SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

Remember remember the ninth of November. For many this will be an extra chilling December. Times Square was silent. That should say enough. In this cauldron with a rolling boil violent ambition, a single spark can be rough. This bewilderment, this sudden loss for words. This peeling back to check beneath while being scared of what’s disturbed. This hoping to set a mind on things above like clouds – like birds. This sense of intense anger uncurbed. If someone is desperate enough and sick enough long enough, they may just say they’re willing to try an experimental treatment. And one side didn’t know that’s what defeat meant. One side said whatever it wanted, did whatever it flaunted, and focused on hinted corruption undaunted. The other kept up with the slam. Both sides taunted. Both sides saw the divide in stride but kept on going with fam. The struggle. The forgotten. The disenfranchised. The youth. The scholars with their polls determined to know the truth. The elderly. The veterans. The farmers. And the writers all stay up late trying to anticipate what the charmer will do with letter in hand. It better be grand, to truly be great. But, what does it look like and how do we cope? Some look for the closest exit. Some look for the rope. But the scope of this has its weight. And, now more than ever we need to come together. The world watches, the pendulum notches, and the crown now appears to have a bit more of an orange tinge than before. Melania will select schemes of splotches to replace Michelle’s taste and dreams as soon as the first squeak from the hinge on the door. We need to be us. We need to fight and cuss, but not with might or fuss, but with logic, labor, and love. There will be time to articulate. There is already speculation as to why. There will be rhyme to spark out late. But something’s coming, we can’t deny. At least Battle Born went Blue. At least we got YES on 2. Bandage wounds backstage before heading out from the tombs to the rooms and gardens of our lives. There are children now looking to us for hope. There are still animals we need to feed. There are still plenty of hugs that need to be given. Many goals that have been made mention of, for which still need to be striven. I’m not giving an explanation. I’m not living a level of hate. The Dow jones scared and flared for a world grim for being partially run by him, and only time will tell while we wait. Crazy things happen when people don’t feel heard. When they are scared, punching back blind against the rails. And yes love can be blind, but love never fails. Love never fails. Love never fails.

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.

Alright. This is what I have so far. Are you in a position to listen? Afraid to explore at night and walk outside for ending up in a white chalk outline. Jay rappinʼ ʻhands up donʼt shootʼ in his evocative ʻSpiritualʼ. And as soon as you hear it you will hear the truth and pain in it. I remain one more minute. For what? Due to privilege? Sitting up on top on this little ledge, looking up at the pedestalized ranks, with their telestrator line “Thanks”, insincere, but necessary to be said none-the-less. Wasnʼt the first, and it wonʼt be the last. The last may come first, but the purse wonʼt be passed. How many names emboldened will become victims? As if its not enough to hold someone, youʼve picked him or her to end. END. No more breath. No more internal beats, or wild dreams. DONE. For what? Itʼs someoneʼs father. Someoneʼs son.
How long must we wait Martin? How many miles must we march Ben? Do you still rise Maya? I donʼt have a mighty enough pen to conquer this discord for ages. We demand to be free and then some act as if in cages. The sages have said it for all time, across rhyme, to music, and painted on walls. Along the climb and each time we choose it, we answer the call. All is one. One is all.
And then, fear, brutality, and actions void of thought command to be caught on video and become a part of the collective narrative. How do we push back against this trend in the media, and statistical nightmare with dignity, respect, and love?
How do we answer the call? All is one. One is all. Loved ones mourning loss. Too many someones having paid the ultimate cost. My heart aches. My thoughts frustrate. It mos def isnʼt all butterflies and cupcakes.
But seriously, I wanna know ʻhow long is it we must wait?ʼ I keep reading his line over and over, as Iʼm getting older and bolder with less to show for. Loneliness. Anger. Resentment. Fear. Hate. Brutality. Oppression. Is this the legacy we wish to reminisce about as if weʼre going through regression and repression?
How about kindness, mindfulness, and the blind wool nest that is love? How about patience, relationships, and acting without hesitations or agenda in authenticity and open arms? How about giving the most, though knowing that giving isnʼt enough? How about protecting, serving, and helping to prevent harms?
Near the center of the chalice in Dallas, amidst people of all walks doing it right, cries for help, without help in sight, rung out in the night. And too many fled in fear and pain. And those of us here remain trying to make sense, trying to explain. Trying to regain some new sense of normal in a shaken world. And each day awaken little girls, and little boys who will sit and absorb this world into which theyʼve been hurled that sometimes loves and sometimes destroys.
Their ears are waiting to listen. Their eyes are waiting to watch. They will ask us what is missing. They will find actions for their thoughts. What will we tell them? Will we yell then? Will we cry? Will we distract and disable to rest elbows on the table, and find another why? In this all too familiar narrative of our fable, how many more must come to die?
I take in a giant breath and soak in a moment of silence. I think about any tendencies I have toward violence. ʻMay you live in interesting timesʼ may be both a blessing and a curse. Too much cost. Too much tossed aside. Too much lost. Someoneʼs love. Someoneʼs friend. Someoneʼs last thought. Someoneʼs first.             Live love and give of what youʼve got. Everyone has time, talent, and treasure. Everyone has some climb and can let time measure. This is all I have is my heart and my words, and Iʼll happily yet somberly pull them now. Something inside is continually stirred, but both are near giving out.

