Spoken Words: Poems by Infinite the Poet

Peak

December 14th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

At my peak, I wondered how it would end, I continued but always wondered what would transcend, all of us rich with no worries, I really did imagine this, but it was a mental oasis, my vision was blurry. We started as peasants arose to be kings, we was living the dream, a bunch of poverty bounded kids forming the illest street team in search of cream, that formed an alliance, a regime that broaden to a monopoly, we monopolized to capitalize in the city that never sleeps, so we hustled to the wee hours of the morning

We were warned, im not even gonna lie, after being as poor as we was, we said why not try?, nothing mattered, we had nothing to leave behind if we died, that was our state of mind.

We was running the track like lewis, johnson and kursey, because not was it only men, there was young females growing up along side of me in poverty, and are a part of me, and the family tree

Everybody loved me as I loved them, some would get locked up in foreign places, do years come home with smiles on their faces as soon as they saw me, true love. And since I loved them back, I couldn’t continue that same story

I only got to have my men by me for a few years at a time, the time in between was time confined, I needed just more than a few years at a time to share what we made on the grind, I shine so they was shining but now they started dying for the things we was grinding.

We was doing wrong, but doing it so right, hustling hard and keeping the circle tight, just got tired of not knowing when its gonna be one of our last nights, like expendable gladiators in a death fight, got tired of seeing dripping mascara, weeping fathers, kids with the hope of being raised with mom AND dad shattered, got tired of loosing the people that mattered, if I was to do a reunion with just the people I ran with, it would be really hard, it would be me, about 7 others, and about 12 funeral cards of people that are now walking with god

Our round table has empty seats of missing kings that can never be used again, because there’s no equal to the life of my men,

I walked away from it all while at my peek, now I’m back to complete my cipher, I’m back to teach

Infinite the Poet
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

My Intentions*****

November 29th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Sometimes my intentions get over shadowed by peoples perception of me, or for what they see, which are not my views

I’m so experienced, some take it as me being mr know it all, do I not lend a hand to someone who fell or may fall?

I’ve seen men crunch up in balls, when life gets hard they get crushed like four forward moving walls, their see through, I see them ready to crush you, so I shot call.

I was a man in a ball, I been stuck between four walls, rocks and hard places, so have many other men, but I no longer see their faces.

I was naïve, people told me things, I didn’t want to hear, got caught up, now I’m like help me please, that was before I experienced what I didn’t want to believe, I still can breathe why not listen to the knowledge I’ve conceived

Because of my wisdom being born, I’m made to wear a crown of thorns, like the non believers did to my brother jesus

Infinite the Poet
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

In Your Head

November 22nd, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I try to write like a poetic neurologist, get up all in your head like a psychologist, Then control your mind like a, psionicist , I’m getting this down to a science, like a word play scientist, thesis then my pen moves with telekinesis, two physical eyes watching while the third controls motion, follow the pen rock tic toc tic toc hypnosis, with my thoughts I can give thoughts to a fellow poet with writers block, my brain plays slide I see mental pictures pass by, I choose one then jump inside, then its calligraphy with mental telepathy, one more thing I must mention, I’m working on my phd in esp, extrasensory perception.

Open your mind

Infinite the Poet
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

The Mirror

November 22nd, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

When I look in the mirror I see a kids dream becoming true, Mines I see a kid from the projects in this mirror who’s gonna become a winner, Me.

I endured everything u can only imagine unless you were me, Poverty Death Treachery A drug monopoly Lobby coke factory’s Infinite flier miles From those constantly flying to the sky.
The reflection of the mirror is this guy, but when he was a misguided kid, Me.
I was a breeze swept away by the wind, then by a storm, then by a hurricane of destruction corruption Which caused desolation, desertion. Everyone is gone except a few tumbleweeds, the mirror is looking at one of them, Me.

I was so mad, kicked out, evicted, my rent and the time its do was always conflicted, me and mamma became nomads, this is why I see riches, I’m already used to living with rags, bullets burnt and knifes stab, the guy in the mirror is, Me Trials and tribulations, hurdles and obstacles I overcame to stare in this mirror, I held a gun in the mirror I posed with dead men in this mirror I counted a few million in front of this mirror A killer killed the people I posed with and counted a million with in this mirror, it took 40 years for me to be ok with this reflection I see of Me.

We all do what we must, I pass no judgment, some people walked by when I was doing what I must, then judge, with that I wasn’t content.

My stomach cramps of hunger gave me consent.
So I took those packs to feed the indians in my tent, under this condition, the streets give permission, to survive.

I am the man in the mirror, that struggled to stay alive

Infinite the Poet
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

Kimberly John

November 4th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Hello mom and dad, little brothers and sister Oh how much do i miss you guys
I know you cried out your vocal cords when i passed I’m with the lord now
After all that pain I can finally smile and laugh The hospital was no where
like home or anywhere else I wanted to be But home is where I’m at now
Because the lord sent for me I’m back to my normal self now that I’m here I
can run and play like any other 15 yro should With no pain or no fear Mom
and dad don’t cry I want youth be happy So the next time you look up in the
sky I don’t want to see a tear I want you to smile for me

Love you guys, Kimberly

I wrote this in the person of one of my best friends daughter who passed of
cancer at 15

