There’s a woman
laying in the hospital
and armed with the next generation in her womb,
and she’s about to give birth real soon
she breathes
in another breath as her body jerks,
to the sound of the television… it is the news.
reporting another mass murder of black men
he moves
inside of her
tucking his head underneath his soft bones
she moans
at another kick
to her ribs
his tiny fingers have just curled around them
holding her insides with the delicate force of a newborn
he hesitates “This is it.”
The end of nine months only to see another nine years
of bars
he fears
this new place
leaving no more space
for his body to stretch out
than his face
pressed tightly against
the skin of his mother’s uterus.
Of this new world he thought he’d be curious
but the sounds of the outside has only made him furious
the sounds of police in the distance
kicking,
he kicks again this is resistance
forcing the woman into painful sensations
but he kicks
constantly
cause this is not an invitation to leave
it is a plea to stay
“Don’t worry lil man”, the doctor says, “Mama’s just a lil tense,
but he shutters at homelessness
debating to himself if to pass up his first breath is worth it
his ground iron
his heavens bronze
his prayers polluted like falling stars
trying to break lose what’s already bent
rocking his mother’s body once more
this can’t be heaven sent
but
it’s too late
something has pushed him out of his place
and its holding him tightly,
his screams echo, “let go of me.”
but he has already lost his authority
and he doesn’t even know his name
and these are just the beginning
of his birth pains.
Category: Poetry
Disconnect
Common Sense has now been down-graded
on a scale of OMG, I’m LMBO,
I can’t hear the sound of laughing my butt off!
can’t tell if my voice is hard or soft
where
have all the people gone?
Real
players must have given it a new definition
because I can’t hear the sound of my own voice, can’t find the emotion because sounds
have been replaced
with dashboards and megabyte space
My space
has been invaded
can take words back as if I didn’t mean to say it
back spacing the profane
though it’s not my heart speaking
At least the internet will stop it from Wiki-leaking
You know I’ve never had any friends but maybe if I stick my social neck out far enough I can work it
Birds and butterflies have too been affected by twitter
caught somewhere between .com’s and world-wide nets
Negativity has now been filtered
And instagram has replaced the big dipper
I don’t know what stars look like, but at least I can add them as a friend and pretend I know what their life is
like
me
though you hate me
So you see, sometimes I just feel disconnected
Because reality has become TV
my fist is in a frenzy
but don’t worry, I’ll scan you images of my fingers so you can feel me
Because someone pulled the plug on reality
and my family can’t contact me
because I haven’t been added yet
blue screen
virus
Disconnect
Me from sensitivity
I’m sitting right next to you
but I don’t have a touch screen so maybe I’ll go somewhere else and Google Play
You see I’ve always been in love with words
and obsessed with books
but I’m going out of business
because it’s already on Facebook
books
have been replaced
with ROFL, NP…and something else but I don’t have enough space left on this computer cause he’s too busy trying to type
write her
I love you…
though I can’t look into your eyes and I have no idea the structure of your face but
semi-colon
smiley face
I can’t
see
I can’t
smell
I can’t
taste
I don’t know how to write because my senses are out of touch
screen
my heart and e-mail it to you
tube my eyes and see if you can change the text
message in this poetic message
paint
typing at the speed of 35MPH
guess I’m just too slow for this new place
though I’ve always been in love with words, maybe I’ll just forget about it all
But
there’s no need to panic
You can just take these final words
and cut, copy, and paste them to your wall.
So that you can re-post my pain
and respond with ikr….
(even though you don’t really know what I’m talking about)
but you can inbox me your heart
and I can attempt to read it right
so go ahead
give me a heads up with a million likes
but you’ll never feel me…
Live Words
Anoint my imagination with the personification of sound
let it walk its way through my memories so we may build dreams as infinite as the sky
bless my brain with a physical manifestation of text
do not speak to me
or translate my feelings into emoticons
but metamorph into the vibration you wish to kiss upon the air
my brain knows nothing of the perception your voice wishes to thrust upon it
knows nothing of the influence illuminating from your lips like pulsing heartbeats
but can I feel you?
can I taste the odor of sadness or touch the lines of focus creeping upon your face
can I decipher the laughter sliding down the back of your throat
will your actions cover me in its hands and bring me into its bosom
or will I risk the sloppily handled trust you left laying next to the distorted frequencies coming out of your mouth
can I take this moment and bond with the authenticity of your words
do you live them
or will they melt away on the palates of your tongue
will they be sweet to the bones, bursting forth like conception but without birth
will we ever get to see the ripened ovaries of flowers with seeds
will we taste the pressure of fruit when it collides with living words
dance with the displacement of mechanical waves
and love
will we love?
or will your words fall barren against the crackling darkness of a cloudy heart
when I read your words can I hear them?
will you speak words
or will you live them?
Genuine
Loving you is not a game
It will not play psychology
With language
Will not toss rhetoric from walls
Or hang deception on emotional hooks
That dangle temptation like foolish tongues
Will touch neither your body
Or your mind
Without permission
instead
Sincerity is the loudest whisper you’ve ever heard
Laughter fills your belly to the brim
With boldness
And devotion lays its head
In your bosom
Deed will play on the strings of vulnerability
Because when it comes to true love
Defenseless is the only way to be
Open
Honest
Real
Genuine
Spoken Word
What is Spoken Word?
