Posted by: SPT | May 1, 2012

Hustling (For Good)

I’d like to go on record and start by saying that hustling and all the terms synonymous with it are associated with negative connotations. Under better lighting, hustling can be seen as a means for obtaining an improved quality of life. The means by which one hustles, however, are only associated with immoral qualities.

This needs to be changed & I plan changing it.

In an upcoming series, I will examine our society and the popular interpretations it holds regarding hustling. By using the traditional viewpoints on hustling as a contrast, I aim to redesign the modern hustler into “the” new and improved gentleman. I seek to transform this negative energy around the term “hustling” to remind everyone how to see a cup half full, and in the process, I will strive to right some of the wrongs that our society has engrained into our minds.

Posted by: SPT | May 1, 2012

The Highlander Approach

Highlander approach, I conquest the forces in my life. They may sting, but I put up a fight.

Subtle steps and subtle creeks,
I make noise moving about.
But the noise does little to drown out
Sounds that overwhelm,
So I shout
To create my own disturbance.

A ripple from my ocean, the sound is a lance ready to become one with the knowledge in its path.

Posted by: SPT | September 12, 2011

Is It Allowed?

I wonder aloud, loud enough only for me to hear
How and why is this happening, and why over here

I just settled back down,
still so confused
Not quite sure of what to do

I felt pressed by fate, as if I was aboard
But bored of the pace, I shipped off

But what of my message
And the dreams I once stared
In the eyes. Of my goal,
I seem so scared.

Slow-paced and controlled,
I cautiously wave; Unable to fold,
I cautiously chase.

I should be on top,
But my emotions glide
And I always confuse my passion
For my romantic side.

I worry, I sigh.

Because the two should be able to coincide
In my serene, yet wonderfully
Chaotic mind.

Posted by: SPT | July 26, 2011

Plunder Wonder

What’s wrong with us, I wonder?

We co-exist, and as if that wasn’t enough, there isn’t another lifeform within lightyears. We continue to search for other life in the Universe, in an attempt to not feel alone, but look at us! Look at the human race altogether, and you’ll see why I’m so confused. We co-exist, yet we act like we’re alone.

I grew up into a capitalistic environment, and I plan to make use of it. But I don’t just want to make money from it: no. I want to improve it, and morph it into the great-society-building-machine it can become. For if we look at it now, and try to assess its weaknesses, we see how vulnerable it is. But there’s hope, because it doesn’t only have weaknesses; there’s hope because it has created hope itself.

We need to evaluate our lives and examine what type of impact we have and what type of impact we want to have. There are very few sectors of humanity left that haven’t already been overrun by the wealthy, and I think we should sieze these as opportunities before it’s lost.

Agriculture is run by so few, but yet man-handled by so many. The farmers that created society, as we look into our history and discover what kept us alive all these years, should be treasured and revered. Their plights shouldn’t be theirs alone, but a flight in which we all plunder. We eat their hard-work, but flee when they’re in peril? What nonsense is that!

No, I dare to dream. I see a society in which we all prosper with each others accomplishments. Where we travel with each other, into the future, rather than into the darkness. I see a future where we aren’t distracted by the materialism that is promoted by our fortunes.

My future is a community-supported network of businesses. And it starts with one. Because if nobody else is willing, than I will stand up. We need to find a way to co-exist again, and quit this segregation trend.

This is my ode, perhaps to the beginning of something new, that I will not give up without trying. “At least fail, before having given up.” Because it’s not just about me, and that’s what I’ve been trying to live for all along. I want to start a farming trend where we support those that support us. The impact of tragedy is far lighter on the shoulders of many than on the shoulders of a few.

Posted by: SPT | July 1, 2011

Common Sense

Creative energies transpire on this eve
For even those who are blind are now able to see
Sounds fall upon ears who once were deaf
And scents travel far to tell where they’re kept

As victories sound, their bells sway forth
And back
But the victory is sound, so noise is kept
No more is loudness the arbitrator of death
For even with silence, the toll has been felt

Distant thoughts unprepared for battle
Settle their differences on the front
With one word winning and another holding on,
Life is represented as life goes on.