           I have lived a hundred lives, in a thousand moments, with a handful of people, Each of the moments contains a before and after self, Some sort of choice, and consequences of that action or lack thereof. I’m thankful for the stars, moon, and sun above, and the ground beneath my feet. I’m thankful I was given the chance to do a written dance up here at the Lear without a beat.

            I’m thankful to the Merry Warriors for making something extra special outta nothing, with gumption, grit, and grace. I’m thankful I’m gettin’ the chance to be standing here spittin’ the written to all we let in sittin’ right HERE and NOW in this TIME and PLACE.
By now you’d all know that I wouldn’t be satisfied if I’d just stuck to this prose thing right? After all it, well this, this is CLOSING NIGHT! The world is wide, and I have one last time to spit rhyme that gives love and runs tight. Thank you for being here, beside the river, beneath the stars, standing in the rugby circle, if you’re as amped as Lutz’s guitar, or as nervous as Irkle.

 You’ve been here since the first read through, me not quite,

since the first need to choreograph fights in the twilight. You’ve been here since before finding costumes to bleed through just right, and before the surprisers agreed to celebrate Jessey’s birthday in the small park at night.  

 You’ve been through the set building, seeing Maxbeth’s character growing to regret killing, and still knowing that no safety net is thrilling for a time, until you fall and you need it to catch you. Thank you for being the best match to this idea and having me as a guest to this batch of a few storytellers to blend in with the presence and intention of the best storytellers in the world. Together now, we share this endeavor, however together hurled.

 So thank you to YOU for being here IN the Lear, putting war paint on your faces, getting Chase one step nearer to the dream she had at six, that she told her Dad that she’d had, and would sell tix, not just at, but inside right here to a play, one day, that she put on and picked. A dream she’ll never forget, and always chases.

 Thank you for catching each other, for having each other’s backs, for snatching each other’s dreams as a team, and believing in leaving them and keeping them intact…

For welcoming this mister in and treating me as welcome as a sister or a brother. My place is here, albeit the X factor, watching all of you day-by-day teach me, and reach me, and each other to beseech me to be a better poet and actor.

 I touch stage with you one last time for the ages. I’m let go from my cage as the battle inside us still RAGES. So tonight, as we speak and fight, I challenge you to find your voices, make the choice as I couldn’t be prouder to tell the story to the crowd with this band of sisters and brothers surrounding. 
   Proclaim the voice BOLD, LOUD, and PROUDLY!
 Let the chips fall where they may. I dip in to help, leading and following, bleeding the ground as I say it’s astounding how happy and proud I am that with you my heart is POUNDING!