Farmer's Market Tuesdays

"Salvation is a ladder reaching from the heart of man to the heart of Allah

It has three steps;

Belief is first and this is what man thinks, perhaps is truth
And faith is next, and this is what man knows is truth
Fruition is the last, and this is man himself, the truth. "


...The illustrious Prophet Noble Drew Ali


The naked breath is the language of the soul. It trembles man’s ethers so mightily that the vibrations cause natural disasters in the material world. It’s power jostling, shrieking like an alley cat, to be seen. To be felt. To be heard. No disaster is recorded as devastatingly loud and shockingly detailed as the one plaguing our children. Knowledge has been man’s crux since the beginning. Old vibrant souls stay locked in weathered bodies glowing with lessons learned and endeavors overflowing, begging to find new owners, new homes. Who will keep these secrets. Our secrets. The Mother’s secrets. Under the Father’s edict. The ones of time and space, of stillness and grace. Who will drink the wine into the sublime, securing the furthering, of furthering the future’s unmolested young minds.

O’ farmer
You most worthy parent
Your art remaining land locked
Unveiled, a tarp of soot over the exhibit
For the eventual nourishment of the flock
See anyone can sow seeds
Like any fertile earth can house them
But minding the quality of what’s sewn
Is the splendor untold about them

......The unsung hymns regarding the potential of stems

Stems....stretching. reaching. clawing for the strength of the sun to kiss the skin w/ power, the rain to discipline extremities with pitter-patter beatings that sanction growth. All this so that they may yield fruit for the animal, civilized and otherwise, to be recycled in soil and renewed when the thunder cries.....

What of the flower
That blooms from the concrete
Where cold steel
And palms meet
Walked on Walked over
So life becomes a game of
Dark feats
Cause there’s no light
At the end or
the beginning of the tunnel
No teachings
In the laws of the humble
No inquiry of self
Lest’ thou shalt not fumble
When a gnawing curiosity
Leads empty stomachs
To sidewalk rumbles

....It’s not a question of how much time
or money you spend
I’ve seen the richest seedlings grow crooked
From farmers with no patience to tend
Pass down more than
A facial feature
For every waking body
Is a born teacher
From the beggar
To the preacher
Syllabus aside
No matter
How dangerous the ride
The civilized soul
Is one beautiful creature


Ok, I’m off my pedestal
I’m not telling you what to do...
I don’t even remember
Where this started
So I wont beg your pardon
I am but a humble farmer
Trying to mind my garden
All I'm saying is....

Learn something and teach it. No way the rules to survival, when times are vital, should ever remain a secret.

And if you're not prepared to go into the city's blocks where the children are shooting. I don't want to hear a damn thing about your thoughts on "The Revolution."


THE END(is only the BEGINNING)

From the halls of the BeBetterAcademy.......

*Peace to the heart from the heart.... I appreciate your eyes