PO'HYMNS (CANTICOS CALLEJEROS)

DEDICATED TO, "LA MAESTRA GLORIA"


All I have to offer for now is this poor hymn
And if by chance some should happen to whisper, “poor him”
Let me be thankful that this prayer is for us, not for them


Table of contents
1. TAP CARD BLUES
2. LAVANDERIA
3. MID – NIGHT
4. BUDLONG AVE.
5. SISTER CAROLYNN
6. THE RIMPAU STATION
7. SEVENTH FLOOR
8. AUTODEFENSA (THE LIME)
9. NEVER AGAIN
10. BIRTHDAY PRAYER
11. WITH ALL DUE RESPECT
12. I CAN’T BREATHE
13. PO’ HYMN




TAP CARD BLUES

i hope to God a sheriff don't come in through that door
tap card is blank, another ticket is something i cant afford
imma post in the cut don't wanna get caught slipping
but if two roll through i'm dipping and that's that
i'm hopping off that station in three seconds flat
and word on the street is they wanna raise the fare
thought i seen some coming in and quickly sat
but they were merely heading off to lunch
i hate seeing them when they post up by the bunch
community service is not my thing and they don't cut any slack
when they give you a ticket, damn does it sting
half way there broke but not shook, got me feeling like a crook
i gotta post in the cut and damn near hide
cus this big city train can't afford a courtesy ride
so i'm in that metal serpent with the lord by my side
last time i asked them to let me slide, i got denied
i had no ends, had nothing to do with pride
especially if i'm trying to go to the east
that's when i gotta go through the belly of the beast
when taking those rides i feel very little peace
and it follows me till i've reached my stop
as is common street knowledge, fear sheriffs over cops
but this time around i made it out safe
this time around i walk out feeling successful and brave
this time around my choices were well played
just hope they also come through later on today

LAVANDERIA

The machines like race horses
At the crack of dawn
Mothers make their way
Greetings all around
It’s their day of the week
-Silent.
Strong men carry bags of loads
Enter a vendor selling socks,
Washers and driers
Faint radio, fuzzy t.v.
Brick and mortar rivers
Champurrado and tamales
The modern man with his
Stain filled work clothes
All dressed down
These machines collectively rattle
Click clacking coins
Artificial scent of a spring or summer morning
Soap suds, clean socks, shirts
And the sun slowly appears
A sense of community
Still not stained by, “allure”
Accents spoken from
American South to South America
Bed sheets, blankets
But no better view, big washers
Small washers, loads of all kinds
Big city meditations
Before returning to the daily grind

MID – NIGHT

Ghetto bird humming must mean it’s time to catch some Z’s
At midnight the siren howls plus the neighbors still blow trees
You’d think the hood would be shook to some degree
But this is just another numb night on the block if you were to ask me
The forty ounce is gone yet the buzz still hinders
Another herb filled Swisher lingers between my fingers
My only therapy comes from these old soul singers
Yet the night remains quiet despite all of the violence
Surviving these streets is an art form not a science
Especially when the norm is to live in unrestrained defiance
Just before I snooze I close my eyes and ask the good lord for guidance
Enlighten me so I may walk towards where the light is
Let me be free to speak and never give in to silence
The ghetto bird leaves and only we remain
So accustomed to the sound we forget it brings us pain
And the only thing we gain is the normalcy of this strife
But those are the rules set for us in this questionable life
Rarely knowing what is wrong from what is really right
Reciting this prayer which we offer every single night
Hoping stray bullets don’t kill me or mine
Understanding there is love here, overshadowed by crime
And that it may not end come sunshine
Yet understand we walk daily along this fine line
And whatever happened tonight,
I'll eventually hear through the grapevine
That being said I can comfortably end this rhyme
And prep candles for the next unfortunate impromptu shrine

BUDLONG AVE.

