The Poetry of Genga Pharris M. Bose
The Poet From Valparaiso
Genga Bose was born in Omaha, Nebraska on December 12, 1983. At the age of 8 his family moved to Wellesley, Massachusetts when his father was transferred to Unicom's headquarters there. His mother was a stay at home Mom and helped to shape Genga's artful background with her creative influences. In 2001 Genga attended Boston University and studied Mathematics before dropping out due to financial problems at home. He enrolled in a Tech School to learn videography but could only support that interest for only a year and a half before he was arrested and faced incarceration for Grand Theft Auto.
He was charged with stealing a Porsche RS Turbo and taking it on a joy ride at 3 am in the morning during which time he was pursued northward on Route 93 headed for the Canadian border. According to detailed State Police logs his vehicle reached speeds well in excess of 150 mph. This venture ended up with him running over a set of spike strips forcing him to flip the Porsche, thus terminating his adrenaline fevered ride. In order to avoid an extended stay in prison, he plead out to a class A felony and served 7 years in the New Hampshire Prison for Men being released for good behavior in 2009. While in prison, he found that he had a penchant for writing poetry and he is now publishing that work in compact volumes on Kindle. The entirely of his work will be also be published in a forthcoming paperback entitled Genge Bose: Collected Works - First Millennium.
Here are some excerpts from his poetry:
Why is my prison all black?
There is no white in it.
The concrete walls stand
Blind like a black woman,
Mauled and mute.
Lines of men march between her legs
Looking for doors that won’t open.
Their hands halt body traffic as
Broken teeth blow broken whistles.
Cages of useless furniture
Firmly arranged in rows
Proclaim the rules of disorder.
Clots of twisted, charcoal hair
Circle the sucking skies
To track the next carcass
Or ebony deity singing
About a promised land
Full of golden lies.
Days pass like barren daughters,
Each one ending with nothing;
Each one falling in on itself;
Each one screaming its own silence;
Each one cutting the deck undisturbed;
Each one a flower child of regret.
The fresh air in prison
Will slap you on the cheek,
Might even ruffle your collar
Or add another week
To the sentence you got
For being so rowdy and bold,
Broke a window, pushed
Your old lady out in the cold.
She picked a fight for
Your leaving on the light.
After you fell down drunk
From being out boozing all night.
She had a good argument cause
She paid most of the bills.
But you couldn’t wrap your head
Around that honkey ass drill
Of walking the line with the car
And getting it home on time.
Your only intent was having fun,
After all, it was your dime.
Get Genga's New Volume of Poetry Here: