Artist...B.o.B

I Don't even know how to properly describe how much I love this dude. He's ILL to the max. One of my favorite rappers to emerge in these past few years by far. He's got so much skill, and the creativity and sound that he brings to the hip hop world, is anything but cliche. He's a breath of fresh air, he's tall glass of water, he is music to my ear drums..

In one of his most recent doings, he has teamed up with Janelle Monae (whom I love with my whole heart) and covered one of Vampire Weekend's songs "the kids don't stand a chance"...the result..golden...i mean, could it be any other way??



BTW- His debut album drops this week...I'm buying it twice..

Voice of a Poet...Shanelle Gabriel

Shanelle is one of the poets that made me realize that i want to be a poet, that I want to write if only just to emulate her in any slight way. Shanelle writes poetry that is easily universally appreciated across the board, as well as being clever, witty and always entertaining and intellegent. I'm lucky enough to be able to call her a friend; Point blank, I love her poetry and writing, she's amazing, and If you don't know about Shanelle, Know you know! Get familiar!

Quote me On that..

Poetry surrounds us everywhere, but putting it on paper is, alas, not so easy as looking at it.-Vincent Van Gogh

Tumblr

Yeah...I have a tumblr page too now, just in case anyone wants to check it out.. Tumblr's cool. I have no idea how imma make out running blogspot and tumblr when I barely blog here...meh...i"ll do it.. no worries. anywayss heres the link. Peace

Parts of My Heart

NaPoWriMo..16/04/2010

No idea what to call this one. but here's my poem for the day.


I find poems that i've written in the strangest places,
stanzas scibbled on the soles on my feet
on the inlets on my palms
i've found,
metaphors drawn on my lips
and sketched on my hips,
I seem to put poetry
everywhere,
so that I won't forget
its importance.
I went to the fridge the other day
and in between the milk and the butter
there was a poem about,
my vices and my lover,
I found one etched on my bathroom mirror,
drawn in last nites soap bar,
there are poems in my cupboards,
sometimes they spill into my bowl of cereal in the morning,
more then once i've swallowed letters
when I was looking for marshmallows.
I've seen them on the tongues on my shoes
and in the creases of my smile,
i even saw one once scrawled on a strand of my hair,
written with care,
growing with time.
and those, i love to find,
they have become my own personal hide and seek
players
and uncovering, and discovering their presence
only spawns more of their essence.

Voice of a Poet...Queen GodIs

You can't mention poetry without talking about Queen GodIs. Queen GodIs is a poet, mentor, teacher, leader and skillful artist. She has mentored the NY brave New Voices slam team, she's released an album containing her poetry and works, and to put it frankly, her art speaks volumes. And although this video isn't exactly her spitting any slam you still get a glimpse into the amazing gift that this beyond talented poet possesses. Enjoy

Death of a Beauty

Saw this image on tumblr and it inspired me to write my NaPoWriMo poem for 15/04/2010. So here it is.Its kinda short. i think i'll make it longer another day, but for right now, i'm hella tired. and i'm kinda satisfied with it for the moment. Word up to fight club, great film.



I felt like destroying something beautiful today.
So I strung my heart up on a bulls eye
And let the ills of the world pierce its membrane,
I let pain hit its core and tear the epitome of its charm,
And I aimed at it misery to hit it straight on..
I allowed ugly to shred its beauty and darkness to cover its light,
No more will passion boom from its over zealous beats,
Never again, will it become drunk with compassion, and spill over its rations to the reservoir of my soul..
My bow and arrow aim was perfect and ready.
And my usually unreliable hands were strong and steady.
my precision is never far from accurate so I know that there was fatality in the midst of its impact..
And the sad thing is,
It used to be so beautiful.
People used to marvel at its
Charisma,
Used to beg for its attention,
This heart had a fan club, received loved letters, and anonymous I love you's,
This was when it was bondage less and roamed free from life's issues.
But ever since its been captivity.
Its been useless,
Its worth has become less
And who wants to hold onto something that they no longer have use for,
Or that is broken abused and sore..
I mean they shoot horses don't they..
So why not hearts?

In between Margins..

