Friday, 1 January 2010



Michael Bonds, the Warrior G.R.I.O.T. (Ghetto Representative Interpreting Our Thoughts) is an internationally respected Author, Poet, Street Griot, Educator, People Mover (Motivator), Youth Street Worker and AIM Soldier from the roughest Hood in Boston Massachusetts, the notorious Roxbury. The "Bury" is the same cocoon that spawned the likes of the late legendary G.U.R.U (Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal) of Gang Starr and Ed O.G. & The Bull Dogs (Roxbury 02119) "I'm from the Bury the Bury but not the fruit y'all/don't make me act like where I come from cause it's brutal". The Bury also gave birth to revolutionaries as well like; the Minister Louis Farrakhan who was born and raised here and ironically shares the the same birthday as the Warrior ( May 11th), and of course the fearless brother Malcolm X who not only hustled in these streets, he went to prison and was eventually awakened and educated in Roxbury. This is the atmosphere and the energy that created the Warriors passion, his commitment and the power in his poetry.

The Warrior has performed in shows and venues, universities etc with the likes of:

Baba Askia Toure, co-founder of the Black Arts Movement
Danny Simmons, co-founder and Chairman of Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation
Gospel great Mrs. Tramaine Hawkins, (the Berklee Performance Center, Boston)
Bruce George, co-founder of Def Poetry
Chico Debarge, singer, song writer
Dr. Bobby Jones (Urban Impact Summit)
Dead Prez, Saul Williams, (Harvard University)
Kurtis Blow and Whoodini (Russell Auditorium, Boston) just to name a few.



Whats Love Got To Do With This?
She and her daughters are suffering
Petty health services and weak government policies have condemned their ovaries
Doomed their wombs to fail for an eternity
All for the sake of a juvenile attempt at parenting she and her daughters are suffering
Her name is Kenya
Her pain has a weird name
Obstetric fistula
But she cannot call a Dr.
911 is even less of a joke than the Flavor of Love was a reality show
She is running on empty promises
Climbing a stairway to heaven knows where
Unable to control her bowls
She is leaking urine
Literally pissing her life away
While the Kenyan governmental health policies piss in her face but tell her it is just rain
She has no umbrella
So her face is soaked with tears
Her poverty is violent
Her misery is shameful
Her fetus is unsustainable
And she is suffering
But still dignified
So what’s love got to do with this?
Obviously nothing if this means nothing to you
It's Official
Its official
We the shiznit
Uncle Sam's fecies species
The bile of the Constitution
Fibered by a diet of Amendments
Civil Rights laxatives and water under the bridge
We loosed
Huey delinguent X babies of the Black Power Movement
Swine fed on domestic abuse, Slum Lords, and Soap Boxes
Hot summers and cold fire hydrants
Blacksploited until we loved ourselves to sleep
We woke up rioting
Let the church say: "A Men, peace be still born a suspect"
Tithes pay for the sins of the "Baby Daddies"
Curtis Mayfield, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Nina Simone choired us
Donald Goines and Sam Greenlee authored the prequel
We products of Afros
Dashiki personalities
Hip Hop cultured
Dizzier than Gelespie
Miles from Davis
Use to be Bay Bay Kids
Now BB's Kings & Queens
Its official
We the shiznit
Uncle Sam's fecies species
The bile of the Constitution
Fibered by a diet of Ammendments
Civil Rights laxatives and water under the bridge
We loosed
If The Truth Be Told
If truth be told you would know about Royal Dutch Shell
The European/American capitalist
The body parts, the fluids, the poverty
The commerce mixing well for commercial exploitationists
You would know about the murder, the bribery, the intimidation
All of this is fodder for contamination

If truth be told each fill up at the gas pump would have the sublime taste of hot chocolate Carbon Dioxide, a tall glass of Sulfur Gas at bedtime
Lullabies but no good nights under chemical clouds
British pounds for pounds knocking out heavy weight Ogoni fighters like:
Kene Saro-Wiawa, Saturday Doobee, Baribor Bera,
Felix Nuate, John Kpuinen, Paul Levura, Daniel Gbokoo, Nordu Eawo

If truth be told you would have been fully aware of the government sponsored imprisonment,
The torture, the lynching
The executions and the Emphysema and the Lung Disease and/or the likes there of

If truth be told somebody should have blown the lid off this long before…
That lid was blown off!
If truth be told
If truth be told you would have known about THEY
THEY who have never ever taste a cigarette but express symptoms that mimic a 5 pack a day nicotine addiction
THEY who are but eleven years old and younger
Happy Birth Defect Day… everyday

If truth be told you’d Google the Nigerian infant mortality rate prior to 1995 because honestly, I refuse to drop these published statistics in this poem

If truth be told you wouldn’t have to feast on this crude for thought
Drink this chemical toast to capitalism
My stomach turns each time…
each time I spit up this Royal Dutch Shell Fish & Chip$ dinner
This is poetic injustice at its finest
Placentas giving birth to Chronic Asthmatics
Now, bow your heads and look away, look away, look away to Ogoni Land
Nigerian lives in absentia

If truth be told you would have known long ago about a woman named Condeliza
A childhood friend of four little girls exploded in an Alabama church named Condeliza
A powerful African American woman at the helm of Royal Dutch Shell named Condeliza
The largest oil tanker in the Royal Dutch Shell fleet named the Condeliza
The highly classified, non public, very discrete erasure of Codeliza’s name from the ship when she was selected as part of the Bush administrations ultimate oil regime

The truth is, none of this is non fiction
This is a story of Petroleum Patriots and Methane Minute Men, Sulfur Sergeants, and Toxic Terrorists
Sublimely I stumble over pipelines at ground level leaking, spewing contamination
Polluting the ground water below the surface of Mother Earth
Native Ogoni people black past the Melanin born in them
Black past Nigerian nights
Black past their Black past because the oil on their hands makes them black past their Nigerian skin

