cold river water

River water

River waters

آب سرد رودخانه

The cold river water ^^^
the birth yesterday of a daughter
5 pm, 7 pounds, 20 inches long
Alia Nahal will grow strong with her mother & father
fresh birth in the womb of limestone tombs
fresh water travels farther
fresh life
like when this child first learns to write
or first goes swimming in this water at night

The cold river water was given blessings
holding a child as her eyes first start opening
the powerful connection of motherly affection
on a young organism
is the true proof of love’s ability and progression
the hospital reception room’s jubilation
^where I was when hearing the news of celebration^^^
A new child in the family hands of our organization
Her future potential
is guided by our leading
so reading the essential is compulsory education
her planet may not have planned well for her visit
still we tell ourselves and each other
“we shall overcome” muttering another poem
The river water opens
our pores, our bodies and minds
we try to imitate it’s power and like the tall cypress trees that tower

Vegetable garden

The poetry factory’s vegetable garden is growing beautifully
onions, tomatoes, organic flows of spontaneity
spark up like weeds, why we regularly maintain the scenery
across from the park is the bird haven sanctuary
the river is the church, the streets are our mosque
the maiden hair grows against green moss

the vegetable garden has groceries at low cost
try my basil pesto sauce
eyes of a hawk and speed of a cheetah chopping crops
cilantro and oregano slow the process
the small leafed need finesse
ball up the herbs and line up the cut
drying works best with the Sun’s but
one batch usually weigh a ton
Spring is almost done and Summer in Farsi is Tabestan
Every peasant farmers feels like a king when their harvest begun
to sing our poems and songs
the sting of sun flower stems stung
so wear gloves when you come along

The factory is taking out machines
starting to grow natural mechanisms of inventions
cleaning a dump to pump pollinating bees to a plump fragrance
dreaming of big fig and plumb orchard picking
whose chicken is this not fenced in? “That’s Charley for fry day evening”
playing guitar with a hat on the floor jingling
writing our own maps, perhaps it’s not as hard as were thinking
new ideas for everyday  living

Mandatory School gardening in all ages
play with the dirt as for what it’s worth
learning from the page as well as what we may have made
Only the future will display, that which lasts
the grasp of eating, food production and class
asked a professor on the science of the coming change
He said he would teach his son how to use a gun, magazine.

The garden is a community effort,
the factory lowered its net worth
intentionally the competitive turned collaboratively as we
birthing the comm(unity)
desert is handed out free to all those arriving
perched on a porch a little perch lurks in the under-hanging
watching us with shovels and picks digging quickly
a vegetable garden can be
part of our identity again like way back when it was part of the family and friends.

Outside the front door

Outside the front door
is a china berry with the freshest odor
naturally springing water from limestone floors
ladies in summer dresses who are adored
beauties questions are answered
in the San Marcos outdoors
parks & picnics where perfect sunsets are always affordable
biking transportation makes us flexible
trust our shape becomes bendable
taking the time to make a rhyme tape over instrumentals
length is inconsequential
fill up journals to receipt papers
A note scrawled on the walls & tables
meme wars for,
when you stop outside the front door
and smell the china berry’s odor
feel the natural springing water from the limestone floor

-John Tabrizi

timing interpretation

In his raps there is no room for timing interpretation
the words come directly
what’s heard is progressing
with very little breaks
except for, the story rhymed over beat breaks
for breakfast – The Spontaneous is a cypher
freestyle authors congregate together
in the moments of momentous mischievous invention
feather weights still have the skills to climb the high hills and mountains

counting on the hours of powerful sun light to shine on our shrine
biking to the river we call church, writing perched on the porch
bird chirping chimes called the cat to crawl contorting on a branch line
the next evolution is in the mind,
contextually written to find, the sublime,
The best should not be forgotten or left behind
making our own test to better define the answers
questioning every teacher, student and chancellor
Buying beers for cleaners and janitors
I dedicate this sentence for those cleaning our presence
bee keepers, plant growers and eaters, your local farmer

