Poetry Slammin'

I’ve often day dreamed of getting’ my “Love Jones” on and reciting some poetry in front of a group of people. No, better yet, I’d perform it. I’d do something real mellow. I’d wear my cool shades indoors. I’d have on a fly suit.

You’ll never catch me
Long white T-shirt wearin’
My mama would kill me if my pants were saggin’
See, cuz I’m all about the clean-cut corporate
Not the ‘Hook it up’, go to the 5-finger discount store for it

I’d have a message, but I’d be contemporary enough to captivate my audience while entertainining them. I’d get the “oohs” and “aaahs” (not the bewilderment, or pleasant surprise “aah”, more like the MC battle, hip-hop, I just dissed you in my freestyle in that warehouse in 8-Mile style “aah”…or is that an “oh”?)

We need to look the part
Wall Street not Shawshank
High yield not bail bonds
Shun the grindin’ and flippin’
Choose the investment bankin’

I’d have some cool jazz to accompany me. When I paused for emphasis, it would pause. When I posed a question, or looked puzzled, it would PLAY puzzled. It would probably be an upright bass, and maybe a sax. The sax cat would be as cool as me, completely in lock step with my expressions. The bass man would be ice cold.

Then, just as suddenly, I’d bare the tender underbelly. The band wouldn’t miss a beat. I’d expose emotions. I’d be vulnerable. They’d eat it up.

I just want to love you...
So much that the very thought of you
Heals all ills, sets my heart a-fire
Making you want for nothing, as its
your equanimity i pursue

I’d switch to my deep voice, and the bass man would go with me. I’d remove the shades for effect and when I finished, I’d be totally spent. The audience would be on the edge of their seats and ready to burst and I’d have a facial expression that spoke of humility and relief. They’d whistle and cheer and beg for more. I’d tell them no, really, they are too kind. They’d persist and then finally, they insist so I acknowledge that okay,

I guess I AM kinda nice with the flow,..perhaps
I should hook up the collabo...as in ration, so they
can read me all around the nation...i'll be a
sensation...but they don't see me...cuz I don't see
them..cuz i'm blind...but Slim with the tongue pierced says
I got a beautiful mind...i'm outta time..no, i'm just hittin'
the wall...thanks for playin, i had a ball...iiight
den ...that's all from "Mr. Six-Seven-Twelve
o'clock"...i've got writers block...

At this point, the brothas in the back row would rush through the crowd to dap me up. The MC for the night would give me one last big-up, pause, and give me another. And then I’d WAKE up. I’d be confined by my own four walls…still and the light of day, none of my poetry probably ever will…see. But check back with me some other time, because I might indeed grow a spine.