Sometimes if I'm sitting in an incredibly long on boring lecture I tend to zone out and write a poem or lyrics in the margin lines of my notebooks. So today while I was supposed to be paying attention to a consoles lecture (all about mixing boards and signal flow..yawn) I took a few moments to scrawl some poetic verse on the side of my class notes...Dunno if it will amount to anything, or if its even a poem @ all..but its still nice to exercise my writing muscle every chance that i get.. NaPoWriMo poem for 12/04/10 coming up lata

11/04/10

Here's my NaPoWriMo Contribution for today...its just a lil quick poem I wrote today while I was in the park. enjoy

Under the belly of cerulean skies,
I've learned that happiness is found in the wake of pain's demise.
In the pit of hopeful eyes, lies, answers to life's forgotten treasures,
Misused jewels,
And uncovering them is comparable to Bradford hitting Plymouth rock
or sir George striking the bermoothes...
Happiness..tells me frequently that
She isn't of the mysterious clan,
Or that she is hidden from the eyes of the common man,
She's evident, always present,
She just isn't always plastered on those who chase her,
Or grinned on the chin of those who waste her.
But always in sight when hurt has reared into life.
She's a mender,
A fix-er upper,
A problem stopper.
Happiness, the pursuit of which I find myself on the tail end of the chase,
But its not a race,
Happiness is like grace,
A blessing,
And always an option for
Open hearts..

Voice of a Poet...Alysia Harris

ok! so in Honor of National Poetry Month i'm going spotlight as many poets that I can onto this blog. They will be poets that I admire and am a fan of and hopefully, my readers will become a fan of theirs too.

To kick it off with the First "Voice of a Poet Spotlight" I'm posting a video of Alysia Harris who is a poet from Philadelphia. She has competed in the Brave New Voices Festival as part of the Philadelphia team she is also a part of Excelano Project which is a Spoken word group within the University of Pennsylvania.

Alysia's words, evoke power, she gracefully projects her poetry in a way that sounds like her heart strings are being played by a full on grammatical philharmonic. (If that makes any sense at all! haha) In any case, shes deep, shes amazing, shes a powerful artist. Enjoy.

NaPoWriMo

Ok so the Month of April is National Poetry Writing Month!! YAY!! So for NaPoWriMo, you pretty much try to write a poem a day..so this is my contribution for today's poem I'm going to TRY my hardest to write a poem a day and also stay on top of this blog, i'm such a slacker in this area it isn't funny..plus y'kno school work and alla that.. but anyways, here's my poem for 9/04/2010 enjoy. and take part in National Poetry Writing Month if your a poet!



The General's Song

I heard the general's song.
Far. Long.
From, a distance I couldn't see without the aid of prescription clarity,
Or without the daily periodicals reminding me of its present reality.
But I still heard it.
I still heard the shattering of bombs, the calling of all arms, the scattered of calm carcass, the whisper of the gone.
I still heard tears, falling, from sorrows leaping out of heavy hearts. The silent cries from those that couldn't utter syllables;
to properly describe in decibels
What has happened to their lives.
I heard the general's song as I flicked the channels and landed on CNN,
I heard the shrill frequencies explode through the camera lens,
The instruments executed each note with precision. As they tip toed their camo-ed toes over the rough terrain’s composition.
Ahhh the sounds of a symphony.
But the melodious tones spread.
I thought I was dreaming when I heard the song on the corner of my home..
Middle of the atlantic, I heard the rhythm become frantic.
Sure the general has relocated his fiddle to a second destination,
But he's never been more accurate with his finger placing.
I mean YoYo Ma couldn't handle a stringed instrument this well, the General wielded it, and its voice screamed hell.
That was the song..
I heard it deafening,
I saw it promote dancing. Never before seen hidden artists were now showing their talent, they were pop n locking with the malice.
I saw young dudes download the song for their ringtones, then remix it and rap over it for their own personal sing alongs.
Before I had heard the general sing in the heart of a metropolis,
thats where the term concrete jungle was coined,
cuz he banged rubble for drums, used a glock for a snare made music from noise.
the brooklyns and the brixtons had siphon him many a time to compose,
they ciphered over the blows and tones they crafted their own shows
In the Generals song
I heard him cry for help, I heard him lace blood in his lyrics so the world
felt.
it. every bit.
every slip and fall.
and wound made by shrapnel.
and the screams fluctuated through each cadence,
the amputations, the hollow tipped faces.
I heard the generals song in my headphones
close. warm.
and I realized that this melodic collection of musicianship
was anything but distance relevant
the song was there, its here,
its everywhere
I heard the general’s song at home and realized that it wasn't specified anymore
that it wasn't geographically placed,
or traced by location
the General’s song... was world known,
now its a general song.
tears are its accompaniment,
bullets never without it..
lets us sing..
because obviously we can’t fight.