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Poetic Pieces 

An Image of Strength
Dedicated to: Antonette "Toni" Stroman (my sister)

You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity  

Your focus of reality, moves me.

To be the that potential me, you see 



You set the pace

Welcomed me into this place, this space

And feed me faith off of your plate

I watched from jump rope to hop scotch 

you were real, taught me how to deal with the bullies on the block 

So much, I owe to you, it's true 

As a little man 

you taught me how to stand on my own two 


And through your creative stories and the pictures you drew 

You turned our inner city blues

Into colors of new hues 

I saying you turn our inner city blues 

into color of new hues



You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity  

Your focus of reality, moves me

To be the that potential me, you see



A consistent confidant 

my older sister who wore beauty so nonchalant 


Of course, I was devastated when the feathers of this guardian angel wing got clip 

I questioned the universe and her meaning of it

Lord knows I cried, why, my sister get sick

By some unknown virus, call encephalitis… it made no sense


I am saying we survived the ghetto 

Gangsters, pimps, and the puppet masters like Geppetto 

As our family moved to mountains right next to the meadows

Than you get bit, sick, by a mosquito 


Now I come to grips with my own meaning of it 

Your coma, a cocoon 

And I had to learn even in the dark of night, there is still the light of the moon


Spirituality sought, and god found 

And the world continues to be bless through her art work now


You are an image of strength, laced, with femininity  

Your focus of reality, moves me

To be the that potential me, you see




By: McTate II 

Dazzled By The Notes 

Hip-Hop is my culture 

My love, inspiring hope 

With words to touch nerves, being felt by most

Tech-heads to cutthroats, infants to old-folks

With perspective, introspective, worldwide, and coast to coast

Like a Urie Bronfenbrenner ecological approach 

So, as my words float one can lyrically comprehend 

Or just be dazzled by the notes

By: McTate II


When I Say Hip-Hop


When I say Hip-Hop, I tend to think of Planet Rock

Cause see I use to Pop-lock and blow up the spot 

From here to Ypsilanti, by myself or with my family 

I was the shorty of the crew and my age couldn’t band me 

Back in 83’ to my was the old days 

Use to battle at Loma Alta in the hallways

Where some had skill and still had all A’s

While a young Tracy Murray, was hittin’ J’s 

that were lovely


So can you feel me? 

It still be, that same old ish

I now grabs the mic flip the script, and boogaloo like Shrimp 

Always down for the cause, I even use to Pause  

With Run-DMC, Jam Master Jay, in my Adidas 


Takin’ it back to the essence of the real Hip-Hop 

When I was a little shorty and I use to Pop 

Walking down the street with my new boom-box 

Just a Man & His Music, like Scott La Roc

B-boying every chance I got 

I use to break dance to "Tour De France"

In my parachute pants 

Backspin and then I pose, chose, my B-boy stance

Broke it down and started “tickin’” 

Like Mr. Wave and have ‘em trippin’  

Up-rock to the joint, point, and catch ‘em slippin’

Cause there was no room in the cypher for kids who wanted chill 

It’s was like, “brother you next, so you best show skill”


Still I walk the streets with that same pizzazz 

Yet, instead of a boom-box, I now rock a pen and a pad 

And on my shoulders my, little lad

Cause above all, now, I’m just a dad



By: McTate II




Sometimes, I feel as if my brain chemistry will disperse 

Forget a one man band, I am like a one man universe  

Where lyrics swing like “Big Hurt” 

Insight enough rhythm in Steve Martin to play the Jerk 

Fuck smiles, I often smirk, for in who’s eye do devils lurk

You see I run slang like gangs bang and now I am putting in work 

In my mind to find methods to spit like AK’s 

While yelling, “Warriors… come out to play…”

You see stress be mad fat, I have to tell Mack, “that a few brothers hate ya” 

No need to ask why, it’s human nature 

One breath, two steps away from beelzebub’s chambers

BAMM!!! and now blood flows like anger 

Death is that double banger, it’s either satin or the savior 

As for pain, hell no, I only feel the anesthesia 

Transgress to other levels while yelling, “checkmate” while playing chess with the devil 

Sit on a bed of nails, flipping the script, and sparking “L’s’

Collecting made props through laptop and email      

In his land and now he is lost like “Chaka”

Drinking a 40 ounce of “Ol’ E.” calming to be the “Top Nocka”   


I lie focused, chant, and adapt the styles of the locus 

Walk through the valley of death… and not at all be noticed 

As smooth words of poetry, entice, as I dip, deep into the mind and find space for me to flourish

More mystic than when scripted… Where gassed niggas, get sifted 

Now, yelling, throughout my valleys… Commanding my souls, “to get with it!”

I can go on and on, writing in their blood, if the ink stops… You see, my souls been making music way before the fucking “Ink Spots”

I perpetuate those who pose fraud and fallacious 

Fuck the “Source” you can read me in “Revelations”

My heart, bends, and twist… Torture, such bliss 

As I corrupt and erupt like a cyst

Now, dismiss all thoughts that lie mortal… as I bottle of up your souls and toss your bodies out a porthole 

Oh it shall disintegrate through force of detraction… 

Pain, past, and present shall be you only action

Like a sitcom rerun… so nigga now, “what’s happen”

By: McTate II

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