Sometimes....oh sometimes it snows in the 4 month of a crocodile year.... sometimes i sit on a
brown almost leather chair as if i were almost a king
And sometimes i cry an elephant tear when the prince sings
See, sometimes it really stings
like with a memory to it as long as the list of babies made while parents listened to 'hot thing'
Sometimes like right now i am staring out of a window at red rocks, imagining being one of
them mascara'd in flaking snow...all dressed up but with no where to go. A mountain
skipping your funeral...
A hurst...
A death...
A thirst...
Your last breath...better yet, your first....
The vast sermons you had left...
Away they blow...

Sometimes...there's just no where to go
Do red angels bleed upon white snow?
Making purple seeds for more paisley parks we 'adore' to grow?
Only God could know
like 'some say a man ain't truly happy unless a man truly dies'
even if lies....i count it all joy & true
like your dying baby boy like mine too
happy they left fathers who marched Mile's 'kind of blue'
But sometimes...oh sometimes, you have no idea what to do
And snows in april & there's just no where to go
Sometimes i know not even how to write my own name...barely getting thru the O.
Sometimes i hide like the 6 year old trying to sneak a piece of bigger life while standing on
bowed legs under a cherry moon with bowed dreams that i wish could be straightened out...
Sometimes when i hear your music pout....i recall wondering at 11 if i can finish spelling
Apollonia before my folks came crashing in the room
Like waves crashing against the womb when a star is about to be born
And every purple moon one like you comes in the form of purple rain or purple flakes of
snow with musical notes hanging off the hail that falls to show just how heaven your music
would float

If this ain't the princest shit i ever wrote, let it at least be said that 15 golden eagles mated
with 15 white doves & birthed 30 platinum colored angels marching in a revolt called a
poem cloaked but with 1 quote....that most matters. Now that the ash of your ghost scatters,
i have frantically been researching the world's tallest ladder so i can climb your track '7', on
the day your mother lay upon her back june 7 & sneak a peek into heaven just to listen to
you once more in "person" or even rehearsin' or even in the bluest of weather or even finally that duet of you & Michael together
Sometimes i wish....
4 days late on this letter to you....& all the juicy praise to dish
But, sometimes the hand goes numb
The ink & the pen go dumb and all you have is a broken poet full of passion...
or at least, some.
Everyone asking..."how come?"

Thank God...God, never been that one...
to question your way
And i was dreaming when i wrote this so excuse me if it went astray
I just miss you man & all you had to say..
Another five foot beautiful little black boy wonder of gray
Your eyes saw as mine....
God save those of us who straddle life between the line....
Between the verse
For, complicated & the road most tribulated will be the drive for reverse

Sometimes my heart pumps more blood to that frozen hand just to fill a quota so i can write
a you back to life from Minnesota to jazz rock pop rhythm blues soul funk gospel...

Dearly beloved, sometimes....oh sometimes i can muster in these old fingerPRINCE of mine
just enough poem about an apostle formerly known as the 'Sign of the Times'.

And somerhymes, it snows on my pages with a window to my left & my 1 year old son
beating on my door to the right...maybe asking if he can help write....if he can let his first
words be "Papa, let's go crazy tonight!!"

And i say....yes son...your old man issomewhere btween a toad & a prince...but wit a poem.
I'm Nat Cole wit a bone to pick wit my soul
Mos da days, i'm a def Nina Simone wit about 7 shows left no 1's ever heard.
And so...neither have i. 
We should all be permitted to go crazy when our heroes die..

Sometimes, i'd feel like Helen Keller but with a working ear & eye if you were the story teller

.....and as if dancing on an Alphabet Street with a big yellow bird.....A king withPrince for a
name shut it down with 2 words...
Purple & Rain
Yes....Sometimes, it snows in April
And yes, son because of it....Sometimes, we can go crazy!! Sometimes it's crazy how there's
nowhere but yet everywhere to go. We once talked life & basketball after i watched you
guitar Picasso. I sometimes wonder if you ever watched my show....if you found truth in my
tableau of Omari Peekaso

Sho nuff, yours was the last dragon glow....the height of Art & with all your might you lived
your part...
...putting on your back the Siouan Indian of the place from whence your legend was made to
And sometimes....oh sometimes...the cloudy water that has drowned but a moment of your
all of a sudden is nowhere to be found and all that remains is a rainbow
like no more painbow....
Just a loud knock from a 2 foot Brave boy eager for his papa to come watch his favorite show.
And, April....there is purple snow.


OMARI HARDWICK, poet and star of the primetime series POWER. The series airs on Starz and return for its third season this June. 

Omari Hardwick's Instagram: @omarihardwickofficial
ICON MANN's Instagram: @icon.mann