I was a boy from the block Budlong was the spot
Never gang banged but I knew about the crooks and the cops
Saw my first drive by on 27th heard the guns go pop
Right after I seen that person’s body drop
Learned the protocol for when the streets got hot
All I heard was, “Ain’t no Future in Yo Frontin’ “
And, “More Bounce to the( Forty) Ounce”
Adams through King, Vermont to Western
Roaming those streets made me a veteran
Scaring SC students all day all night,
Give them 4 or 5 years and they all take flight
Some of the homeys don’t know wrong from right
And to every last teacher, I won’t burn one name
But good looking out for putting me up on game
All you heard was ghetto birds, sirens, sawed offs and nina's
From Juliet all the way through Catalina
And even knowing death and murder
Never stopped me from eating at Olympian burger
Long before the Expo line, the hood was all mine
What made us all modern was taking quinceanera pictures
At the Expo park rose garden, 20's and 30's
Friends and foes, and if they ask who shot him
Everyone saw but no one knows,
That’s what it was like way back when,
I had no idea the power that came from a pad and a pen
If I had to it over, I'd do it again
To the spirits that never made it out the eighties or nineties
To those that stayed active when the shit was grimy
I respect you legacy, just let a punk stranger try me.

SISTER CAROLYNN

Allow me to recite this prayer/hymn
For an angel in disguise, Sister Carolynn
When I met her last night
I think she was high on heroin
Three bibles on her dashboard
Beautiful soul, older woman,
Waiting for heaven to let her in
In the twilight of her life saying;
Never did I think I’d be guilty of such a sin
She was somewhere around Slauson,
Service had just let out
Preachers’ words weren't enough
Apparently -no doubt
Still she knew methods of accessing her pain
And using it as a tool to set her straight again
Engine running, lights were on, a lighter in hand
I’d just come out the store
In her car she sat feeling the effects of her fresh score
I asked, ma’am are you okay?
Just checking in,
Drooling, dozing yet smiling she said,
“Yes, child, Thank the Lord,
All praises be unto him”

THE RIMPAU STATION

The Rimpau station was more than that
Along Pico and long before what stands there now
When peak traffic was just before dawn
Hustlers, nannies, students, survivors just the same
It stood along cement pillars where the 30/31 ended
And the 5 and 7 began, a bustling black market
Vendors galore, batteries for the portable radios
Gloves, scarves, umbrellas, tamales, champurrado, atole
Headquarters for those just able to get by
By the time our generation began using that route
The station was already a relic,
Who developed it and why? no one knew
But we made use of the benches
Made sturdy by thick coats of city sponsored paint
Filled with layers of signatures of citywide vandals
One bus to the beach the other to East LA
Street calligraphy in the most awkward angles
And the Rimpau station was a stop on the map
Where the city and beach culture begin to overlap
Many a time bus drivers woke up tired riders
Dead asleep from what began as a simple nap,
Clogged, always congested nothing there plush
That is, till the chatter of the afternoon rush
When teams of well-trained con men,
Count their daily bread, whatever it takes to get ahead
Then the silence of the late night shift
To them two 24 hour bus lines was a god sent gift
And maybe it means nothing to outsiders
Maybe it has to do with my generation
But it is our privilege to have been there
Atole in hand half sleepy at the old Rimpau Station

SEVENTH FLOOR

At night the city skyline resembles lit candles
Burning uneven in my forgotten altar
Prayers seem pointless and only lead me astray
Farther and farther I often want to run away
I manage to make it through the head spinning bustle
Appointments with the ever changing hustle
Constantly confronted by new comers and old
Never once surprised by the stories told
Where winners are the brave and the bold
Those that by days end make a profit with product sold
Through Metro train aisles slanging candies
May the homies make their loot
A big, “I am you, you are me” to those serving the bourgeoisie
Real talk;
The backbone of the city runs through our black market economy
And hell will freeze over before they get it running properly
Barely making ends meet? This here is for you
Those that refuse to greet defeat, we’re going to pull through
On me, bet, watch, we’ll get us a better view
We worked hard, earned it, remember when we were just a few?
But our city constantly evolves, changes, with that no one can argue
And just like that our metropolitan working class again grew
To those being pushed out with little to no equity this is for you too
The sun sets on my thoughts from this seventh floor
From this building looking into downtown,
To those that want but can never seem to afford
We’ve been through worse and know life is going to deliver more
The lights on the skyline begin to come on
The candles again lit,
So many more stories I wouldn’t know where to begin
To those alone that think they’ve lost, we will once again win
To the doctors and nurses healing in the hospitals and in the streets
We heal, each in our own way overcoming obstacles
(Often where fear and pain meet)
To the invisible, forgotten, abandoned and unclaimed
Collectively we define our cities tremendous name
Struggle and pain attached to dreams and perceptions of fame
Outside forces say we only have ourselves to blame
To them I say, we are not even playing the same game
We’re millions and that’s a grip of different mind frames
My life is my pride, not my shame
And all these thoughts within the blink of an eye
Back to my struggle my battle my pain
We are a people with little to lose and everything to gain
When fads end and many abandon ship we will still remain
With the ones that move the city yet will forever lack a name

