Georgetown to Jail: JustWrite Update…
I wanted to take a minute this morning to say thank you. To the amazingly expressive, eloquent, and skilled writers of Georgetown University, thank you. To the giant hearts of Wendy Jason, Jiva Manske, and the staff and admin at MDC, thank you. To my writers, which are changing, growing, and becoming more numerous by the day, thank you.
We are in this together. There are some inmate authored poems that should hit the web by mid next week. There are some Georgetown poems that will also go live, right about the same time. So keep those eyes peeled. The prompts that have been offered up are: an experience with, or of, injustice – and “inked” or “ink.” I am excited to see what both groups do with that. It will be amazing to see the varied perspectives, and the shared space and thoughts. If you out there, in this wide poetry world have an idea for what we should write to, offer something up, let’s make this a bigger conversation than the one between these two groups. We welcome you to join us – write to the prompts and submit them, they will go up in the JustWrite section as “online, or real life submissions.” I appreciate your time and attention to the healing nature of poetry. Until we speak again – keep grindin’.
A Lil Damian Marley to wake up to…
Here you go yall. For my daily followers – most of you know or must figure that I wake up not only with a beat of my heart, but a beat in my head. Damian Marley’s voice was in my head when I lifted it off the pillow this morning. I love the way Damian’s voice fuels a vibe, and pushes a song forward. Nas is featured on this Road To Zion track; this was only one of the classics that exists on the “Distant Relatives” album that these two combined to build. If you’ve never heard of it, shame on you! Go get that, burn that, buy that, somehow hear everything they have to say. I have posted one of their songs before now, “leaders,” made an appearance on this blog – it was time for more – so walk with me today. It’s the end of the week, this song asks us to “keep on walkin…” keep it burnin, keep it movin, keep on grindin…
Where is my mind… a real life submission
This poem comes to us via a “real life” submission. A student of mine that has grown incredibly as a writer and man, shared this with me today, and I just had to share it with yall..
where is my mind
heaven or hell, I’m stuck in a bind
do I really care, if not, then why am I trying
where is my mind, i feel my soul could leak out my eyes never crying
sadness fills a pipe faster than smoke
black, crank, crack, dank, a serious joke
funnier than having fun, hilarious how pills carry us
on their back like a monkey with needle in hand, ready to poke
your mind like the Pillsbury dough boy, the top chef
cooking up a swarm as you be twisting trouble
with your 16 year old wanna be playboy bunny thinking your hugh heff
ner na yay, will a shot gun on your tongue help you express you mind
and spread out your thought and you can find what you were going to say
about the situation of you lost in inebriation, praying to the father of drug creation
ready to bust a slug after a 10 gauge’s masturbation
boom
where is your mind, drugs treat us so kind
life is a slit throat we could watch and rewind
fear and loathing has us just pressing play
thinking about KIDS has us wearing rubbers every lay
Jesus around our neck as were requiem scheming
“somebody help us’, someone’s mind is screaming
live life like blow, die like scarface
were dreaming, our nightmare reality is us just catching another case
another date with the judge.another probation, another drug test,
another relapse, another day on the run, I see another cop, another day resisting arrest
more time, less gain, more rhymes, less sane
where is my mind, my new celly is crying
another letter. another sentence, your girl’s late on her period
and if she says that it’s yours do the math and realize she’s lying
life is so grand, death is so sweet
where is the man with the sand, leaving me forsaken as he’s off to never never land
now look me in the eyes like heat
do I really care, if not, then why am I trying
where is my mind
For those on the grind this one’s for you
Everlast is speaking directly to those that hustle, grind, and “get by” in this song. This one is for all my grinders out there in this world – push on, and get by! I have always loved the way Everlast tugs on the heart strings. On this one he does that once again, while asking/telling us to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps. Only we can can grind in the name of our respective hustles – go out, get out, and get something- get by.
Tribute to Fam: @Hakimbe @2bers
This one is for all those in the Albuquerque scene who know those that grind are those that keep the funk coming, and that group includes the people pictured below: @Hakimbe @2bers on their grind, the making of “Marvelous” that premiered at Jazzbars, Hakimbe’s monthly show at the Jazzbah in downtown Burque… Come out and join him the 2nd Tuesday of every month. Here is a glimpse of what they cooked up together, to tempt you to go peep the next 2bers show and or Hakimbe sighting.
