If you frequent this little thing of mine I don’t like to call a blog, then you may have noticed as of late I have not been writing as much as I used to. I have reached a crossroads in my life that is very hard to articulate. Most of you twenty-somethings out there, and perhaps some of you who are a bit older, should feel me when I say that I have become consumed with searching for myself. I have become obsessed with identifying my passion, clarifying my purpose, and restructuring my goals to achieve those things I desire most. In a world full of endless possibilites and with an imagination full of endless dreams how do you know which ones to catch and which ones to let float away? Is it even possible to catch them all? In my head are many questions, and I’ve been searching tirelessly for answers. I’ve been looking for signs, something, anything to tell me where to enter, where to exit, what to look out for, to speed up or to slow down, to be cautious, to wait, to change directions, or to stay the course, but I’ve seen no such guides along my way. It is during these times when our eyes fail us we are forced to do the hardest and simplest of things, TRUST and BELIEVE……..
you can question my soul
yes
you can question my soul
but it will probably just
walk
away
cause you don’t know me
and I don’t owe you
and that is all
i have to
say
you can question my soul
yes
you can question my soul
but it will just move
past and
forge ahead
cause the only
voice
that I hear is
much greater than
yours
and there are
no more words
left
to
be
said
question my soul
question my soul
but it will probably just
walk
away
TAE
pounds and hugs
and daps
and love
and cold shoulders
when seasons change
familiar faces
shape shift
words become shorter
until pages become blank
and chapters come to an end
my
my
my
how things change
I wouldn’t have it any other way
Filed under: Life....I wonder... | Tags: Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu- Telephone, inspiration, Langston Hughes, Langston Hughes-Harlem, Poetry, what happens to a dream deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Langston has been in my head for a minute now. I’ve found myself meditating on that question, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I’ve been so uninspired lately, that shit ain’t even funny. I went to write a poem tonight and nothing came out. NOTHING. Even tried to get some stream of consciousness type shit poppin off but it didn’t even flow right. I’m just………..blank. It’s worse than losing somebody you love, or maybe just the same. For an artist stagnation is death…….it’s like a hunger you can’t fill….stomach growling like you living on the street begging for nickels and sleeping on cardboard boxes. I am so desperate for something to stir inside me….but it’s a thing that can’t be forced, can’t be coerced. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the heat of spontaneous creation……I need that in my life somthing awful right now…….
True indeed.......
Whenever I’m in a funky blue mood, Ms. Badu’s voice uplifts everytime….
Filed under: Dopeness, Life....I wonder... | Tags: Poetry, poets, Spoken Word, The Poets
They come to the stage
and let their hearts and their souls erupt from their mouths and
baptise the spirits of all who will listen
I sit in the front row
head cocked half smile
stupid look on my face like
damn
What words do you
can you
use to explain what has just taken place?
Explain the experience of the transaction between
I and They
the poets
beautiful in
infinite variants of
one true expression
the peach toned chick whose vocie saturated the air
with the gritty cadence of an old soul weary
and the cinnamon skinned sista who blew notes
like lady sings the blues
homeboy with the puka shells and
midnight locks that grazed the middle of his back
and old girl with the shoulder length curls elegantly poised in her
high heels and delicate dress
the enigmatic veteran shouting
Go deep poet
GO DEEP POET
and calm cool collected young blood
blessing the stage for his first time
spit holy fire
meanwhile I still try to process
what has just taken place
between I and They
the poets
room full of people but I barely notice
I sit caught up in the rapture
of thier words and their voices
and behold thier faces
reading their emotions like
I’m turning pages and
I think to myself
damn
how I wish that I could
eternally dwell in that space
where the energy of the crowd
meets that which rushes forth from the stage
pure fusion
no reason
just feeling
the transfer of emotion between I and They
the poets
nothing but kindred thoughts and feelings
like we’re i chatting via esp
or like two organisms in symbiosis who
know and want nothing more than to just let it be
like lovers who hold on to one another and wish the night would never cease
in essence
it is transcendent transformation I seek
that seeks me
when I am with the poets
TAE
Filed under: Dopeness, Echoes of William Lynch, Life....I wonder... | Tags: gemini the prince, Poetry, Spoken Word
Spoken word by Gemini the Prince
Filed under: Echoes of William Lynch, Life....I wonder... | Tags: I don't shuck n jive, Poetry, Racism, shuck and jive, Spoken Word
I am not a product of the plantation
I am a daughter of this nation
where it was decreed
that I am free to liberally pursue my happiness in this life
which I do
in ways they couldn’t
and I won’t go back
feel like I’m trapped in a movie
trying to move fast forward
while you’re steady pressing rewind
I left shuckin n jivin
behind
I will not go back to being that
girl that always had to be the comic relief at her own expense
I will not change the things I say
or
how I choose to say them because it doesn’t fit
my racial profile
my mother taught me the difference between
ain’t aren’t are not ax and ask
in this I will not be ashamed
I am not black
I am the descendent of african slaves, fair skinned west indians, europeans
and native americans brown, yellow and red
