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                 It’s 
              not as if I remember the very first day it happened, but I know 
              who and I know where the thing occurred, in general. Third grade. 
              P.S. 21 on 225th Street in the Bronx. Her name was Mrs. Morrison 
              and I was 8 years old. Mrs. Morrison diligently chalked out a poem 
              on the blackboard every morning. We were greeted by the latest mystery 
              in full most days and sometimes she was just screeching out the 
              last few lines by the time we arrived. The last word of certain 
              lines was replaced with a blank space. It was a game, you see, and 
              you could win a gold star next to your name on the bulletin board 
              if you were able to correctly guess the proper word that rhymed 
              with the ending of the line to which scheme it corresponded – 
              AABB or ABAB and sometimes even ABABC. You also had to figure out 
              the title of the poem. Sometimes the title would have one word missing 
              or be completely missing. Either way, you could only get that gold 
              star if you filled in all the blanks and guessed the correct title. 
              Oh yeah, you had to be the first one to get them all correct. It 
              didn’t really count if you weren’t the first one. No 
              gold star. 
               
              Thus was I introduced to rhyme and the rhythm of poetry. 
               
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               I 
              was 14 years old when my friend, Byron Norwood, gave me a cassette 
              with a song he’d written on it. “Since you write such 
              beautiful poetry, do you think you could write lyrics and create 
              a melody to go with my piano arrangement?” “Yeah, sure, 
              what’s it called?” “Always There.” “About?” 
              “Don’t know.” Off I went, cassette in hand, with 
              no clue as to how to begin other than to simply play the tape. Don’t 
              recall how many times I played the pretty song before “it” 
              happened. Rightly describing same doesn’t quite allow you 
              to feel the “it” unless you are actually in my head 
              at the time, or perhaps more remarkably, sitting there next to me 
              hearing me create and sing a melody, watching me while I scribble 
              lyrics furiously on a napkin or the back of an envelope or in the 
              one inch margin space on the cover of the Daily News or perhaps 
              I actually had a notebook with me that day or ran into a bodega 
              to get a brown paper bag so I could write the words down before 
              they dissipated mist-like into the very air on which they drifted 
              right into my brain. In any event, Byron loved what I wrote and 
              we subsequently collaborated on four more songs. 
               
                   For the next 8 years, I wrote lyrics 
              and melodies to many trying-to-be-a-producer’s tracks. But 
              it was a songwriter/producer named Christopher Burke who told me 
              that if I could do this, I could write my own songs – without 
              other folk’s tracks. How to proceed? I do not play the piano 
              or any other instrument. How in the world can I write my own songs? 
              Chris assured me that if I heard melodies and lyrics in my head, 
              I was already writing! 
             
            
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               I 
            went to my mother, jazz pianist and educator Bertha Hope, with my 
            very first song, “This Must Be The Magic.” No one else 
            I knew could figure out how to play the chord arrangement around my 
            melody. Mother “got it” immediately and she is the reason 
            I’ve not gone completely insane or been found in the woods somewhere, 
            running amok with music that nobody else can hear crunching my brain. 
            George Culmer of Melodic Studios, Bronx, New York has arranged two 
            of my gospel tracks and Stephen Cee of Youngblood Productions did 
            one. But the two principal arranger/ engineer / producer / pianists 
            who can miraculously hear what I’m hearing in my head when I 
            sing them my fully-sculpted songs are Niles Webster, 
            who is the Co-Minister of Music at Church of God of East New York, 
            in Brooklyn, New York, and George Mena, of Love House 
            Music, in Union City, New Jersey. I am grateful and blessed to know 
            and work with these talented, Heaven-sent phenoms who bring my music 
            to life for me and now, for the listening public. | 
         
         
            
                 So 
              here I am in 2006, after many years of effort attempting to crack 
              the coded blue wall of silence that would propel me into breaking 
              through as a successful artist in the music industry. MoHopeMusic 
              is my 21st Century launch pad, housing clips of my original songs 
              in the several genres in which I write. MoHopeMusic 
              will ultimately contain a full library of my original material. 
              The site will be updated continuously as I write and record new 
              songs. MoHopeMusic is a resource for licensing 
              music for use in movies, commercial television, cable network original 
              movie presentations, commercials and up-and-coming and established 
              artists seeking new songs. I know that something will “click” 
              as I know that I am gifted by God with a beautiful voice and the 
              talent to write the greatest songs you never heard. Ah, here it 
              comes now . . . click . . . click . . . click . . . 
               
                   Oh yes, one thing more . . . after 
              months of mostly getting it right I had that long-hoped for morning 
              when I was not just the first – I was the only student in 
              the class to correctly guess the title of that day’s poem, 
              “The Bumble Bee”. Of course, I still remember the name 
              of the poem. How could I not? It was a Gold Star Day.  | 
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