Posted by: SPT | June 21, 2011

A Mouthful

I’ve got food to eat, but I’m not hungry.
How is this world so full of money?
People getting greedy, won’t bother for change;
All they care about is winning and fame.
We see each other hurt and in need,
But vision lost, we look obscene.

I have food waiting on me; it’s getting cold.
But my stomach’s unsettled, and this feeling is old.
Morsels awaiting for my teeth to bite, but
I’m not the only hungry person that is alive.

Clawing at my mind, leaving scrapes of food behind,
I struggle to create an open-mind.

Devour and be nourished,
Perhaps that’s the lesson?

But I can’t consume anymore.


And how can I?  I’ve been digesting and digesting, but now I’ve hit a stagnant point.  With no filter, I’ve let too much distract me, and I’ve detracted from the focus I once had.  I need to be aware of what lessons I’ve allowed myself to absorb.

Posted by: SPT | June 14, 2011


What purpose does my life serve, I wonder when I wake up. I see too many pawns moving around me, so I steer clear of their path. For even if I’m diagonally across, they choose to devour me.

These old-world beliefs and thoughts, that what’s possible has already been sought, holds me back from being complete. Because I fall asleep at night, waiting for not only one but several keys, hoping to wake up with the puzzle complete. Maybe I’m 98% complete, but it’s the final 2% that hold me.

Can I wake up and fight, incomplete? Or will I keep hoping to see, what I already have come to know, the future present itself before me?

While I’m waiting for the answer I seek, I fall back asleep.

Posted by: SPT | May 18, 2011

Genus Cumulonimbus

Just when I think that my thoughts have dimmed,
A switch turns them brighter.
And I realize by the color of my skin
Our world, with all its photosynthesis,
Is sensitive to light.

Sight, no longer limited to an eye,
Reveals that our vision has been clouded.
The horizon should be where two thoughts meet,
but instead, we still drift off the edge:
No seats.

The world is not square, so we’ve learned with time.
Both outside and within, there’s a circular flow to our lives.
Now if only, since I see, I could project my vision bright
Perhaps this cumunolimbus would settle down,
And quit fogging up our sights.


I panic to myself that my inaction is part of the problem. I seek to better both my life and those around me, but don’t know where to begin. It seems the message our medias project is not aligned with the interests of the common person, and haven’t been for quite some time. Many have noticed, too. But so few have spoken. Even when they do, the sheer volume they face drowns them out.

Surely, one drop can still make a difference in the celestial pool of life.

Posted by: SPT | February 25, 2011


The glory of each word
exubes from my soul:
The faces and smiles,
the sins I have tasted,
all the positive spaces.

The amazing thoughts laced,
or the fountain of life we traced.
Point in case: My existence.

I am only witness to the shining sun in theory,
for I have yet to travel to its vicinity.
It blinds my vision with light, so I close my eyes.
But even blind I’m incapable of shutting out the sight.

Posted by: SPT | February 25, 2011

Sea? Or is it C? Si, I believe.

Listening to the news, I see my history as the present, living in this moment with the memories of my past. Time keeps moving, but my vision is not losing traction to the ever increasing tactics I’ve learned. If my life is my limit, then I want to make the most of it. Concentrated, I can spew my lyrics onto whiteboards empty with space. When the message fades like the billboards of our roads, I believe in the jaded role it plays, unaware of the impact it has made.

Cut yourself free, I say to the breeze of emotions that pull at my seams. Void of the spirits that torture good souls, I know, the potential is a low-blow estimate of what all this planet tolls. Why cut short, why cut at all, when the frays that lie on my edges come apart on their own? Could this be the story of my world, a simple elmer’s tale of how glue didn’t hold, and how the issues saw their fold before the river or the turn. The pot is raising stakes on each habit I’ve made, but at a sideglance, I couldn’t believe the lies, the twisted story of our times. How can I forget this moral? Sad cues and empathetic views push me over the edge, but afraid to take the dive, I sit and stride back and forth, move about the entire floor. I can push each button, pull together the beat, but repetitiveness sits on repeat. And I didn’t see – that before the moment convinced me, I was able to leave. The seams that held together my thoughts, unraveled and torn, have already been told and worn. Each tread, and every step that was born is another step forward.

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