they haven’t created a name that expresses the totality of
what I am made of and who I am
so I choose to tear up they labels
and make my own
you can’t box me
can’t mold my form
to fit your ideology
I broke every box they tried to put me into
and I will do so
time and
time again
I do not shuck and jive
I will not shuck and jive to prove to you I am less than human
I am above and beyond what you could ever expect
and my journey has only just begun
new born woman
I be seeing myself through eyes tired of weeping
and hearing myself through ears tired of knowing myself through what they
tell me I am
speaking from knowledge they have sought to destroy
since the beginning of time
rolodexed in my DNA
It will never go away this truth I know
and in this I will not be ashamed
I am the creator of nations
inspire hatred from women who smell the strength of my ancestors in me
before they even know my name
wishing they could
saunter like I samba down the street
envious of my natural rhythym that brings
kings to their knees
I know
I know that you hate me because I am
stronger and mightier than you will ever be
and I pity you
because I will not shuck and jive
to present you with the feeling of superiority you don’t possess naturally
I will not belittle myself to give you the
false perception that you are one of GODS chosen elite
and I am the unfortunate, down-trodden, deformed, outcast child
I will not shuck and jive
I do not shuck and jive
I can not shuck and jive
because it’s just not me
Words by yours truly. PEACE
Filed under: Dopeness | Tags: black culture, daily jewelz., Poetry, Spoken Word
This piece was written by a very talented friend of mine hailing from the Bay Area, east Oakland to be exact. Whenever I read his poetry, I always tell him he writes the kind of stuff that you have to read again. I mean no doubt about it, the piece will be crazy good, but the first reading doesn’t do anything for me. That’s nothing negative though, that’s the way it is with all good poetry . A poem must force the reader to focus on the subtle wisdom woven between the verses. A good poem is hard to critique because, in essence, it’s an extension of someones being . The total sum of their thoughts and emotions recorded on paper. You know a good one when you read one, but sometimes, to grasp the full genius of what you’ve just read you have to read it again……..
freedom is once in a lifetime, while time is free
can’t control so fire turns desire
soul to soul each for white house retire
When black build it they took from me to say it’s yours
Now is this a place for freedom to prove
A place where black children were hung, black women were done
Don’t let the past be the creator of the demise
Sit back and watch history reverse course
Now that is a hero with out a sword
-Jensen D. Best
Filed under: Cool ppl, Life....I wonder... | Tags: Bush, Illuminati, Lion of Life, Poetry, Spoken Word
When I refer to a jewel I am referring to; any written or verbalized expression that has the potential to stimulate the brain, access a higher mode of thought, expand conciousness, and impart wisdom ………………..peep it
Burning Bush by: Lion of Life
Like what ya heard? Check him at www.myspace.com/lionslifecom and lionslife youtube channel
Filed under: Cool ppl, Jamz | Tags: Amaris, Black and Blue, Music Video, Oxygen, Poetry, Spoken Word
During my tenure at the prestigious Shaw University, Shaw Bears WHAT UP!!!!, I had the pleasure of seeing this lady perform twice. We had to go to CASES, cultural and spiritual enrichment seminars, and her and her boy Dasan came through to bless us with thier poetry. Her performance inspired me so much that I was moved to write a poem immediately after, which I gave to her, the first time I had ever given anyone a piece of my poetry. She currently resides in GA and we still keep in touch through the monster that is MySpace. She’s a kindred spirit and a dope azz poet. Off her album Black and Blue, the beautiful Oxygen………..
Check 4 her at www.myspace.com/amaris7, album black and blue available at cdbaby.com
Filed under: Cool ppl, Life....I wonder... | Tags: Carolina Ty, life, Love Poem, Poetry, Spoken Word
This talented young man goes by the name of Carolina Ty and he’s straight out of my neck of the woods, Fayetteville, or Fayettenam to most. Now dude is definately one to watch and he’s already got a lotta love in and out of the NC. I happened to stumble across this video on his youtube channel and yall already know I’m a poet at heart. One of the main reasons I connect with hip hop on such a deep level is my passion for the art of spoken word. Who said rappers ain’t poets?
This poem reminds me of something I read when I was in middle school. My best friends older sister had a large notebook that belonged to a friend of hers filled with love letters and poems from her longtime boyfriend. We were all up in her girl’s business and her boyfriend had written her some of the most romantic, in a hood way, and erotic things my young mind had encountered thus far. Growing up in Fayetteville, almost every dude who wasn’t considered a ”lame” was either straight out the projects, a suburban boy who acted like he was straight out the projects, or a boy who didn’t exemplify any ”soft” behavior. Maybe it was growing up in the 90′s but we were some bad azz young kids, everybody was either in a gang or affiliated and school was more wilding out than learning. I was floored when I read this young man pouring out the contents of his heart with such beauty, eloquence and sensitivity. I was like daaaaang this is what the boys are like in high school???? I can’t wait till I get a man!!!!!!! I got my answer and to my dismay, I learned that high school sweethearts who stand the test of time are a rare occurance, and boys who wrote like that were even more rare. This poem takes me back to those days, when I yearned to have a freaky love letter book of my own……………………
For music and more check him at, www.myspace.com/carolinaty
