The Beat that will set me Free

Waiting for the beat that will finally set me free, that will allow for me to say things sweetly and discreetly, but Moreso true though and absolutely-completely. It would so greatly please me to Squeeze JJZ between the bars of the music to be free from my cell, free from myself for a minute. 
When the bars close, people leave in droves, but I’m stuck right back in it. If I’m not given a way to win it, I may just stop playing and bear and grin it, until I can come around once again when I’ve learned how to begin it.

Waiting for the beat that will set my feet free on the street once and for all, like the three musketeers answering a different call on AMC on the TV. I fight back these tears about lost years and dark fears, and look for the spark that clears the horizon. Waiting for the world to wisen, no longer find kind things surprising, and see that the worldwide tide is rising, all the while sizing up the tries to bring hope dreaming and screaming “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW!?” at Verizon.

I am no scam but a basic man with a playlist. You may not want me to say this, but I am not trying to cage this thing we call life. I am trying to stay fit, stay lit, and maybe work the box office for BRUKA at Stage Kiss.

But, then something happens that plays this, or enrages. And this tedious medium is the only way I know how to come out and say this, stay crisp, say it’s one day, one way, some way, some day all creeping back to a good home in homeostasis. Growing up with Homey don’t play this, Cosby pre rufi, pre God-awful blur, and minimum wages. Growing up too quick with Ranger Rick and bays that were being watched by a babes list.

But this world, it needs less but it craves more, it bleeds mess, but it needs to heed warnings and save more. To stay woke on its mornings, stay woke in its mourning and save core, to fix soul, and to heal wounds. Be thankful for harvest that reveals moon, and thereby tide, and thereby time. Be far less riddled by bullet casings and facing hard grime for violent crime. 

While the world is wild in’ out I’m trying to keep my head and heart about me, shout please, and write rhyme.

Waiting for the beat that will finally set me free, that will allow for me to say things sweetly and discreetly, but Moreso true though and absolutely-completely.

Please heart beat set me free or cease me. These rhythms and rhymes, once and for all times, and words blurred coming so quickly that it’s all I can do to say ‘I’m fine’, and try trying, then let them release me.

But Yoda says do or do not there is no try. So I’m on a mission to do or die trying. To do or die climbing. To do or die rhyming, to do what is mine and then let it save me. Be thankful for all that was gave me. To capture these words like birds before their escaping. Waiting, contemplating, rearranging the strange, and the scope of the slope that is changing. Waiting to punch a hole that is gaping in this fourth wall for these words to be set free again right here and now while someone outside is begging and vaping. Rich swimmers are raping, and taking the image of RIO as a plaything. Rufus says so please be kind if I’m a mess. I am that also and yes, stressed, trying to suggest that you stay. Sing. Rap. Throw a fit. Chat. Snap. Hoot. Holler. Laugh, pat a back. Remember it. Remember this. But sit back and relax. Poets of the Caribbean have come to demand the max. Your time, attention, all that is low, may help us grow, and in fact that is grand. Think no one else understands? You are not alone, for a night this is home. And I know wherever I roam I may be a stranger in danger even when I follow that beat on the street thinking let peace be as I hold up my hands. So thank you tonight for all time and to those who tonight set plans to dance, sit, kneel, reveal, and bring appeal to truth on these mic stands. In this flow that we call poetry and tonight’s bands…Let me be the first to welcome you home this evening, and before you go leaving, believing there may just be a ray of hope in this world ever so grieving. Hear the heart beat that is freeing. See what you came to be seeing. At least for the time that is fleeting you are each still a relatively free being. Absorb poetry that both cuts and is healing. That is both abstract and the real thing. That both adds more layers and is peeling back the veil on things that are stale and seething. You are each and all still breathing. So dream big and be mindful free beings.

One last thing to say. I remember way way when I used to play with an etch a sketch sitting all alone writing four word poems at home. I remember when I used to sit on the roof’s ledge at my best like it were my throne. I remember my dog staring at me like” fetch this grown man!” But we ,as artists, this is kissed by inspiration and etched in bone. It is a part of who we are. It is fiber of our being. As players, and Sayers, singers, dancers, writers, romancers, poets and philosophers who know the answers, teachers and healers who help to rid the world of countless cancers. We are each and all taking our chances. Thank you for taking a chance this evening and being here.

Poets of the Caribbean: Etched in Bone (fourth installment) to open November 12th, 2016.

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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