the one to say I do. Because in you I saw 1^st Corinthians 13 and it was love. I’m taking from verses 4 to 8 with you matching everything God said you would be, because love is patient, kind, doesn’t envy, boast and isn’t proud. Love doesn’t dishonor, isn’t self-seeking, not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs, doesn’t delight in evil but in the truth. Love always, protects, trusts, hopes and preserves. Love never fails. And love...is you.

I’ve searched high and far for the rule book to love, but I’m afraid some of the pages are torn out. So with our vows we can rewrite the rules together. Just us, and by that I mean You, Me and God. So let’s rewrite the rules of love.... Starting from verse one.

Moises Seraphin

Stop The Noise

Began: Nov.2010

Completed: Mar.23rd 2011

Stop... Stop the noise throbbing in the back of my brain.

Stop the letters from coming together to say words I should have never said. Instead replace this noise with the voice of another. Because sometimes I regret the fact that I was pained. My heart was sprained... wait no it was maimed. I constantly felt cold rain. Poured my heart down the drain only to be stained with disappointment.

And this noise...still pains my brain. This noise echo through my mind with the words that I fear I can never say again for fear of tears.

All I want....is for it to stop. Because if it doesn't my brain will pop from the hot moments. The fire and desire I used to require. How I was inspired to be higher...and to dream. And it seems that in my dreams I still live in the fantasy moments of living on fake mile and seeing the fake smiles.

And yet even in my dreams I still scream because it was all... because of me. Supposedly I'm the reason it was never meant to be. Can you see....the noise? Can u see the memories of regret being thrown against my brain? Can you feel the blood rain of a heart that now cries and mourns the part of me that's died... on the inside. And his memory is being broken against my skull. The pictures are being burned in what once was a flame of something else.

Can you....stop the noise? Can you turn those letters into figments of my imagination?

Can you stop me from saying I loved you.

-Moises Seraphin

Speak To Me

*Disclaimer: This poem reflects one of the problems I see in todays era. Of the many...*

“Please speak to me....”

Because currently I have been ghost, and I have tried to do the most and still you all ignore me. Yes I may not be as cool as you but I swear I have only a little bit of swag. Yes maybe my stomach is big like a punching bag, or my eyebrows are so long you can’t tell if I’m sad or mad. But I ask you. Is that the only difference between me and you? Because granted I may not be cool, shit I may even be home schooled, but I am not a ghost. I’m not dead like a lawn post. I’m not as invisible as a desert coast. I once used to thrive. Damn I used to be so alive.

And it sucks because when you acknowledged me it would only be to whop my ass. It would be to pick me last. It used to only be when I walked alone in the rain; that was when the insults didn’t shoot bullets into my brain. Those were the days when girls didn’t leave my shirt stained...with a broken heart. The days when I was wet, but I wasn’t soaked. Days when I wasn’t the butt of somebody’s joke.

Every night as I lay in bed I cried...I contemplated thoughts of if anyone would care if I died. And one day I stopped to frown, damn... I broke down. In the pool of my slit tears I split my years of depression length wise, because I knew on the inside no one would care. And in my seat of tiles and shattered glass, I knew that even if I screamed...you wouldn’t be there.

Because, you weren’t strumming my pains with your fingers, you weren’t singing my life with your words...but you were killing me softly with your silence. And all I asked....was that you speak to me.

Speak to me. Just say a word to me so I can feel...something. Because right now the silence is unbearable. I can’t stand the demands of my mind. I can no longer withstand the time that goes by. In silence. Because you can save me. You can release me from my struggles and pains. You can keep me out of my own brain and the thoughts of blade glides and contemplating suicide. Your lips can be my cure. If only you would...speak to me. If only you would take in a breath and say one word, I’m not asking for a conversation or phrases I’m asking for just one word. And if you understand now why I cried and if you can now comprehend why I died, you should know you could have saved me by saying....hi. You could have saved me by not just passing by.

But you have yet to realize I am gone. You haven’t seen that I have truly become ghost. Because I now am what you wanted me to be, and as I speak and preach this from my stage of classrooms, hallways and school busses you....only feel the cold chill of my spirit, can you feel it....I mean damn these are my words, can you hear it?

Because now it’s too late for you to...speak to me.

Because you killed me.

With your silence.  

-Moises Seraphin