Roots and rhymes...

Greetings people. After my last blog, I'm in a somewhat calmer mood. Maybe it's all this poetry going on....

Another year, another Black History month brought to a close....well nearly. It's so strange but I never know it's Black History month til somewhere near the end. This year was no different, but I did (at the least) catch one or two spoken word shows before it ended, learn a bit more about the life of Dr Martin Luther King and contemplate where Black people are now compared with where we were then. At times I get so philosophical, you know!!

Just wanted to share a poem that I shared at an event called 'Message to the messengers: A tribute to Gil Scott Heron' on Thursday. Whatever the colour of your skin, I hope it speaks to you.
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Did you ever get that feeling you were being watched?

Mentally depleted feeling like you need a reefer,

Just to ease your heart?

He's with us is the cry that we all equally,

Believe in but,

Deeper in we're trying to decipher it.

Egyptian scholars they believed in sarcophaguses,

Book of the dead said life could be promised 'em,

So they worshipped Amun-Ra, 'God of the Sun',

But even though their God he was one,

He was lots of things.
Went he went down he would struggle with the darkness,

Fact that he rose showed the hardest had won,

So in the view of a man encapsuled in that hot weather,

God and Seraphims took the mask of the sun.

And the elements were glorified,

Pharoahs they were mummified,

The Creator's form looked like,

Whatever they adored in life,

Whatever they endorsed and whatever was unknown in power,

Soon was on their walls as a reverential source empowered.
The Greek Epicureans and philosophers,

Worshipped their stone portraits and acknowledged 'em,

Things that we do now show that we follow 'em,

As we hollerin on our own areopagus,

That our belonging is in things we created,

As the Black man following a king that portrays him,

So I aint surprised,

That the stigma of ancient,

Comes in the modern day things that we says revised,
Some even claim it's light with the thought,

'I could never follow any White man's God'

As the main retort,

And I admit the Lord isn't as those pictures taught,

And that it was that culture sculpting God in their image bro......

But our sin is trying to make a God that portrays us fam,

When the Creat-ah, isn't made from hands

The one I follow as the centerpin,

Made some light and he polished some with melanin,

Prophecy rests in his hands, he's the King of Kings

Lion of the tribe of Judah is his name.

And the visions plain, back then the Father let it go,

Now he's callin' all men to repent and change.
And yeah he's coming with a judge to deliver shame,

But life to those who wanna go deeper in,

Who trust his hidden name....

He can do that,

As one they delivered to the grave,

Yet he lives again.

Messiah wants to know you, you in?

Yahoshua, Jesus, know him and live,

Messiah wants to know you, you in?

Yahoshua, Jesus, know him and live.

A touch of reality...

Hello again, been a little break but I just wanted to share a little experience I had yesterday.....

I frequent a little show which they like to call 'Artistic Souls', held in the heart of Birmingham each month. Hosted by well known Birmingham personality Andre 'Soul' Hesson, you find a place where spoken word talent and underground poets sit back, relax and share their inspirations. I was truly inspired when I left the show last night. There were two pieces which really brought home what it means to be real. A poet named Deci4Life started the onslaught with a piece about a 15 year old, who was raped, an act which he described in great detail. This was coupled with a call for the 'examples' (olders) in the community to step up in their roles. During a piece by a young Brum poet by the name of Kesha C, I was silenced. She spoke with such an honesty during her poem directed 'to a mother' that I was thinking 'what do I actually have to bring to the table'.

These guys spoke about life in such a real way that I dared not bring something that was just a poem, lacking the heart, passion, intensity and REALITY that the preceding pieces had. I felt challenged to my core with one question on my lips. How can I as a Christian be someone with such life changing power on the inside, yet be so afraid of my heart, my feelings, emotions and my testimony. My question was directed to both me and those who share my profession.  

Why won't we write poems addressing the turmoil of a mother or father walking out on us, and through it show the healing brought to our lives, by us choosing to forgive?  
And why don't we speak of the pain associated with abortion, if its something we've experienced showing how God's love and forgiveness got us through?

When will we become real and not live in pretence? True and not deceptive?

Light without living with hidden darkness?

The Dub poet, Kokumo who went on after me said (and I paraphrase)

'I want you to shout 'Yes man' or give you signs of approval with a voice of agreement. None of the clapping which you've been doing tonight. That kinda clapping ah church dat fah. No offense to the young poet who just brought some concious lyrics.....'

Since when was the church associated with passionless praise, and a clapping because it's a necessary....

Why are we seen to the world as 'too unreal' for the average 'living breathing human' to get to grips with?

Jesus was real, and he still is....Something has to change....

Where I write......

Some write all their life experiences in a diary. I did.....but diary's are often personal, for your eyes only until they often end up falling into the wrong hands.......

Some write all their life experiences in a book. I would......but autobiographies are sometimes...somewhat...biased.

Some write all their life experiences in a blog. I do........with some, but I still think theres a better way.

I write my life experiences in my lyric book.

There I am free to comment on all the things I like (and don't like) about others, myself and society.

There I can transfer a message which is directly from my heart with no need for airbrushing.

There I can be honest with myself and with God.

There I can be....me.

Here is a little spoken word from my lyric book which I titled 'The Walk'.....

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I went from lukewarm to looking like soldiers,

Though I don't look any older, I've grown up,

The moaning stopped, I know what's up,

Cus I've been through the fold of the bro's that watch,

Tryna imitate those that up with a slight fame,

Amaze most with flows but know that inside pain,

Swallows me up like ricegrains,

My mindframe was alive

But was cutting me slow like migraines.

Now I ain't the guy that they saw in the slums,

As a bad man I'm also a son,

And my daddy don't,

Know I'm a thug whilst he's worshipping God,

Or that I'm holding in the sock of my pumps,

He think's I'm studying,

My role model's we're the pushers of drugs,

And the life of Snoop Dogg I was looking to touch,

Had the braids with the walk and the clutch,

Like A pimp sir,

But deep in my heart, you see I weren't sincere.

Open me, you'd see a kid here, reaching for truth,

Weeping inside while I'm deeply confused,

Took weed with a hit of the booze knowing it's laced to kill,

I should be dead but God's grace is amazing still,

I disobeyed thinking it's a fluke,

Little guy still tryna get recognition from the heads,

On the ends, the respect is power,

So every hour I would rep with cowards.

Now they say Jamaica will change ya,

But i was rearranged by the hands of my saviour,

The clay broke

But God had me sent there for a purpose,

Not herbs but, 

Words of a Pastor I got in a service,

I wern't gon' go

Save ridiculous feelings telling me to walk the wrong way home,

So.....I walked it and hit a convention,

Put there for my salvation,

I had my own struggle.

Walk in the church or go home to my own hustle,

My own protection system or would I step in to listen,

I did he flipped the script and now I found direction in him,

My role model changed like a coke bottle frame,

I've been structured so I won't be caught up in fame,

Cus it's a vapour I'm more on where I'm gonna stay,

Christ follower, Bible basher the common names,

But I've been saved by the God who took the cross of pain.

Who for the lost to save gave up his life,

While other people's role models give them baby advice,

Talk rhymes where there aimin to die,

My role model gives me life I'll reclaim in the sky,

So I don't watch now,

No watchtower gonna save me my life,

Only his word gives flames to ignite,

Embers of worthlessness,

We earth put to achieve I believe it,

But the only br'er I wanna be like is Jesus.