Spoken Words: Poems by Infinite the Poet

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


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


March 15th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Kumbaya my lord

Lights turned off refrigerator is hot, 7 or 8 people in a 1 bedroom, full of folding cots, at night it’s so ever quiet, the only sounds you hear are the 7 or 8 bellys, howling a hunger riot, we placed pillows over bellys so the sound dampers, baby’s wrapped in cloth, no income to afford pampers, heads of household pacing towards and backwards, hoping tomorrow will end today’s sorrows, and bring us fun and laughter

Kumbaya my lord kumbaya

I see him/ her alone pushing a baby stroller, no friends no family, no baby shower, an abused single mom or a divorced dad, traveling the city to eat like modern day nomads, shelters in the winter , parks in the summer, community centers for a cold breakfast, a warm lunch, and a mix of the two for dinner, one outfit wardrobes, broke, down to their very last compound, after pawning what’s was around their necks and earlobes, and after everything that was worth something was sold

Hear me crying my lord

Young kids with no direction, looking in mirrors , like vampires, they saw no direction, caught up in the streets misconception, get burnt in the flames, spontaneous combustion , to these ghetto streets it’s easy to get sucked in, why would they want to live tomorrow knowing it’s gonna be dejavu , someone’s adds to the murder rate, birthday cakes, then flower at a wake, they feel they have no reason to live, so these bars I continue to give, the economy is screwed so death and drugs plague our city, it’s destroying our people, faster than H I V

Hear me crying my lord, kumbaya

1 rpg kills 30 plus marines, we loose a seal team, bring my brothers and sisters back from over seas, stop sending them home in coffins please, we kill Hussein we kill Osama , why continue to fill the killed at war wall, and bringing sorrow to military wives , husbands and mothers? Young and veteran brave hearts, protecting by killing and then getting killed, it’s the same thing, equal but opposite reactions like Ying and yang, when is this war gonna end?


Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

The Devil Temps

March 15th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

The devil temps so don’t go letting him work for you, as soon as an evil thought is derived, he’s immediately notified, off the deaf dumb and blind he thrives. For instance…

I carry a gun for protection, i walk the hood, mean muggers are mugging, i mug back, I should of not paid attention, but I got a tool of the devils trade and it’s serenade is telling me inf you can’t be played, theres three of them, blam blam blam, three lay, I run off yelling “don’t ef with me” a few days later I’m locked up and the devil is still running free, he didn’t get caught but he was my co d (co defendant)

Damn my rent is late, two days ago was the last time I ate. my neighbor is doing better than I am, she’s single and always leaves to work about 8, I’m gonna wait till she leaves, break in and search her house for the safe, the money and jewelry would help the condition in my place. Today’s different, she’s not going to work she’s picking up a date, on the way back home they see the window is open and the window guards are broken. Shhhhh i think someones in the house lurking, they enter the back door, the date grabs a knife from in the kitchen, they tip toe to the second floor, they see the burglar, a fight starts, the neighbor gets stabbed through the heart, stumbles and dies.
A quick investigation proves the dates self defense claim sticks, death due to breaking and entering

Peer pressure
Take this, don’t be a sissy, you want money right? You take 30% I take 70%, I’ll change your life, just do it right, go advertise, here take this number when you finish just text come over. Wow you did that fast, you got my cash? A beat down ensues, what you mean you lost the stash? Now instead of a fee you work for free, ducking the stick up kids and the dee’s, while the pusher is home counting sheep in his sleep. after awhile working the streets for free instead of a fee, when you do finally get to see the money it’s hard to leave. You get used to it. Now your the hustler that hustles other brothers, yo yo yo shorty take this, from every 100 you get 20 I get 80′ it will change your life.

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Urban Poetry

February 17th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I knew when it was diner time I heard moms whistles out the window it would echo echo echo, I would drop everything haul ass to my house to feast, wasn’t guaranteed that the next day we would be able to eat, that’s just how it was. Moms would buy two slices cut them in half, now there’s pizza for the four of us, no coke or pepsi, we shared two fifty cent buss offs, that’s no frills soda, more like coloring with bubbles in water.
We went down hill from there, it got worse when I lost my father, we wanted those two slices like usual but without daddy we was always short a few dollars, his presence was crucial. We had to give up that fine Italian dinning, for rice with cans of corned beef or those blue boxes of craft Mac and cheese for a few weeks, out of the month this was dinner for the next 21 days, add a little whole kernel corn now were eating gourmet.
on the week of the first and third welfare and s s I , we ordered an entire pie, we had beans and steak with that rice, ground meet to the Mac and cheese now we got ghetto ziti, I wished that wasn’t triweekly, I would of been strong like John Henry, no worries mommy when you said eat as much as we can, I knew the message being sent, my old earth needed the rest of the money for rent.

I understood….
I hope she understands….

