Spoken Words: Poems by Infinite the Poet

Top of my game

September 6th, 2018   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I be in the hood soaking in life to stay on top of my game, I don’t cook or cut but I’m still on top of the game, I travel block to block and still see cardboard murals and candles flickering pain. I could hear the sounds of echoing guns from distant slums, pa rum pa pum pum death drums, nothing changed, there’s older mothers consoling younger mothers who just lost a son because they already felt the mental trauma of losing one. Lil shorties are watching the big guys, look he lives around us but not like us I want to be just like I’m, so whatever he’s doing I’m gonna try. You’re an automatic icon if you don’t have to worry about puttn food on the table and keeping the lights on. Hunger is going to make peeps pursue what they visualize, they don’t understand that ninety nine percent of what they see is visual lies, twenty twenty can’t see through the facade so before they get a good look at the situation they’ll be in too deep like when we return to God. I’m hearing ayo mo I love the hustle, I’m always going to play… That’s because they haven’t been locked up tallying days, felt bullet wound aches on rainy days or lost enough homies to make you think horrible thoughts, like… how long does it take for a buried body to decay? I loved the thought of clutching big money I just hated the reactions to achieve that goal, after every death i shun brighter, there’s less PC to spread when the circle gets tighter, that didn’t make me happy, how could I be?, wasn’t hustln with strangers I was gettn it with a crime family, I went from poverty to sittn on a hundred grand, angry. I loved my brothers, I didn’t know the last time we sipped wine and broke bread would be our last supper, we was in this together, the more I got ahead the more I suffered.

Infinite the poet 2018.

It’s a man’s world

September 6th, 2018   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

It’s a man’s world. We grew up with dreams embedded in our souls. Us poverty stricken boys dreamt the same, build an empire by any means to end living in shame. We constructed the foundation, hope was erected while we was youngens. It was us… Man. Blood, sweat, tears, if it wasn’t for one of my peers (Edgar), I wouldn’t be here. Sunshine and rain was part of gains, we hunted and was hunted, man was wild game. It was warfare to end welfare, like knives… Slugs sliced the air to cut the throats of current heirs.

Man had the power, We abused it, all we wanted to do was get fat, so be it if the first was the last time we had to listen to obese music. to us hunger was a disease and money was therapeutic. Bullet holes added to my nine physical, it’s was a man that took me out of critical, when he did I went right back to where I left off to become block Royal, All black affairs were yearly affairs, numbers took over names, bulbs became natural light, the only perk for asthmatic New Yorkers that went down then upstate… Was inhaling better air.

Urban Genocide, local homicide, no white flags were raised, kill or be killed was how we was raised, I had an army they passed, recruited and trained another generation, when I speak of them, it’s also the past, men brewed the recipe for destruction, men sold it for food, clothing and shelter… Self gratification, men are the reasons why most of us poverty stricken children didn’t get to grow into a man and why we are at the highest level of extinction. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that “girl”

Infinite the poet 2018

Living urban poetry

September 6th, 2018   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

We use to pick the abandoned car with the most windows as a wind breaker in the winter, we would be in there wishing…  We wasn’t wishing for a heater, although that would’ve been nice, we wished one of our house keys could turn on those old ass plymouths, dusters and novas so we could drive around and look for customers instead of sittn on the benches with Jack Frost surrounding us, it was already a cold world.

Shelter wasn’t far away but we’ll rather get frost bitten rather than letting money get away. The longer we stayed, the more we moved… the more we moved, the more profit we’ll split, so we just sat in them abandoned cars or those wood benches on the block, cold as fuck, wiping away frozen snot.

We put that work in, Ralphy,(rip) Edgar(rip) crazy mike, Orlando(rip) my birth circa kin, the foundation. From rags to riches, to bullet holes, staples and stitches, to losing so many men that Life to me, is what the definition of a bitch is. When it comes to fallen soldiers…I’ve seen men cry, I know men that prayed for death, because they know they’ll miss their homie so bad that they’ll rather die, Ive seen some that stood stone faced understanding the reality, wasn’t in shock or in disbelief, so much anger built up inside that after burials, immediately it was plans to search and destroy soul thieves, ya know, an eye for an eye.