AUTODEFENSA

Autonomous defense strike opposing forces
That aim to turn land into black market conglomerates
The rich and the poor, My motherlands first 21st century civil war
The story at times may get a bit hellish
But I promise you that at no point will I embellish
Not that anyone dropped dime
But I shit you not this story is focused on the trafficking
Of the Mexican lime
I’m on the side of truth, right and wrong are blurred
But the people were hella fed up when it first occurred
When it all went down, this whole fictional town
Got together and turned the village into one huge compound
Confident in what they did was right
They slowly acquired street sweepers, thumpers and gats
Covering the block day and night ready to face the eventual attack
No more extortion the people fought back
The cash crop was not heroin or pot
And when it came to the bottom line grind
They had to reclaim their native lime
Come up off them lime fields, come up off them trucks
They began fighting back, Local drug lords were shit outta luck
And whatever weapons they left behind the community clucked
Now even the lime is held hostage
Don’t know it that implies my motherland has lost it
Or if the tables have turned, yet they managed to turn a profit
These empowered patriots now possess the power to
Promote their agenda,
How their struggle has made it into your local market
How they refused to surrender.

NEVER AGAIN

You might not get a ballad in the end
A footnote in a story told by family or a friend
Might not even receive polite words by the family reverend
Rather than pretend,
You were you and someone like you,
Well, never again.
Shout out to you, spirit that came and went
I absorbed every last moment we spent
Together forever nothing to repent,
I relive when reality reduces me to tears, best friend
Someone like you, well, never again.
Might not be remembered but by a chosen few
Leave it to me though; I’ll make sure they remember you
There in spirit for all of the new stages I’ll be entering
Even If the next time we meet be my day of reckoning,
Who do you think of when you read these words?
They read along with you, personal memories held on to like a gem
Because to them, someone like you, well,
Never again.

BIRTHDAY PRAYER

Lord, thank you for these trials and tribulations
For my friends and my foes
I have learned that in this life what you say goes
Guard them as you have guarded me and mine
Thank you good lord for my partners in crime
Continue guiding my path as I walk your line
What little I have are blessings from you
Regardless of whatever comes next, Thank You
It is in your will that I shall succeed
This path I continue until my soul is freed
Though at times tempted by vanity and greed
Whatever I work towards is purely out of need
I will put up a fight when I walk in your light
And will show the world the strength of your might
Thank you for this wisdom, thank you for my sight
Thank you for showing me wrong from right
A false prophet might see me and think I’m lost
Yet they speak of you as if you were still in that cross
When they preach they do it for recognition and applause
But I your humble servant will not speak ill of them
With an open heart and open arms I choose to be their friend
Who am I to say they don’t mean well?
I can testify to them that you picked me up every time I fell
But, I wil leave chit chat charlatans to their own personal hell
Thank you for these aches and pains they have made me a strong man
For every test you given me, not once have I ran
I push forward aiming to surpass my goals
Though I know not your almighty master plan
Just let those who think I cannot that quite truthfully, I can.
Amen.

