My two readers: My apologies for the extreme lack of 'anything' on this blog - work, school and the list of my life took over time to provide any updates. Even my facebook profile has only seen me for a couple of minutes when I actually have a message to respond to.
But as BNTH once sung (as well as others) here is my brain on drugs!!! So let me recap what has happened since I last posted.....
Well can update my profile now - took out Poetry Idol this year. That was cool. I mean really, this year I felt more accomplished and did not invite many people so I can actually get 'real' feedback in a slam. But sharing the stage with some favourties: Grace Taylor (her poetry: too beautiful to even say in words), John Carr (classic!!), Tui-Z (Hawaiian National Slam poet extraordinaire) and a gang of others which were so real. But that was cool (and even messed up my last poem in the final round) but the love and support felt from total strangers was humbling.
So to celebrate here is the actual words to the final poem I messed on: Enjoy!!!
A young boy stands with a book of refill lines/a pen in his pocket and a stomach full of butterflies/jelly dessert like legs knocking knees together and ripped fingernail tops with the vision of winning/
He stands behind a line full of memorised or pre note taken refilled lines/knowing his style is a little different to the average/to the norm/to the traditionalist sort of poet/the inspired drug induced/the English literature/the doctoral scholar produced/ the humorous comedian/the life blood represent is finished sort of poet/the full of emotion taken away/the well researched/the wannabe journalist and reviewer/the speaks with the hand sort of poet/ the veteran of the page/the haiku and prose written/the might choose a pro written/or the absolute novice learning the game and expressing life stories and how they feel sort of poet/
This young boy standing with his book of refill lines looks and feels intimidated/but infuriated with the fact that maybe his knowledge of his English background and particular style might get him somewhere/
He stands with a line full of congregated letters sitting on refill lines/ with a beanie and baggy jeans cos that is what is in his wardrobe/and acts as a uniform to hide him from the world he is about to approach/and becomes a pre determined gangsta from the hood/speaking that everything might be all good if all the kids could follow like he should sort of poet/the escape out of the ghetto and only has a tendency to speak in phonics or rap ebonics and possibly he smokes chronic ironically sort of poet/a rhymer/a rapper/a wannabe American with an American twang to accentuate words speaking so fast that you can’t help to think it is rap sort of poet/then he speaks against the grain/a descriptive and can adapt to speak about anything from the hood to a pillow to religion to even why he writes such words and styles/with the verbs and vowels he uses to get his point across even if his grammar sucks sort of poet/
This young boy does more than that with his book of refill lines/he goes to war with the mic/he lifts his Excalibur pen and spills it blood on a war torn field that records his life and words/but ends each battle always with a thank you/
He walks off stage gripping onto his refill lines/and sometimes is congratulated/sometimes he is criticised/off course he does/that is how he learns/ his soliloquy given may be the new voice of the world/or an old voice over used/he can be a new type or a stereotype/a freshly painted picture or a hyped up MTV video type/a hand shaken/and praised taken/ and prize-fighting on top of the world reaching a goal sort of poet/a “I really liked your rap”/or “you need to use better words when you perform and stand properly” sort of poet/a walk off with jelly legs standing firm and breathing hard with heart beats tripled/a dry mouth no time to dribble and awaiting the result while having a drink sort of poet/a being around his friends/his family saying “you did good”/a self evaluating never did enough and now has new inspiration to write a poem and restrict it from sounding traditional and now gives it to you right now sort of poet/
Maybe you just witnessed a young boy retelling writings from his refill lines/maybe you have not/maybe you were spectators in his war or maybe you indulged in the battle/but the fight has now ended and like all past conflicts/this one ends with another “Thank you”