Infinite the Poet 2008
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

Streets Kill

November 4th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Heroin residue syringes, broken rubber bands, coke and crack binges, empty
vials litter our land, I can walk around pick them up recycle them by color,
and sell them for a discount back to the drug man, its like recycling cans,
I can probably find the needle that’s infected with aids, I can probably
find unused crack from someone who overdosed, now laying in a hospital
stomach flushed, comatose. fed up family members just watch the phone ring
when the caller I d say’s “local hospital” its the usual the same ole thing.
If its not the hospital its “collect call from sing sing would you like to
except?” House holds block calls, they rather you be in jail biding alone,
rather than you disturb a peaceful home. Felons repeat their motive 1000
times, only got caught twice, now its 1001 un lucky, three strikes, life.
another lost son, its triph, opposite of triumphant, momma just lost her
precious infant, now he/she is a number a statistic, momma said this would
be their fate 6 feet under, or a life long inmate, the hood doesn’t listen,
friends in prison I have a long list, I also have a deck of funeral cards of
friends that went to god that I dearly miss, The sounds of gun shots echo,
so down the block “ortiz” hears it and celebrates, ching ching more
funerals, please donate some funds for another dead one, this was the sign
that was constantly used trying to bury another poor youth.
A picture a few candles empty alcohol bottles- project makeshift murals-.
I’ve seen more violence than the leviathan, saw the affects of urban
pestilence, that’s the drug trade, a bubonic plague, it runs rampant in our
low income tenements. Kids get lucky to live pass twenty, now past twenty
they hustling on the block heavy with daddy, its hereditary, its in their
genes, its a daddy and son team of feeding fiends , its routine like cabrini
green, a blood bonded regime, all for fame, females, some gold, and for fast
machines made by the Europeans, audi bmw mercedes benz

Infinite the Poet 2011
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

The Late 70’s in the Bronx

November 4th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

Lobby games of dice, In these lobby games many people lost their life, for
tampering with a die, old time hustlers selling hash, trey bags of grass,
deranged old military men that used to shoot down bogees and gun down
charlies, lost their mind, beg for stoggies and kept a fifth of the hardest
wine, this is the late 70’s, in this project neighborhood of mines. Brothers
with afros with the black power fist in picks, spanish kids wearing
guallaveras with a tight fit , drive in theaters, everyone sitting in their
cars rolling joints of cheeba mixed with hash, speaker on window, listening
and watching sonny chiba kick some ass, old timers trying to be sugar daddy
to young girls that grew up without a father, young guys doing errands for
the older cats hustling, police knocking on doors when no answer they bust
it in, fort apache, crooked cops doing illegal investigations, no warrants
for the drugs and money they were taking, guardian angels vs black sheep,
cassanova vs zulu, uptown vs cross town, jams in the park till sundown,
scraped off tops on metal cans to aim the water from the hydrant when its
hot to keep us hydrated, there was no pools, this is how the ghetto kept
cool

Infinite the Poet 2011
Albert Carrasco
www.infinitethepoet.com

The Depression

October 24th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

We live in a vegetated state, but no trauma, from the reganomics to obamanation, we
are still forced to wear body armor, because of the economy, and what its doing to the
nation, rent over do, repo men looking for cars, credit cards maxed out, an epidemic
called a recession, spreading like sars. So some go back to what they once knew, that
ghetto mix, hood brew, supreme courts, no misdemeanors, baking soda h20 then the
eina, lethal, so the body armor goes on for those with intent to leave you, why? Cause
there’s people that want what we do, but they rather wait for us to get it, rather than
them starting a foundation of their own, they shoot for the dome, do jail time, and try to
explain to the board, why they regret it, and why they should come home, but a killer
free to roam ,the board don’t condone, an un guided predator drone making blind
decisions shouldn’t live amongst the blasphemous citizens with whom they once lived
with, politicians politic about laws for selling drugs, we get life, well ill poetically politic
About politicians buying love their paying for “crack” going in “raw” love child’s, so many
cheat on their wives, they should be placed in institutions, for politic pollution,
governmental prostitution. Schwarzenegger cheating on shriver, They turn a blind eye,
while he turns into the terminator gives the word to san quentin and watch tookie die,
who do we complain to? No one! Like william cooper I can tell you to behold of the pale
horse, martial law and the ideas of the illiuminati, with my voice I’m an anomaly, so I spit
in spritz, so I don’t piss off thee authorities, I lay low with my awakened mentality,
Sometimes I let go the brain flow, to let you know, their treating us like animals, their
screwing us bestiality, somebody call the aspca animal brutality. That’s “A special
protective citizens authority”

Infinite the Poet 2011
Al Carrasco

I’m at a Crossroad

October 24th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I’m at a crossroad

On the left side its past

On the right is the future

I’m walking on the present time

Looking to the left I see a wave of destruction

Due to my life of crime

Drugs, Jail, death ,the irony is I see the faces of friends of mines at the same time

For what we did in the past those faces are not here with me at the present

That’s what lead me to this crossroad

Standing at the present, I look back and these guys no longer WALK the earth, but they do FILL it

There worth, they will never fulfill it

We were just kids

Now I have kids, I can’t picture them doing what we did

I can’t picture watching them die, like some of our parents did

I’m at this crossroad looking to the right now, the future

For what I learned in the past, I bring forth to the present, what needs to be taught for the future

And that is… That there is one, and that we are not one of gods forgotten sons

Infinite the Poet 2011
Al Carrasco

If I

October 24th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

If I hold your hand will that be ok? In the middle of a random convo If i just kiss the words back into your mouth would that be ok, would you push me away? Or would you pucker up and talk the rest of our convo in tongue? French that is. im so touchy feelly not disrespectfully, romantically, like intertwined pinkys, or my hands massaging your scalp as I run my fingers through your hair, while in an intimate stare. If I grab your lower back, place my hand right on top of the vicky strap, not to touch the apple bottom, just to pull you closer would that be a problem?

I’m nowhere near shy, just a little quite, do you mind that? You have to be the aggressor, like helen keller use your hands to see me, sense me touch me like my body is braille, body language never fails. Are you ok with this?

I don’t ask for much, just a lil affection, so I’m asking you this question. If I…….

Infinite the Poet 2011
Al 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