I am an old fool
For music dropped old school.
I'm not talkin' the Brothers Everly, 
Heavenly is hypnotic harmonies of Frankie Beverly
And Maze,
Harboring me into a daze,
Rewinding me back to lackadaisical days.
Childhood memories manifest realistic,
Soulful sounds resounded abound:
Marvin Gaye, Blue Magic, The Chi-Lites and The Stylistics...
Back then
in Cincinnati
The only black station
Was on the AM 
W-C-I-N...
I recollect this
We tuned in every morning at breakfast
Right around four
Until six, My uncle ready on time: 
Hittin' the door,
Headin' steady on the grind...  
Music is key for me:
Black music specifically.
The value: invaluable, high commodity,
The drums, the strums, the hums link our community:
Connects and reflects: it is the only thing guaranteeing our impunity...
'Double dutch
May not mean much
To most
But in the hood: Get your brag on and your boast!
We emceed our own shows; we were the hosts!
Music was hope while skipping a rope;
We coped in the face of death and dope...
I confess, I laugh at our crafty antics:
We finessed and messed up lyrics,
Attempting to express ourselves...
I want you to hear it:
You're a shining star no matter who you are:
Shining star for you to see, drop yo' draws 
an' follow me; won't yo' daddy be surprised...
I will not recite the remaining lines:
Containing creative uses of profanities,
Entertaining lucid juvenile fantasies...
Ten dollars found in a plastic egg of springtime pink
Courtesy of my church Easter egg hunt,
Back then at age ten, my prospective purchase must have seemed blunt;
As for me, I didn't stop to think
About it 
No doubt that
The cash
Allowed me
The risk (or should I say opportunity)
Of asking, inquisitively:
"How's your Funkentelechy?"
My first music purchase
Surfaced in the flesh of vinyl: 
Downtown, 7th & Race, Globe records, all sales final
"The Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome"... 
I, a good girl, a Pentecostal 
Pinned in by parents, yet not hostile
Shouldn't have been hintin'
That I was bent on 
The phunkified profoundness known as George Clinton...
Late nights,
Skate nights
Disco ball aglow
Chic, Diana Ross, RUN DMC, and Curtis Blow:
Shit, goddamned, we got off our asses and jammed!
Jheri curled and beaded-braided haired cuties
Arms wound 'round rusty, knot-headed, knuckleheads
Steady on the grind: "Boy watch them hands, 
Don't be trynta feel my booty!"
Quiet storms erupting on couches and beds,
Confessions of greener transgressions...
Before I let go
I am an old fool 
For old school
I am convinced
My soul is cleansed
With each note afloating
From my stereo
Cameo,
Rick James or Prince...
I owe an ode
To old school
Since
Old school
Has not the smoke and mirror trickery
Of today's music industry
Churning out
Burning out
Turning out
Shiny and slick,
Pop crossover hit after
Hit after hit
They really need to quit this ish!
...If you listen to one song
Nine times out of ten
Then you have already heard
The words
In the others spin...
I am an old fool
For old school
That is why I gotta
Give it up to Rufus and Carla Thomas
Chaka Khan, MC Lyte, Public Enemy and Afrika Bambaataa ...
We Be-bop, Hard-bop, R&B, Soul and Hip-hop...
Rhyme and rhythm relics
Tell it:
Like it is, how it was: tribal,
Our arrival upon these shores,
Soul survival: still trying to settle old scores...
My ode is to old school
It cannot be stopped
Through agent orange 
And shellshock
Beat downs, 
Down beats
Cell blocks,
Fired rounds 
And warrants
Can't stop
Won't stop...
Don't stop get it
Get it
Old school goes on and on 
and on...
Further and further out past the furthest reaches
Of sable sands on caribbean beaches
Bright like diamonds in the night sky
Everlasting beauty that cannot be pawned...
It goes on and on and on...this musical past further teaches...
Embraces me and takes my hand and...I rock on and on and on...
Farther than suns and satellites...speeding fast, 
proceeding past the break of, break of, break of dawn...