Spoken Word is an oral art form; performance-based poetry that is focused on the aesthetics of word play and story-telling. However, there are aspects of the artistry that indicate it is, indeed, spoken word without the necessity of it being poetry. While Spoken Word Poetry is the foundation of what we think of when we hear the words, Spoken Word can also be any form of speech that tends to focus on the performance of the words themselves, the dynamics of tone, gestures, facial expressions, and more. Poetic components such as rhyme, repetition, slang, improvisation, and many more elements of poetry can be interwoven to create an atmosphere the audience can experience—even in the case it is not organized poetry.
Speeches, Plays, Lectures
There are many styles of the Spoken Word. One style is based on recorded, public and published works (IE. plays, speeches, e.g.), which many people don’t usually associate with spoken word. But many movements have used this form of speech to intellectually enlighten its listeners, and to prompt a sort of consciousness among those who would otherwise not listen when they’re spoken in the ordinary process of verbal conversation. From brothers like Huey Newton and Fred Hampton and even down to the great Israelite prophet Moses from whom they descend, speeches of such sorts have proven to be very influential in our history. It is because the messiah used parables that many of us are able to understand the wisdom that projected from his lips. Truthfully, how many of you would have understood faith to the extent of understanding, had he not so eloquently compared its strength to that of a mustard seed? Thus Public Speeches in general can constitute a kind of Spoken Word depending on the kind of emotion involved, disassociating it from that of normal speech and landing it right here in the definition of an art form.
Audience Participation
The most popular style of Spoken Word is what I like to call Audience Participation, as it involves reciting or improvisation of poetry and commentary performed in front of a live audience (to include blogging!). It is more of a prose or stream of consciousness that includes monologues, poems, stories, speeches, and rap. Yes, rap. I know many of you would not like to include hip hop. Many feel it is a less sophisticated avenue to which many “blacks” seek to degrade themselves. Surely, they say, one can find a better career than to pursue…rap. Yet, rap too, (though today’s music sounds like a form of remixed slavery, but that’s a discussion for a different day), is still an art form, an extension of poetry, and part of the Spoken Word community.
The Vision
There are two very important elements of Spoken Word I believe an artist must have, and one of them is a vision. The artist vision is his mission. It is that thing he wishes to ultimately achieve with his words. It is the reality of the perception to which his words are projected. It is the act or power of sensing with the eyes in the metaphorical sense; the anticipation of what will be or what will come. If an artist does not have a vision, if he does not have a message, then he is not a member of Spoken Word. Speech is not an idle art, but words live. And they contribute to either life or death. Vision is important because words once spoken perform works unimaginable, soaring into the lives of many and causing them to revolutionize. A word can bring life or death so it is important to know where it is going and what its purpose of creation is in the first place. A word can bring greatness to a people or it can bring sorrow. How we speak and what we speak determines whether or not we are able to see the vision necessary to make a difference. Artists should ask themselves:
“What is my goal?”
“What do I seek to accomplish?”
“What is my objective?”
“What motivates me to approach the stage?”
“Is what I’m speaking on one accord with my message?”
Do you see the vision? And as a result, do you have a voice?
The Voice
Everyone has a voice. It is “The Voice” that makes Spoken Word possible and powerful. It gives life to the written word. It translates it into a familiar language, takes the contextualized heart, adds vocal cords and commands the artist to play; to play and to paint and to build and to change. For this reason each person’s voice is different (which makes it highly difficult to actually judge poetry which depends on a lot of things). Spoken Word includes testimonies of what each individual has been through or is currently going through. It brings to life the world’s problems: the disease of a love-less world, along with all of its baggage, to create for these individuals a voice that is unique to their personal self and helps them to heal under the covering of truth. Not that every occasion for Spoken Word is gloomy, for the art is called art for a reason; it is because it is beautiful, motivational, and as inspiring and as chill as musical therapy. However, many use it as an opportunity to bounce their voices off the walls of crowded rooms and the chit chatter of people talking. They use it as an opportunity to bring to life the hidden, the invisible, and the unseen. The world teaches us that our experiences are not important to share, and that we should keep our “skeletons in the closet” so that no one may see them. But what is hidden in the darkness is always revealed in the daytime the only question is: Would you rather show transparency so that your testimony can help another, or keep your mouth shut and hide under your tongue only to drown in your own pain and choke on your own saliva when the sun rises?
While many of us are part of the same walk, the experiences and lessons we learn are different and should not be shielded by the cover of intimidation or embarrassment; for we can be hiding the one word that can bring life to the one person who so desperately needed to hear it.
Every artist must be able to see the vision and must be able to form for oneself a unique voice. After all, it is the voice itself that makes Spoken Word possible.
A Private Symphony
When deep breaths are like swallowing hurricanes that stir up in your stomach
like roller-coasters
and leave you holding on to jagged tooth remains of your invisibility
call upon the deliverance of notebooks and journals
or the speedy salvation of the keyboard
make them your masterpieces
Those days
When you feel like quarter notes
beaten and broken in half
those days
when invisibility finds you sitting beside yourself
those days
when all you need is a reminder
simply press upon the pedal of inspiration
dig inside the pockets of circumstance and resurrect joy from the pit of destruction
sing
and strike the cord of your thoughts firmly against the keys of motivation
for your fingers are golden today
and they bleed truth from the depths of an inner consciousness
Indeed, your words are beautiful today
pulling back the symbolic layers of your metaphors and deciphering your definitions
I can see why your rhymes curve perfectly around the waist of melodies
and swim better than oceans
so play
play us a song
like tongues taste new wine, bring the heat of our passion together like fire to chocolate
because you are special today
and all we need is a beat
a cleft
a time signature
a note
a rest
a song…a stepping stone
to play just the right scripture to guide us back to the music sheet
Yea, something like that
something like
a private symphony