We listened to mother nature’s tremors
———she is in every author when your reading her chapters
miscellaneous thrusts into this poetry batter
whips up a nice spiced lyrical pie priced as free on the ticket stub tree
take one and grow the seed into the many givings of someone
cycles controlled by informed citizens who read what is being done. Vital material for anyone willing to examine the heights & valleys of moral potential
Justice is the scale weighing potentiality
Love of a higher power than salary
Peace in the middle east is literally ‘Salam’
The executed blogger from Iran, imprisoned poets in Yemen,
Mumia’s 60th birthday has Philadelphia arisen… as the words continue to be …_____ timed interpretation

The river at night

The cold river water
was talked about in the garden’s veranda
always in memories and thoughts
every morning kind of ritual
the river’s history continues

^^^^^^^^^^ to be translated as homework
tomorrow is work
but before we search through the wild rice for wild life
stretching, walking, talking the rhythm of approaching light
the sun beams remind us of the tree tops, trunks, and roots

beneath our boots we found our souls
the sounds that our town holds brings treasure
every measure is weighed to its adventure
the buttons we press, buttons pressed upon us
the sure answers of intuition in spontaneous invention

the fourth dimension is time
so our rhymes contort reports of front line fort confines
fun for the shrine to reorganize, stump counting lines
as the birds chirp wise words from the curbs of banisters we would climb
sublime founds its better half
vines with grapes (that because of water) are shinier than glass
over spilling empty
the factory found its calling in a flow
natural
and always exciting
as the first picked vegetable

 

 

How we get back in the studio

Back in the studio
making tracks of raps over scrap instrumentals
the info comes from the slums like a daily news reporter
the front line warriors, people champions
bring the title to us again
rhyming orators
mind’s of a different kind of a performer
the times is fine to leave the grips
of champagne, wine and porters to our lips
giving cheer in another day that exists

Back to the studio
the dojo is the place of the way
attacking the ranks and taste of what we say everyday
to better understand the letters left unused
like contraband planted in the hand of a man
who knows the show is being viewed
and still spends his will & skills on writing the meters.
Of our social, economic and cultural leaders
which should we follow?
the Political sides switch propaganda
trivial becomes larger
reading/writing becomes pivotal for the character
to learn the unattainable experience we got in a plot
the system shock, of a culture and future
that only speeds on leading faster to a limitless top

Hop, skip, jump, run, and walk back to the studio
Hip Hop tricks we dumped upon, anyone willing to talk this lingo
stopping only to recharge before we go Sargent.
Ben wrote the funny cartoons in the paper as our Captain
The Statesman’s tape was shaped by master craftsmen & women
balance is the intent
until battling against intense nonsense
in an uphill fashion with fences.
Good thing we brought wire cutters
the neighborhood watched a movie about the river. at the river. together
We call it church for what’s it worth,
Whenever do you all want to play with dirt?

Rhymes written before work

Inflation is rising, Africa’s Temperature

Personal messages of the really sure
why not write half of your battles
singing your raps @ high calibers
perched on the top of porches and benches
morph into the butterfly
from the pupil’s eye, tremenous-afy
make up the hard parts and stake poetry
what we ate where philosophies of terminology
brb, we lol’d to rofl’d
hopped over obstacles seen as impossible
nothing too intimidating or unapproachable
unless looking @ the environmental, social, economic variables
over instrumentals, we get sober meandering on the asphalt

Mixing the butter, flour and salt
the recipe for reciprocity is realizing half of it is not your fault
the new cuisine changed the mind frame of a young teen
he opened vaults to a treasure,
that lowered blood pressure
love is the answer, music, and movement
we groove to groovy tunes drinking smoothies dancing,
no time for gambling
except the daily life we are handling
playing the mandolin the man told his kin
“your stories are worth more than gold or anything”
one in the audience was listening
lips synced to a vibe that kept us alive
our tribe is the pride for tactful fact checking packs
studying wraps
knowledgeable of our place on the map
adapting to the habitat
to better the free
with wings of feathers to be more exact on their landings