Can’t believe I’m sittin here in this hell- room again; seething like country bacon in a southern diner. Refuting smiles with a creased brow and brown lips refusing to flex for common courtesy.
I ain’t here for your ‘Good morning!’
This ain’t the joy I expected to come when I cried my pillow into a cloud and prayed for warmth in my winter.
So many faces, bumbling voices, fidgeting glances, and bowed heads holding digital mirrors that reflect the need to be anywhere but here.
I probably ain’t the only one awaiting amnesty from this lesson in being a good little correspondent for the seventh sin.
Probably ain’t the only one praying for a white collar to exorcise me from this demon of ice breaking introductions, paperwork, and communal dishonesty-
None of us really WANT to be here. And if you do, repent and ask for salvation. You haven’t buried your faith deep enough to yield a mustard tree.
I’m here feeding the machine that digitizes human beings instead of trusting my wings so I can fly above this degradation.
Bet I’m the only one writing a poem right now, and if I’m not, then we should rebel; make a break for it; find some way to bypass this necessary hell ’cause it hasn’t been 30 minutes yet and I’m considering giving in to the final notices if it’ll lift me from Darwin’s infernal Inferno; A burning I left 3 years ago to pursue 2 more dollars that didn’t amount to a hill of dreams (only material things.)
And I know I can’t sneak to write poems all day. Ain’t no phones permitted when you work for the companies that own them.
I know I can’t escape, in an instant, to the Gram to create stories of capitalist unrest or memes mimicking men desperate for off-days.
I’ma have to lie soon enough.
Smooth out my brow, flex my brown lips, and growl politely as I introduce myself to people I have no desire to know
Hi, my name is OneVoice, I have a cat. Oh, and I really wish money didn’t motivate me to postpone my dreams to hold on to things I really don’t need.
Like this job.
It’s a poet’s response to Kendrick Lamar’s excellent album, “To Pimp A Butterfly”. It’s the inspiration. Kendrick inspired the rawness, the honesty, the self-reflection, and the consideration of the words but it’s all OneVoice. It’s all poetry. There is no dependence on the slam poet’s cadence or popular instrumentals. It is, however, a theatrical experience. It is a reason that academia should STUDY true contemporary poets and artists (I am both, they are one).
“From Prophet To Prophet” is a poet’s frustration, a poet’s revelation, a poet’s love realized in virtual format. It’s spirituality, cultural awareness, and a giant leap towards freedom. I engineered every track, co-engineered one with artistic colleague DaiTrell Ingram. The focus though, is the writing. Its the poetry. Any production used is only to complement the writing (hence, no instrumentals or over-rendering of the words).
The tracks are actually more so “acts” followed by “scenes”. I’m giving you a virtual show in your ear. And if you ever attended a Well Versed Xpressionz show at UNC-Greensboro, we never just gave you spoken word. We always gave you a story. I’m giving you a plethora of stories all focused on one overall motif: freedom.
Check out my Facebook page to get an early preview of the track listing. The first 10-20 good people that share that post will get an exclusive preview, before the official release next week, of one of my most powerful scenes from the collection: “The Sins Of White Men”. OneVoice, that is myself, ain’t holding back no more. I done told ya’ll, “Art MOVES and Poetry TALKS”. I’m gonna continue to be EXCELLENT whether anyone recognizes it or not. It’s time that ya’ll truly experienced OneVoice. Enough said.
It seems to me that legs open,greedily, bearing hanging flesh like temptation And the between places require religiosity to make them holy since the sun don’t shine below the navel
The sanctum of broad thighs poised like pliable tree trunks Offering inedible fruit insatiable to taste And eyes taste almost as well as buds on wet flowers that bloom in mouths when legs open, greedily, awaiting deliberate hands to tease the fruit ripe with denial
I voted out of fear
of who this nation is
under the kumbaya of all lives
and equality and freedom
and justice for all lives
Not because I had the right
But because the wrong
has the power
Because the wrong
has the freedom
Because the wrong
does not have the right
to still my voice
I voted out of fear
Not out of hope
because this country does not hope
for freedom’s liberty and statutes
of decency are shrouded
by flags that stripe red
SPEAK.magazine, Where Artists Meet.
Issue 2 went out today but you can still see the full issue by emailing email@example.com up until October 20. It’s one of the most uniquely
poetic experiences you’ve seen as a part of a mailing list.
I finally did it! Now there’s a way for you to get weekly updates for poetry and artistic projects I’m working on, artists I’m working with, upcoming events, and more. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org for the first issue of SPEAK.Magazine, for LIVING voices.