Reed Bobroff “Why I Write…”
The stories and I have always grown up side by side. From child to now, I have always been filled by chei’s (maternal grandfather) regaling of Ferdinand the Bull; masani’s (maternal grandmother) Creation Story accounts of Mt. Taylor’s lava rocks hardening from Yé’iitsoh’s blood; nali’s (paternal grandmother) memories of the backseat window, moving landscapes, and how they shaped her printing; or when dad was robbed in Argentina and spent the entire summer eating cheap empanadas. The stories are in my blood. They are the smell of firewood and hot chocolate or morning dew and iced tea. To remember and create true tales and fake is my home— it is how I think— it is who I am.
Reed Bobroff StaffWriter – “Who Carries the Tales”
Who Carries the Tales
Horned Toad perched
on the edge of the moving box. i knelt next
to him, (k)new of tradition—
shiChei, tell me a story?
he hopped
off the cardboard and
flicked his tongue at me
before
he waddled into the grass. I found him
two days later
dead dry.
crickets creeped
out of his stomach playing
ghost songs, rising from their
legs like
smoke
through a hoghan winter.
Attempt at writing music…. by me… I am still learning
I have been challenged to start writing “bars” for music, by my compadres in verse @Dilesmusic and @Hakimbe for an upcoming UrbanVerbs collaborative project, to be released in 2012… This is something I am still tweaking… but it’s an attempt nonetheless.
In this melting pot
I’m just one drop
Little brown boy
All I want is one shot,
Not bucked from a nine of a twelve gauge
More like in-between the lines
Onna blank page
Three sheets to the wind
Inna mind haze
Finding simplicity and answers in the
Questions
my way
Traditions and culture still existent
Only place that when I leave I miss it
Here, you Hear the spirits if you listen
Land of enchantment where we’re living
JustWrite Real Life Submission “I Am From” Reed Bobroff StaffWriter
New Mexican Poet
The reason I am a
poet
is because when I was born I
was swaddled in the purple
black sky and caressed
by the warm callused hands of
New Mexico. I was given
a right to stand up for my beliefs by the bullhead
infested ditch banks who loved me
with soft dirt but kept me in reality with sharp pains.
I was given tan skin because
New Mexico has rubbed off on me.
I don’t rhyme in my poetry—
I don’t believe that I can succeed when I force-feed you
a full speed stampede of words. Instead
I use the rhythm of my mother’s heartbeat so you know these words come from me,
My right hand, is the ground pounded by dancers,
in their head dresses and regalia, pumping
creativity into my body
with their steps of
thunder echoing agony from the past,
My left hand is in a fist (I have to fight for my right to succeed),
My ears tune themselves
to myself and life. They were raised
by grandfather’s stories and grandmother’s sunset tongue of elegance.
My nose inhales Sandia Mountains.
It filters out anything but poetry.
But you and I are metaphors for Zia Sun Bliss,
My mouth exhales quietly
the uprising of the new
generation as
my tongue transforms into the feathered serpent,
Quetzalcoatl, who changes
the world into a multicolored wristband. I wear my heart on my sleeve,
a heart of black
jet. All colors mixed together in a compound so complex it is
simple,
I was created from scratch,
Birthed from Yucca root and Traditions,
My hair is of desert willow,
Eyes of bluebird flight,
Nose of bittersweet Red Chile,
Ears of Ya’at’eh, Que Tal, and Hello,
Mouth created by the riches and flaws of humanity,
My face is perfectly imperfect like the landscape that surrounds it,
My body is oddly proportioned yet seductive as the sand dunes,
My legs are strong and powerful adobe bricks built by the hard-working aspect of humanity,
My feet were not birthed but rather, created alongside life because they are the instruments that turn the world,
I wasn’t meant to sit down,
I’ve walked from the acequias to mesas,
From arroyos to Pueblos,
I was baptized in the Rio Grande,
Took first communion at Garcia’s Kitchen,
Was confirmed by Mt. Taylor, Mal Paiz, and the Sandia Mountains,
I am home, to New Mexico.
Whatcha' Sayin?