Asethetics of Ebony


     I was a boy when I crushed on jazz music and the importance of your energy when you enter a room. It manifested into a girl who was the muse of Sidney Poitier, Billie Dee Williams, Denzel Washington and Chadwick Boseman’s first love letter. Renaissance like sentiments instrument to her bible. I invested into the mind of  the teenager finessing preachers since slavery.  Brown sugar, copper


skin, magic and everything nice seems bit cliché, but hey I grew up around the music that influenced you and the version of you create. Been on a consistent vibration since I met you and it’s liberated me more than freedom from a matrix Amerikka pimping young minds to believe is tangible.

You knows she’s a black woman baduizm rubbing off her words, voodoo loud in silence. What boy doesn’t fall in love with attributes of his mother before retracting to fly into the unknown. You’ve been home Lemiert Park, and Harlem New York, brownstone vibe take a peak inside. Head wraps, intellect, vinyl record player, bourbon and Do the right thing posters. I fuck with you sista out there influencing the chakras shaping the limitation of a hurricane inspiring a man’s method in shaolin.

WU Tang forever! Right within the depths of protection and praise. My children will look to you as the face, of divine intervention that restored their King’s fragments until the ligaments reattached themselves. Detached himself, from things I can’t control, I am enough in soul, I’m ready for war. People aren’t obligated to stay but you have responsibility

36040997_2202457879769574_2479960240364191744_nto be fire regardless to humanity’s commitment to misunderstand light. That’s why I fuck with you. The right amount of Elegance, intellectual seduction, African Pride and the right amount of arrogance. Will always be appreciated like the adorn for sun to provide light, you taught me the game as a boy and I fell in love with the notion of black women. Chameleon of black culture and a hip hop classic storing energy into cracks of my frame. To my best friend you were hip hop the day I met you and you always will be.


Sentimental Mood


I am an earth type of being 36698401_2223063297709032_6357794668989644800_nbut I am attracted to the light in your fire. A  beauty that devours sight each time you experience her.  Look how beautiful you become when you lose control. I’m not sure how you could possibly complement my life but good gracious God this attraction is becoming radiant. I am sure senses multiply when she reaches her peak.

The sway in curves, moist in lips, glow in melanin and freedom in the mind. You see in order to welcome such glory into existence depth is the only way to connect. Is it sinful to wonder about her inner G? Seed of the earth rooted in fruits hand-picked by Shaku Zulu because earth is my element.

Shaking legs to walk towards admitting you look good when you are comfortable. A vibe that might exceed rhythm I wonder why is their so much depth in your surface. could it be purpose? That I paint beautiful things about canvas I shouldn’t be creating. Lord forgive me for this 1930s scenario of New York Romanticism shadowing pages in a journal. Night walks through central park, dancing in silence visible to your glow. Do I deserve damnation for the novels of these idols I have painted? I’m only inspired.

However this phoenix has been robbing me of personal attention by simply being fire. The shadow simplifies ligaments of an old soul dancing around this aurora. When she walks across the room you got to watch her in silence because heaven’s view of her curves shifts nature without warning. I bet night seems like forever when shorty disconnects from you.

Frankly speaking, I feel a little nervous about appreciating the art f99d8ae58cb488dd3b865c460d0789d0bollowing this vibe. I broke the code giving life these ideas. Relationship with an addiction to paint beautiful things despite what abstract form it takes. Is she in a position to really receive the praise of her copper skin, smile, and energy when shorty glides across the room without question? I’m starting to believe the hypocrite is me because maybe I’m not a virgin to this destination I’m placing on paper. Dear Poetry I have seen you before. I was a boy with a curiosity but I am a lengthy Black King who stops to appreciate fine things.


Josef Writes


Her name was Peanut

kay     A gypsy put me onto some information that elevated the confines of reality society created for me. We are two different variations of black but when our worlds meet they collide like two spirits astral projecting back into the same host. I’ve never experienced oxygen outside her space since I experienced depths in her eyes. Light years of knowledge just taking up storage yet so eager to share. Fashion music in silence surrounded by violence baby I’m fluent too. Influenced by you I speak in the tongues of our Mother Africa like sounds of Congo drums supporting visions of the Serengeti. Moonlight serenading electricity between the two defying any gravitational pull. Thunder doesn’t strike twice is a metaphor God used to paint you into my blueprint as the one for me. Revolutionaries envy the soil of my flesh for you have been the beacon of progress enveloped as a human entity. Your soul gives off smoke signals as I kiss your third eye cause it’s no lie in your fire. I am your protector however you looked me deeply just to say that you were there to save me by multiplying everything I am. The exchange of power is why I’m in love with you my strength and weakness all wrapped in to one being her name was Peanut.



She left fingerprints across the sky, I inhale fragments of her presence as if she were still here. Engulfed in former memories that repeats in my conscience like this hallucination could produce a single segment of reality. A laugh,kiss, presence or an angelic voice that translate alanguage you seem … Continue reading