Three poems by Sharnell Tull aka "Sista Big"

There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to Live

My mind been so fucked up as of late—

once thought to be a mastered thing

now it’s very much a life of its own

a tempered topped tethered ticking time

BOMB

...

Upon first thought it’s a sneaky unrelenting numskull

I’d assured future we’d be rid of you...

RIPPING!

Slashing!

Chemically altering the state —

one of these,

ONE OF THESE must work!

There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to...

and it’s a bit poetic honestly

candied situations tasteless for the cook

soured actions base for the /book

..Living isn’t focal much anymore for sure

lost the joy

lost the thrill

lost the power

lost

when the dandelion comes out

taproot is a strong denial

a long burrowed spring-ing head of the class

demeanor —

and you want to take up arms to eradicate?

what can kill the life-giver

aside from poison to the head?

coming for the Lion’s tooth it’s better off

youuuu

knocking them ALL loose!

There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing...

and in wonderment

on what was sacred burial land

an herb with medicinal connotations lay as favor-

who thought they could bury food?

who thought they could bury the power?

There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to Live / and it’s a bit poetic honestly.

In the MIDDLE of SURVIVAL(with retrospect from Shawn)

“You can’t be cold to human suffering and love God.” - Shawn Burrell

—-

There’s a moment in my life when EVERYTHING

was a fight!

FIGHTING to die—

an exasperated lament turned into a death-mantra

speaking the carcass of existence into this realm

FIGHTING to be seen—

a talent goes as far as the one who holds it/

for a long time an inadequate technique caused delay/

everything about me is handsy to the abusers /dismay

**meaning, I’ve got control of EVERYTHING about me NOW.

FIGHTING to stay afloat—

a strong current with a Sag SUN

lay the rocks & part moon an invaluable treasure

surely the gold of intentions:AROSE

**if I must explain, the value of your soul much like dough RISES to occasion!

Discernment is 20/20 like hindsight

(I told my girls I was gonna fit this line in a poem)

everything about me is LIMELIGHT/

bursting, basking

action packed-HIGH VOLTAGE,

CRANK!

Gon’ head and give it a/YANK!

In the MIDDLE of SURVIVAL this is a casting of nets/

much like Father & Sons of Matthew 4:21

a mending session/

a minor restoration of a full body of work!

a fight AGAIN.

A FIGHT to LIVE.

FOUR ROUND exhibition match/

CALLING all who dare/

this affair/

trancing and the pool from the eyes is a blinding rebuttal/

during /scuffle this is your chance a MOMENT

...you know we fought thrice before/

and indeed my friend, what’s the point of:

fighting to be seen/

If you ain’t gone SHOW OFF at the END?

For Seasons that Move Minds

I’ve been thinking often about death and dying.

a slow dance with mystical charm...

an exercise with the beefy skin of:

throwing dead weights to the mirror of self..

Who can carry the ache for this long?

Unnatural.

Winterizing the bod is all determined with stability

One misstep/

the hard work of fur lining to build heat

WILL catch rouge-fire/

a pressure toppling high-rise

unless properly trained for such events...

Can you see the outcome?

Uniform.

Suffering Summer with sweat pulsing terrain

met with the disdain of baking treats/

gluttonous behavior for mans /dozen

sourcing from a faulty well

galloping ingredients towards receptacles

How can we push the product?

Unsure.

I’ve been contemplating the masterful job of:

crashing into the abyss of nothingness

MY GOD IT SEEMS SERENE!

A magazine of detachment—

cause holding bullets is becoming deafening

each muscle is an uncurling equivalent/

clipping the nape.

What’s stopping?

Up.

Sharnell Tull, AKA Sista Big is a Poet. 2x Author. Orator. Teacher.