Me, I was soaking in urban poetry, all black attire, tears flowing down cheeks of mourners, the pitch of mothers screams that couldn’t get any higher, the we don’t die we multiply flowers, the glued eyes and lips look on a scholar from the school of hardknock that will never graduate to college, ya know boss money, but moved on to the pearly gates with the majority. Time wasn’t on our side tic toc, tic toc 911’s, another homicide

Combat Ready

December 19th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Then– I was always ready for war, herb intoxicated, military vest , fatigues, nine Millie sig sauer or my four four Every time I stepped out my front door, I’m ready for blood shed like the savages in darfur, I had to prevent myself from becoming a chalk traced body on the cold concrete floor, if slugs flew my way, some bodies soul will soar. im an initiate, the streets initiated me corrupted me, made me other than myself, a righteous mans seed. Blam blam blam blam blam for every me of those my body bled, a gurney was my bed, I’m dreaming of being rich while the doc is telling momma, next time you visit it will be a fifty fifty chance he’ll be dead.

Now– I’m elevated, I’m mentally strapped, my gun is a pen, it’s a super soaker, it’s caliber is power, I shoot this gift letting the world know the devil is a caniver as I civilize them eighty fivers. my experience and wits give atheist faith, my wisdom gives them religion, my change gives hope to men women and children, sun moon and stars, I heal mental scars, free those behind mental bars, I’m helping people see like an owls sees without spinning their head three sixty, that’s with 120 degrees of knowledge 120 of wisdom 120 of understanding. I’m an 7 * ( descendant. Soon the whole world will understand me.

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco
www.lulu.com infinite poetry

Heat

December 19th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Im influencing the youth, burying lies by revealing truth, I was at war with myself, I called a truce, I’m turning Toby’s back to kuntas, I’m replanting roots.

I’m a 5 star analyst, giving sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, knowledge to the dumb, and faith to the atheist when they get to know me on a first name basis.

infinite, an urban poetic analysis, when it comes to ghetto problems , drugs and guns, violence, street life pestilence, i recite solutions, not thesis, it’s first hand experienced prognosis.

I medicate. mental swine eradicate, through the spoken verses I dictate. I bleed poverty, oops my bad I mean that same word without the v and the r moved after the t, if I don’t release my cranium will start hemorrhaging,

I transform visions into manifestations, I lyrically let you see them. In the street game I’m a retired player but still a pinch pallbearer, I shoulder carry the team in caskets better, I write preludes of death with organized letters.

Right now I’m in my avatar state, super nova, fire exuding from my lemniscate, it’s an inferno, the flame’s internal. I implode, vibrations bounce off my voice box, move my jaw then out my mouth… words explode. I’m in a state of urgency, every state is going to be in a state of emergency when they get a load of me and feel the intense heat from the arson spitting artist from the Bronx projects.

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco
www.lulu.com infinite poetry

My Dark Soul

December 19th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I was a lil boy living life like the black out in the seventies, while at sleep the lights came back on… But the darkness stood with me. No light nor sun, the devils portal was opened, hell roamed the streets, armageddon has begun. I took the wrong path in the shroud, my footprints left traces of ember in when I passed, I was dealing with an evil craft that was formed from the intense flame causing Backdraft’s in crack labs.
I was only twelve years old when me and dad took our last father and son stroll, that took a toll…the cause of my dark soul, now the reason why I write these poetic scrolls.
I used to scribe my name in bullpens benches, then come back and visit them again and again dealing with abaddon and being caught up in Apollyon’s clutches. It made no sense to weave and bob, I was being puppeteered by Beelzebub. I suffered! Boy did I suffer, I was a slave and the massa was lucifer, life was sin-ister around the cast down accuser. Their ways burned me to the third degree internally until I broke free, that face of Jin is no longer on me.

