Mumbled Soliloquy

She called him brother
he called her sister
though they were not related
to acknowledge the only proverbial bloodline rooted in the motherland
I heard them call each other royalty.

She loved him like a soulclap and spoke using muted hand movements as extended (((parentheses))).

Almost as if to cup her (heart) in truth and let some words seep through her fingers like warm sand

....Spoke louder in writing than in person

expressions hidden in the spaces between hyphens – , slashes/ and [square brackets]

she's as complex as her mumbled soliloquies and as simple as dawn.

...

 truth is.... she has grown accustomed to beats, because of her fear of lullabies.

.....So she CLAPS, snaps and head bobs to beats... because loving him like a soulclap is the closest thing she's ever known to love.

(strange ...
and a first. ...I'm trying folks lol.. bear with me).

Unfinished Poems

I think I have an acute version of attention deficit disorder
because I start poems and I can never seem to find an adequate way to end them.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm somewhat of a perfectionist when it comes to certain things or if it's because I have a hard time to focus long enough to resume the end of an idea. :-/

I need help.

...seriously. For the next little bit I'm going to try to combine different drafts of pieces I've been working on. Not sure how to copywright these things in case if it's gets jacked on the inter-web. But I'll publish it nonetheless..

Stay posted

There's something beautiful about the way a poet sketches words to tell their stories, especially when you see part of your own story unfolding in the way they spell and speak each word. I recently had the opportunity to check out a spoken word concert: "When Sisters Speak". Though I knew my share of friends/acquaintances that were either there or on their way, I sat solo, and I was glad.

Boombox Series // Jessie J from Arcade44.tv on Vimeo.

During the intercession I managed to scribble a few things on my blackberry:

" I'm all smiles right now. These women are aweworthy, they deserve an applause. Everything about their. Words, everything about them was sincere, real. How can I .... (To the guy who's cigarette stench left me and all my clothes stain with garbage: why??!?) ...

I dunno, I have a lot of things going through my head right now... I'm feeling like I owe it to myself to write more and to bring my life and my story into more of my writing. I want to limit my use of abstract poetic concepts, and bring me as simple and as unaltered as possible fearlessly into white lines, and tattoo it between the lines of my notepad. I may or may not ever gather the strength to breath life into it, but maybe writing it will help me understand it more. Maybe I've been stopping myself from addressing my story because up until now, I never admitted or seen the value and or validity in sharing it for some reason."
15/jan/2011

There were pieces about everything, a few of which I have heard before, but somehow it felt like I never did. I hung to every last word that was spoken, in hopes of lying in the truth they sought to speak. I heard it... and I took it all in. After many hugs, laughter, and discussions, and listening, I went home late and took it all in... Feeling thankful, to have been in the presence of so many beautiful people. I needed that night, I honestly can't remember the last time I wrote anything... I needed this. It's strange how I could find myself in their words though they were not mine but theirs to hold. Maybe they sent it as a gift to themselves to heal, or to the audience to entertain, and give us our money's worth (lol ... afterall it was 35$, and for a student like myself, it's QUITE a price, especially after going grocery shopping!!). Whatever the reason may be, I was glad to be there and truly take it in.

Adele - Set fire to the rain by TheProphetBlog

A friend of mine said that the crowd wasn't very rowdy or have too too much energy. I'm not sure how these things work, but whenever I'm taking a spoken word piece in, I usually stay quiet, and my reaction comes a bit delayed. In the moment I tend to take it in, and absorb as much of it as possible lol... *shrug* not sure why. On rare occasions you hear me snap my fingers... But I'm always all smiles.

Strange Fruit

Spoken Word.

This week was interesting. I did alot of va-et-vien to Ottawa, Toronto, Gatineau and back and forth. Some of which could’ve been avoided had I listened to my intuition. But I didn’t. So the mistake was made... and I ran with it. I was sooo happy to see my friends. I was happy to share the space where ideas would be shared. I remember thinking that if this is a space where ideas and frustrations are being shared. This is like, and underground G-20, Where everyone is repping their story. and their struggle. It was like a summit where verbal therapy and politics intersected. Weaving the fabric forming the tapestry of their life's strangest fruit.
And poetry lovers ate it, digested it, and snapped, booed and awwww-ed after each bite. (sidebar: I often question the purpose of slams and spoken word, as much as I love it, but the subject of the politics of slamming is one for another post)



Once again, I found myself being in the background observing everything.
I appreciated their humility, after they left the mic they blessed. I looked at them in awe, they have no idea how much they stirred my mind. I will admit that some of the pieces I heard were delivered at a speed that was beyond me, so at some point I didn’t know how to react, and felt somehow obliged to snap or “huuummm” with everyone else. Lol... I remember thinking to myself ... “pfft... chhyyeaah, I totally got that wordplay” *shifting-eyes*... .... (NOT)...I appreciate and love spoken word, but sometimes the delivery was either worded with too much intensity, or the content too intricate for me to decipher, so I would be lost. Even though the judging was kinda off a few times, other times, I kinda sympathized with some of the judges. Had I been in their shoes, and been lost but still appreciated it, I would give them off-scores. ... I guess that's the nature of Slamming I guess.



I found myself in the spaces of different teams. Some of which I knew about, others I didn’t. Alot of the times, I felt extremely uncomfortable, because I am not a poet... but somehow I also felt welcomed.

I think one of the coolest parts of sharing the space of these people was the variety of approaches, they all took at it. Some took it more seriously than others. Some seemed to have their game-faces on lock, and it wouldn’t not be removed the WHOLE TIME, others still had their game faces when it game to show-time, but were still very laidback about it. Others developed unknown allergies, prior to stepping on stage.Some of them smoke a joint before/after the show, and just rolled with it. ...I watched. ...lol ..it was interesting.



I appreciated Montreal's Powerful french pieces. I found it refreshing, it was the 1st time I ever heard spoken word being done in French. I think I'm going to start writing using more french. I appreciated Edmonton's humble, underdog hustle. They came haaarrrdd. I appreciated the camaraderie among all the teams. It was all LOVE.

After the show, I somehow walked into this spontaneous thing, where one of the poets was just playing around with a guitar, and another poet decided to jump in and speak her peace. Her voice was so smooth. Her words were profound and real. I could've slept right then and there, it was like a lullaby. lol
...it was cool to be part of it somehow... and say nothing.



I fell in love at a poetry slam... ;)