What type of man would I be? although I was a twelve year boy, how can a man watch a women fall and not pick them up? Well I got tired of moms on her knees praying for all the things we need but couldn’t afford, got tired of asking her why housing men kept banging on the door, why they embarrass us and tape eviction notices on our door! So I became one of those lost kids selling crack in from of local neighborhood bodegas, crack dope coke weed whatever, it wasn’t for fame like most of these lames, I had an agenda, I know I know we both sold substances to make people other than themselves, so me and them lames were no better than each other, I just wanted to help my mother after loosing my father, to help feed her and my brothers, I dealt with the elements like a piece of weather stripping , rain, hail ,sleet ,snow I was out there pitching, I became an alley cat amongst kittens, in time the big dogs started showing me love, I became the runt of the liter, this is not contradiction this the illegal life transition, so I transitioned into position after position, I no longer was pitching, I no longer had to cook with moms dishes in her kitchen, I was making money that’s what I was wishing, and that wish became true! From cans of roast beef to filet mignon, from 50 cent buss offs to moet and chandon, from foot patrolling to Beemer and benzes with Harmon kardons, and Rockford fosgates, blasting rock me Amadeus, tka’s tears may fall, or krs 1 getting his foot in the door with Scott la rock had em all, I was living that life style like it was my life, it was like if i was married to the game the streets were my wife, we was living like stars shinning ever so bright, first class flights.

I’m not poor any more and I love it!
Or do I?

One by one life was getting dark, stars were no longer shining, the money flow started declining, kids was killing kids we were dying or going to jail, Funeral precessions, or incarceration, no more money for bail, from living lavish to living right back into the ghetto, our modern day hell, fathers of the dead look at me and they see their sons, mothers of the dead look at me and call me their son, those dead sons called me their brother, i was supposed to be my brothers keeper, why wasn’t I there when they fought the reaper, we traveled in packs, why was there only one white bag with a lot of red being packed in a human zip lock, these were my friends before the rock before the money, I left it alone , lord may I have them back this is a cold world without them I feel so lonely

The aftermath

I breath poetry , I write to African beats that move me, it does something to me, puts me in a trance, so I let my pen dance like Alvin Ailey , with my art I’m gonna save some ghetto babies , I’m gonna change the visions some adults see, most see one dimensionally, my words and visions are hi fi plasma three dimensional , like Che- malcom either one and Garvey, my urban prose poetry is non conventional, I’m a project life, ghetto street atlas, a hood paraprofessional, poor people’s readers digest, I wanted to make change now I’m making change, I’m a bicentennial

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Shorty Thug

February 17th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I watched them, they stood outside days through nights like watchmen.
cars, rims, jewelry, all shinning, this is the vintage south bx, castle hill, soundview, the bully and Watson…
I walked through these streets with my dad, I was a familiar face, i saw what would always take place…
Hand to hand gestures to legendary investors, these guys all became my mentors, they just didn’t know yet…
An adolescent face amongst men, i wouldn’t speak, I would take no offers for candy, just move out my way. my vision is focused on my daddy, and I watched…
Bahando, subiendo , the voice you hear on corners echoing from where the look outs are perched….
Trey bags of weed in yellow envelopes, glassine’s stamped with the owners antidote, I was learning and jotting down the hustlers manual…
Dad would be gone for a while, so I watched other players play, until he touched down from the panama canal, duffle bags, all smiles…
I was like a pleat in his jeans…
He died….
I was passed his hustling genes…
My widowed mother frantically pondered on how shell feed me and my brothers…
Shorty thug was born….
I knew the recipe for death, so I brewed destruction, seeing momma cry was to hard for consumption…
So I ran the same strips, same corners, crossed the same boarders, everywhere I went it was about the dough, I was the rebellious son of alfred carrasco aka Indio…
From nickel and dimming , to enterprising and organizing in NYC housing , to death ,incarceration, I was loosing everyone around me….
And we were just teens…
I was on the wrong path to the riches, bullet holes, and stab wound Stitches, secret indictments from observations and snitches….
Confidential informants introducing themselves on the low with deception they ruin our intentions to blow…
Instead of hasbro, I literally played with blocks, i wanted to be willy like wonka, yukons, caddy’s, navigators. tonkas…
Like “Joe” I don’t wanna be a player no more, so I let it go….
Shorty thug had bigger plans.. Infinite the poet, from the streets to a business man.

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Door Ajar

February 2nd, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I was soul searching while the reaper was searching for my soul, i was walking through the fire of hell at just twelve years old, i had to keep walking or I would of died from ghetto monoxide, my soles were burning, as long as i kept running i would evade the flames consumption, so I ran like gump in a burning forest, scared to stop, thought it would of been spontaneous combustion. My soles were burning the reaper is following my fiery footprints looking for it’s culprit, he’s the ring leader of the devils circus, i was walking in hell the devil owned it, the reaper is his soldier that hovers the surface making offers to be the keeper of my brothers. I saw light, it was a door ajar, I sprinted for it , the reaper gave chase, but…… I was met by god, the reaper swung his sword, it was deflected by the lord. I ask how did you know i was here? He say to me I was watching you from a higher level, your burning foot prints weren’t from walking in hell, wrong thesis, it was from Hephaestus, I asked for him to ignite your shoes, I honed in on them like gps. I say thank you! He says I ask one thing of you, you must pave the way for others to escape like I did for you today! I said ok, so I write away, follow my side ways eight, I’m burning an “infinite” passage with my flaming lemniscate powered by god, look for the light that’s me leaving the door i escaped through ajar

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