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco
www.lulu.com infinite poetry

Al carrasco the revolutionary

May 8th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I am a slum/ghetto/urban visionary on the contrary to what I’ve visioned, I thought I was loosing my mind, really life was building mines, being dealt the lowest cards and the hardest blows, a life of subliminal woes, settling for less is something I will forever oppose. I did a lot of bad, not because I wanted to but because bad was the only option I had, by any means to rise out of poverty I did anything necessary, I had a passion to overcome instead of to succumb to society. A society of systems and authorities that plague minorities. The streets built a monster like Frankenstein with the wits of Einstein, the problem is I was using strength instead of smarts, I was born with a lion heart.

I used strength to rise to the highest plateau in the streets, I peaked, while at the top i looked at the havoc underneath, pain, destruction ,misery ,desolation, deception, the youngens were trying to follow a path I mistakenly left them, this here is my road to redemption, I’m using my smarts to give strength, climbed down the plateau of today back down to yesterday to show a different way, interception, poetic Intervention. I’m showing a detour from body parts splattered on floors, coroners and morgues, murals on project walls, I’m saving people from night time raids, early morning graves. with my words I’m trying to correct all the wrong that was made by shedding light on the dark days. I want all my people to keep hustling, just not drugs, follow my lead or join me make lost men crem de la crem, I voluntarily speak opportunity to the needy, the needy needs me like I needed somebody to guide me, remember my name, I will make change, when I die I will be known as al carrasco/infinite the poet the ghetto revolutionary

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Our mothers

May 8th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Its not like him, no matter what he always called me. This is our mom thinking of us while we was running the streets. When we didn’t come home they’ll call the courts and precincts hoping we was locked up with our friends, if we wasn’t there they knew we was somewhere in some hospital probably shot up again. They would always come to our rescue, “why are they harassing you”? Or “boy who shot you”? like they going to bust their guns for their sons . Follow me as I show you the things moms had to endure while their son roamed the world trying to explore different things other than project doors ,floors and walls.

We wandered astray at such a young age rebellious to the days that came tomorrow because yesterday my father was taken away. when he left so many things left with him, Love, affection, wealth and wisdom, guidance and protection. I just tried to be all he was to my mom. I gave her the love and affection she needed, it was the wealth and wisdom I didn’t have to offer, I just had to help my mother, she tried to give me guidance but with defiance I ignored her. Protection was about thirty other rebellious sons carrying guns growing up in the slums, each and everyone one of us had similar problems, we were blood brothers, all our parents new each other, all our homes were broken, they knew their kids was suffering, they couldn’t do nothing because they suffered as we did. Young lion hearts with the minds of cubs roamed the concrete Serengeti thinking we was prepared, but we weren’t ready for a life that was so deadly. Not too long after establishing an illegal establishment, we dealt with the first dying already, after him followed many. Our moms saw us cry then at the same time they saw the fire of desire in our eyes to become more organized. All the warnings signs through mourning times went over looked by poverty. Living inferior there was no retreat nor surrender, we lived like gladiators in a death arena. Mothers cried “it’s all my fault” the reason why their kids were running wild in new York, we would tell them it’s not their fault at all, we would sacrifice our life so our mothers wouldn’t be poor. through that mythological process of selling drugs to progress we put our mothers through so much stress.

For felonies they saw us behind bars,
When we was shot they saw us in pain fed through I v’s,
When we was murdered they got a visit from homicide police,
To my mines, the rest and the deads mothers…. We are sorry

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

20/30

May 8th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Hello 911 police fire or paramedic? Please please someone is following me! Where are you? Ma’am ? Hello?…..

Don’t say a word! Give me your wallet, she kicks and scratches, he punches and slaps, she’s down. Why are you doing this to me? Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up! He feels this over powering feeling with her almost unconscious body laying there with his knife cutting the top layer of flesh. Are you going to do as I say? Yes yes please just don’t kill me, I’m married with kids, I have a family. He knocks her out, he can’t have the passer buyers hear her wailing while he got her at knife point in a dark alley.

Her shirt is ripped off, her drained was raised, panties lowered, now she’s sexually violated by some man that’s crazed, he enters her, she awakens to him on top, she yells stop stop but it’s just a whisper, her jaw is broken from when he hit her, he strokes and at the same time he’s choking her, she gasp for just a small amount of air.