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT

Does GOD have a religion? if so is it a safe bet?
If so, how can a heathen like me get put on the set?
The way I’m living I fear my last breath
Seeking spirituality before I face my eventual death
So much stress, all I want is a spot to rest – In peace
At least then the drama will disperse
So I seek salvation through this blasphemous verse
Can’t picture life getting any worse but then it does
Who I am now is not necessarily who I once was
Who I once was, wasn't really me
Was merely working on who I’d eventually be
The only remnant is forever handling all drama like a G
Just hope the Good Lord treats me with a little bit of empathy
Not empty and hollow, I live hoping to be a better man tomorrow
I've read the good book and its rules I do follow
Contrary to popular belief, I DO believe
Though I probably should pray a little more
Real talk I have my doubts and ask myself, “what for?”
What’s the use? What if I refuse? Am I done for?
I’m searching for spirituality by taking the detour
But before I’m out, I’m verbalizing my doubts
Making moves and still searching for answers in the clouds
Roaming God’s great earth making the rounds
Sounds silly, I know, but I need to get this off my chest
Before I go, one last thing, I too am one of God’s creatures
And therefore will never silence the way my soul sings
Even if my words sting, in this world there are worse sins
In another life I may have been a preacher
Lord knows I gave headaches to every last one of my teachers
But it was all for the sake of being a truth seeker
Theologically digging deep, you reap what you sow
So before I sleep, before I go, let the world know
I’m just aiming to get put on the set
And truth be told, I mean that –
(with all due respect.)

I CAN’T BREATHE

We tend to fight among one another
As men of color the system taught us to hate our fellow brother
Yet the beast is the biggest reason for our murders
And they wonder why we walk these streets with burners
When we unite the world shutters
When red and blue stop becoming colors
We become names not just numbers
This can’t be how we’ll forever receive our eternal slumber
Makes little difference whether you’re a bookworm or a gunner
We pray that we make it to see this coming summer
Knowing we might not and it’s not even a bummer
Brought up with Police etiquette
Because it’s quite evident that to them our lives are irrelevant
And all of the pleas to the President are a waste of breathe
Down the street is the constant fear of facing our untimely death
To not know if you’ll make it past this morning
Or if by nightfall our families will be hitting the streets mourning
Innocent blood on the streets pouring
Us against them, knowing it will happen again and again
And if I stand my ground and defend
That’s where I just may have to make my final stand
Imagine me saying, “I’m tired of it, it stops today”
being killed, and in the laws eyes my death be more than okay
“I’m minding my business please leave me alone”
Imagine me wanting to get out and just head home
But these who are to defend me have a heart of stone
And even if everyone sees just how wrong it is
And even if I didn’t get to give my wife and kids a final kiss
No threatening gestures, not even a fist,
I die just cus I’m a person of color and pissed
Imagine my last words being, “I can’t breathe”
And if taken to trial, who would the judge believe?
Would there be justice or would my loves have to grieve
A victim, a number, a statistic is all in life I’ll achieve
Something that white affluence will never grasp
Or even conceive and that's just another day in the life
No justice, no peace just strife

PO’ HYMN

From the same pulpit where many souls led service and sang hymns
In the part of town where day and night, they still slang them things
And where some learned to convert thoughts into poems
In the place where no one ever really confesses all of their sins
That’s where this here prayer begins
I compose po’ hymns for when nights get no better come morning
For those that know real life gives no advanced warning
The losers, the junkies, pimps, pushers, hustlers, and whores
Dear Lord, I hope someone in there is really, truly is praying for us
Redemption or clarity to us one and the same
But know that lost souls in our city still praises your name
For those who are tired, defeated from what daily drama brings
To you and your kin is for whom I compose this po’ hymn
For those that work hard just to make ends meet
To those who fall but can’t afford to give into defeat
To the backbone of the city that commutes through these streets
To that person on the bus stop headed to the E.R.
Some might never greet you, but the city knows who you are
To the ones that might be considered the lowest of the low
The wretched of the earth,
For those who’ve yet to grasp the gravity of their own true worth
For those on Government assistance who one day won’t need the system,
To you is who I dedicate this here po’ hymn
Not for scholars, teachers, students or faculty just for the hood
For those that gotta do what they gotta do so the table has food
For the drop outs, knuckle heads, homeys and the fam
Were it not for them I wouldn’t be where I am
For people of color who accidentally get hounded by “the man”
The ones that don’t deserve it yet take it like champs
Whether they know it or not they get my seal of approval stamp
You know how it feels to be done dirty and still have to say thanks
To the humble, humiliated, hungry and has been
To those that quietly wept as grown men
I especially dedicate this po’ hymn for them,
Watch over us, give us guidance and give us sight
We fight till the end, whether the end is dim or bright
Glorious, mundane, uneventful or even grim
Rich in spirit, no tithes
All I have to offer for now is this poor hymn
And if by chance some should happen to whisper, “poor him”
Let me be thankful that this prayer is for us, not for them