Goodnight 2014

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The wind has released itself from its chambers and spreads its body over the earth. A blanket of hammers slamming low temperatures into the atmosphere, it carries the clouds; full and dark with storms they are coddled into position. The sun has set and is nestled inside the crook of fire in the west wing of the heavens until it is time to renew itself again. The trees expose its private parts except the fourteen or so that do not lose its leaves to the whistling death sentence of winter. In less than a week from now, when the stars loiter on top the sky amidst the backdrop of midnight, people will decorate themselves with the image of change and resolutions, and make intoxicated promises they will never keep. Maybe it is just the warmth of liquor wrapping its arms around their spines, cooling their blood, and pulling at their heart strings. Suddenly it will happen, that moment when the bullet is separated from its shell, the parties burst into confetti, and this moment hushed into a lullaby. Right here, in the middle of a dead winter; everything cold and stiff and silent and yet loud inside a lowering orb of momentary bliss. This is the excited murmur of a new era and it is the canvas to which they will usher in a new year.

Be careful out there.

Wasted Words

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Have you ever felt like you are doing something for nothing? That it is all in vain? Sometimes I regret bathing in the blank wake of my passion. I do not wish to follow Strands advice; I am not kissed by white paper. I know that my words will just fall unmercifully on death ears like falling stars praying for repentance that will never come. They will fall like the leaves of trees upon the ground like death and rot around my feet. I will be filled to the brim with excitement and anticipation of sunlight before the reality of wasted words darkens the skies and fills the clouds with storms. I will push forth in determination, only to be reminded by splashes of thunder that the droplets of failure have already proceeded to gush forth. I am not the one to give up (let’s not get that deep!), but judge me not for my lack of enthusiasm today. I am human after all; made up of emotions, flesh and bone. I get tired sometimes too.

Guest Feature – Mother to Son

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Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So, boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps.
‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

 
– Langston Hughes

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?

Spoken Word

What is Spoken Word?

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

She Rebels

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Soft kisses and warm hugs is what she gets from men.
Hot dates and perfume smells, but from truth she rebels.
An emotional roller coaster ride he takes her…
every so often they visit this amusement park.
And she wants to cringe when he grabs hold of her but instead of listening to herself
she listens to her heart.
Unwanted lips kissing her face and she takes it all in stride
afraid to admit her mistakes because of her pride.
Soft kisses turn into sloppy kisses
and warm hugs turn into feelings so hard and cold you’d think they were milk mugs.
Hot dates she no longer wants to take
but her financial status is at stake.
No more Christian Dior, Stephanie Taylor or Dolce Gabbana because she’s known on the streets as being his hottest baby mama
so she rebels.
Refusing to follow directions like a sterile sperm cell alone she cannot fertilize
this she soon realize
so she turns back to what she often refers to as hell.
She can’t understand what has happened to the warm hugs and innocent smells, yet she rebels.
He has painted her face with his fist,
multicolor on its sides
Sharpening his nails to cut her thighs’ and insides
but she laughs it off in stride
afraid to admit her mistakes because of her pride.
Excuses upon excuses she is determined to sell, so she rebels.
Convinced this is the last time she
runs to the nearest store praying her favorite make-up is on sale.
But she looks good though!
Driving his Lamborghini
shades on windows down, saying to herself “I know you see me!”
Blasting Jay-Z she agrees, “I can’t leave this alone the game needs me!”
So she endures the nightly screams of “Please don’t beat me!”
Attempting to open her eyes, Truth tries but she refuses to see.
Months and months have passed, and she’s lying in a place filled with screams and death mail.
Truth’s flowers she now wants to smell but her obituary has come too early,
so to the dirt,
she Rebels.