The truth is MOSOP Ogoni, MOSOP Ogoni, MOSOP Ogoni…
The truth is, Ogoni women lead the voices that refused BIG Oils come back to Ogoni Nigeria

The truth is Royal Dutch Shell was lead by Condeliza Rice at this time
the truth is SHE was:
Unwilling to clean up the mess SHe made
Unwilling to pick up the pipes SHE laid
Unwilling to correct the mistakes SHE made
Unable to reattach the limbs SHE maimed
Unwilling to pay
Unwilling to replenish the resources SHE drained
Unwilling/unable to apologize or fix the lives SHE changed forever

MOSOP Ogoni, MOSOP Ogoni, MOSOP Ogoni

The truth is CNN, FOX, Time Magazine ect., they all knew
They should have blown the cover off this long before the cover was blown off

Now onyx hue fluids flow in the saline waters of the Gulf coast
The same onyx hue of the feet of the Ogoni people
These onyx hue feet still dance in spite of all this…
They dance to Nigerian beats as ancient as times 4 score and as old as the deepest pockets of crude found
This Crude found has spilled more blood than dudes down kill on American city blocks
More than American city cops have gunned down dudes on American city blocks then get acquitted like its business as usual
American and Europeans do business as usual on foreign soil with no regard for life or liberty while in pursuit of happiness…
For themselves and their posterity they do ordain and establish then constitute
Shunning any fork in the road not leading to their united stake in commerce
In the name of commerce they are united when they stake a claim
The indigenous are the enemies of their own state

The truth is MOSOP
The truth is the Ogoni 9
The truth is Ogoni Nigeria is a Royal Dutch “Shell” of its former self

And now you know the truth,
So what are YOU going to do?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Gunz, Poems & Rosez (My Mission)I am on a mission
I got no choice but to except it
The “Hood”, I gotta rep it
Until these Guns
And these Poems I’m holding
Turn to Roses
Lest my chest and crown be filled holy
And thou art placing me in the ground
Seven feet deep with a stone that reads
That’s a wrap
And I Rest At Peace
Until then
I commit my speech to these streets
Be they no longer a zone for war
I got no choice but to pump these poems raw
Then stand up strong
Until my legs and my throat get soar
Then stand up some more
And you know what?
“I’m still standing
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah”
On the down side looking up at them and theirs
On the outside looking down on me and mine
So what if I pulled out my vision
And remove my thoughts
Wrap them in my dreams
Then tied them with my vocal chords
Then locked them away in a diamond studded box
Then gave it all to them on a platinum platter
You think they’d hear my cry - For me and my – Kind – ly - speak on behalf of those who -
Could they even see my position?
What’s missing is the puzzle
I am the piece left out purposely
And they will never find me
Until they clean out their house
Lift up that comfortable cushion
They sit on at our expense
We rest beneath the bed we made
For them to rest their heads
They slept on me and my kind for a long time-
Coming along a little too late to ever be my friend
To be my darling
You send me to these prisons
At an immoral rate
Reasoning escapes
These ties that bind man kind together
So what god has brought together has been torn
Us-under yourn - be free at last glance
So these ghetto representatives like me
We be the last chance
for those who be Weaving
My sisters be weaving
And my brothers be leaving
Their pants worn down under their waste line
They swing too low to run with Harriet underground
No Mo!
Yi mean?
Besides, their sweet chariots got 24’s
With Homicide doors
I don’t know what you heard
But they got “John’s Doe” and they be coming-
For to carry you gone up off these blocks
With 18 in the Glock
But it only takes one shot to stop these migraines,
Y’all be - my People be my Grain,
Society headaches
From rising in this land of Filth and Money
Nowhere roads paved with souls
But behold
A Tanned Black Alley Cat
Slowly strolls
He throws an awkward southpaw
To the jaw of an Ass-
Holding a gentrified monopoly pass
To my neighbors “Hood”
Making sure we don’t go pass go-
Straight to jail as if:
“We don’t need no education”
It’s no wonder we’re complacent
With the status quo
The cookie doe ain’t rising fast enough
To survive on 9 to 5 pm
My BM (Babies Mama)
She wants:
Thanks Giving, Christmas,
Not mention Birthday presents “Urrr” week
I can’t compete
Let alone keep up with the Jones’s,
The Johnson’s,
The Smith and Wesson’s
It’s virtually impossible
So my mission is clear
I’ve got no choice but to except it
The “Hood”,
I gotta rep it
Until these Guns and these Poems I’m holding
Turn to Roses
Lest my chest and crown be filled holy-
And thou art placing me in the ground
With a stone that reads:
That’s a wrap and I
Rest At Peace


Inthugligence Ghetto Veritas (produced by DJ Goo for Synchrovision Records His album "Inthugligence Ghetto Veritas" (produced by DJ Goo for Synchrovision Records), recorded in Geneva Switzerland,featuring Bryonn Baine
Enemy Of The State (Absoloot Records & Films)
"Gunz, Poems & Rosez" (Absoloot Records & Films)
My Life, Just For You (P.O.E.M.S. LLC.)
Soul Of A Warrior, A Spoken Book



Gunz, Poems & Rosez

Gunz, Poems & Rosez: The Experience Strength and Hope of Michael Warrior Bonds
Hidden In A Book
The Bandana Republic: An Anthology of Gang Members and Their Affiliates (Edited by Louis Reyes Rivera, and Bruce George)
The University of New Hampshire at Plymouth States Centripetal
The Red Bull Word Clash Coffee Table Book
Looters Magazine

Warrior on Facebook

© 2012, Warrior. All rights reserved.

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