Spoken Words: Poems by Infinite the Poet

I’m so glad to be me!

February 2nd, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I’m so glad to be me! I’ve been lied to, people made me promises they always broke, i was never really cared for, so poor I had to wait till the first or third day of the month for mammas food stamps, or the money from dads social security so we could eat, I loved my mom just like she loved her son, hey al take this(food stamps), go to the bodega tell them mamma needs a favor, I give them 100 they’ll give me 70 cash, now that’s the money for a fresh pair of air force 1’s, so I don’t get teased or snapped on in class, mom tried her best alone, since dad passed.

I’m so glad this happened to me! I’ve seen mamma lord calling, on the floor in fetal balling, “lord help me I don’t know wether I’m coming or going” no money, she didn’t know if we would have a home some mornings. Adjustment to her not having dad was a tragic mourning, she looked like she was loosing her mind, waiting at the window as if she was looking for angels in the appearance of this- father of mines. She looked for a halo over wavy hair, wings protruding from dark skin, tall and handsome, she would look for these signs of him, she loved him.

I’m so glad this happened to me! Flustered with frustration I found myself falling into hells plantation , I fell victim to what was being cooked in the devils kitchen, to help moms was what I was wishing, instead of pitching coins in to a well, I pitched coke and crack when baking soda was added in, then boiled in the leviathan. I’m scarred, my bullet holes look like those little gunshot stickers people put on cars. for me and my friends declaring war to try to live like stars, I can play “52 pick up” or “I declare war” with funeral cards with all those that I knew that went with god.


The rebirth

I’m so glad this happened to me! Now I get to speak reality to the children who will become modern slaves in this urban community, i want to write life on leaves that fell from trees with no light. I can’t because they died, i would of enlighten them. so now I’m lyrically planting seeds to bring forth trees without disease like Dr wangari maathai, I don’t write for things just monetary, but i need the currency to get me out of the situations i am in currently, I write to save lives, I’ll do it for free with the hope one day Like the dr, I can win a noble peace prize, until then, I’ll keep writing this underground urban poetry like I’m the son of ms Tubman.!! Follow my lemniscate to freedom

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Tunnel Vision

January 18th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I had tunnel vision,
there was no light at the end so it was a dark journey,
I was passed the torch of street life fame
Didn’t help me in this dark journey,
it had no flame
So aIl I really was, was a name in this journey
He’s this he’s that
I was blind as a bat
A bumpy journey
Please doc don’t bump me while pushing me on a gurney
I said that a few times on this journey
5 bullet scars mark this journey
That’s why I asked doc not to bump the gurney
Why they keep shooting me?
I should of not questioned the journey
Now everyone around me are victims of shootings,
Pow x twenty
Doc please don’t bump those twenty gurneys
Doc don’t take out the iv
Doc no don’t you dare touch that plug
They won’t be able to breath
Take that tag off there toe
Doc their so cold
He gives me a prescription
It says “permission to look in a different direction”
I no longer have tunnel vision

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

Mind Tricks

January 18th, 2012   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

My motto was why stop?, all the guys that dropped could of stopped, they didn’t, so I’m not, fuck it come kill me, I was rebelling, why? Because inside i was hurting.
So many died, I didn’t want the world to think I was weak alone, don’t ever disrespect my gangster, I had to much pride.
Inf sorry to hear what happened to your boy I hope he rest in peace, that same dude walks away burst out in laughter, they really didn’t care for my deceased.
My mind played tricks on me.
I was the youngest, how does time pass and I become the oldest?
I’m even older than my dad, he stopped aging at 35, I’m five years older than him when he died.
I felt confined without being locked up, that was my state of mind.
” I don’t know anything else but the hustle”, that was mine and many others trouble.
No outlets, mind tricks, but if given packs we know how to bubble them in the projects.
No options, couldn’t be optimistic, unless we talked about death and which way the reaper will pay us a visit.
I mastered the craft of people that don’t last and it scared me, its so hard to evade the three felony law, I’m glad that wasn’t in effect while I was growing up as an eighties baby, because instead of a poem this would be a letter written from me, while serving life in some penitentiary. I got a second chance. I won’t regress, all my life I had less, there’s only room to advance.
I always asked myself, al what are you gonna be after this, in had no answer, I was used to selling dimes and nickels, bustn caps or swinging knuckles, the answer to that question for years stood in limbo.
I heard the voices, just wasn’t listening, my third eye was giving visions, I paid them no mind, the pain of poverty wasn’t letting me see in clarity, I was caught up pitching in for the pushers charity, i was a statistic like most of us ghetto minorities, who were the majority of the hustlers making a living in housing lobbies.
I want to say sorry to the world! My mind played tricks on me, I’ve should of got reincarnated sooner to save the crack baby boomers, its hard to let go when that life consumes ya, mind tricks, brain comesutra left us in awkward positions

Infinite the Poet 2012
Albert Carrasco

The Hustle

December 14th, 2011   admin  Uncategorized   No Comments »

I’ve pitched on corners where original gangsters told me I couldn’t, I didn’t care, my dad was “indio” all I had to do was throw his name in the air, the respect was there. The stick up kids wouldn’t dare. My dad was a hustler of all sorts, mvp in the game of death or riches, daddy died I carried out his legacy, I arose to fame, became one of the streets most recognized name if your house sold cain, it was against his wishes. It was already too late. I started using mommas plates, gem star to cookie break, after the powder turned to oil then solid all inside of a pirex, rocks first the shake is last, I used the boiling water to get the excess off the glass, did the math, bombs to the runners to run marathons so fiends can blast, cash was coming in super fast, daddy’s respect wouldn’t last, so I collided with the streets like a fatal car crash, E R’s surgery stitches staples, shit bags, death, eternal souls clashed.

When people dropped we didn’t call the cops we did our own investigations, our own forensics, full clips were emptied by the faculty we went ballistic, my team got clips emptied on too, r I p to the never forgotten youths of the 80’s, we all were babies running crazy trying to be all we can be by reaching a key.

At that day and time everyone new us, we were notorious, the top of la costra nostra list, we fended off many hits, but a lot of my guys died when I wasn’t around to stop it, I would of intervened, a street professional I would of peeped the movement, let go 16, it would of been them instead of my men in that bloody crime scene.

Since I wasn’t there I had to plan a funeral for them, kiss of death while there dressed there best laying in a coffin. Three days later burial, that same day, back on the block with the hustle apparel, a mural, a picture some liquor, candles flicker, different day same story just short another brother,

We fought hard for the throne, to become kings of the castle we held our own, the price.. Half my brothers got sent back home.

This is why I write about the game and no longer play it

Infinite the Poet
Albert Carrasco


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

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

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

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

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

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

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