She’s trying to remember her surroundings because his face shell never forget, thick mustache, matching brows, a mole over his right eye, he was missing a few teeth, she notice when he would speak. She’s bruised all over her face. from trying unsuccessfully to prevent penetration so she has vaginal scrapes. Act after act after act , he rapes me for hours.

My body is sore I can’t take anymore, here’s my chance, while he’s recuperating from the last attack I get my final chance to escape, I scratch his face so hard my nails are manicured with his skin, I wrestle from underneath him and run I run for my life in the wrong direction, I ran to a dead end. He’s coming after me, I’m so scared I pissed all over myself. He charges me with his knife, he swings to stab but I raise my hands expecting death, then I hear freeze drop the knife, he try’s swinging again, blam blam the cops take his life.

Shots fired 1019 shots fired, perp down. Ma’am are you ok? The police help the staggering almost lifeless body into their patrol car and speed of to the hospital.

When the attacker attacked her while she was talking to the 911 dispatcher, she dropped her phone, but the operator didn’t hang up, she heard the entire fuss while tracking the call on gps. That’s how the police were led to her location. If it wasn’t for that operator there would of been a dead innocent girl and a free to roam rapist!

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Being bullied. 30/30

May 8th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Damn there they go again, the same guys, i want to turn around and walk the other direction, I just don’t want them to think I’m a wuss, I’m not scared I just don’t like problems, they are problems! we had a few run in’s in the past, it was always after my math class while I stroll the the second floors corridor path, it started with pointing of the fingers, to brushing of the shoulders, to them trying to trip me, one even spit at me! I felt someone’s warm hock, it made me feel like i was drooling bad breath mucus, it landed on my lips. I wipe it off with the sleeve of my cardigan, then I lung for him! But I get pummeled by his wolf pack of friends. I got spit on, two blackened eyes and I don’t even know why? I also wonder why no one tried to help me? I limp to science bleeding from my nostrils, my eyes are closing forming purple circles. The teacher calls the guidance councilor, the councilor called my mother, my mother came over, son who did this to you? I say the usual, I didn’t see, they attacked from the back.

she takes me to the hospital, I leave with a cane and some ice packs, dad comes home sees my condition, he’s furious he wants to kick some ass, son who did this to you? Again I can’t tell the truth.
The doc said I couldn’t go to school for a few days so i can recoup.
A few days passed I’ve recouped. On one of my days off while mom and dad was working, the bridge of my nose still hurting, I got and idea. I said I know a way that won’t ever happen to me again, I go to the pawn shop, purchase two hocked glocks, bullets by the box, this bullying is gonna stop! I gotta hide what I just bought, what better way than my schools Jan sport.
The next day it’s back to school time, everything at home is the same, if only they could read my mind. I get dressed as always, mom dropped me off like always, now I’m an armed kid walking school hallways.

Now back to the top……

Damn there they go again, math class just ended, the corridor is filled with students, I see their movement, their approaching, before they can push me, punch me, I go into my knapsack pull out my two new gats and start shooting, something came over me, the school is in chaos, cell phones are dialing 911 a bullied student is reeking havoc, today I’m not having it, he picks of each wolf from the pack, they was running for their life before being shot in the back, pop pop pop pop pop, i don’t stop until both pistols remained cocked back, I now wear the evil grin, the other students and the teachers were scared to approach me, I run out the school with the two empty guns in my hands, i run right into the man… Freeze put the guns down.. I don’t the cops squeeze, blam blam blam , he’s down he’s down, get the medics! I never make it… I go from an innocent kid being bullied to a killer being killed

This is now the action and reaction of being bullied.

Infinite the poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

My Bio

Albert Carrasco is not only a spoken word artist, but also a motivational speaker, using his words to uplift young people faced with the same difficult life choices as he was. Growing up in the Bronx, New York, Carrasco lost his father at age 12 and within four years he was arrested, shot twice and dealing drugs. He saw so many of his friends die off and he couldn’t stand the idea of his newborn son growing up into that life, so 12 years ago Carrasco turned his life around. He began to write poetry as a release, tapping into the harsh lyrical honesty that continues to permeate in his writings

Author Infinite the poet
Albert carrasco
lulu.com infinite poetry