Q: How do you describe your music?
S.N.A.F.U. is a drawing process that requires thinking abstractly on multiple layers of paper in a way you, the creator, deem fit. There’s no right or wrong way of utilizing this technique; it is solely for expressing your thought process and construction is what’s important. I learned to think outside of the box. This drawing style enabled me to utilize mediums that I would have never considered to use for drawing. Also, this technique teaches that mistakes are valuable and part of learning and creating. In addition, everyone may not understand what you have created, but it’s ok. You are the creator. Rather than explaining what you have created, explain how you created, explain your cognitive processes.
There you are again, surrounding me,
showing up anytime you please.
Everywhere–materializing in the obscure,
bits and pieces of you embedded in the cracks.
There you are in my favorite book,
reading between my lines in a tactile manner.
And there, you’re a lyric of a brilliant song,
singing me everything I need to understand.
Over there. I find you smirking through
the steam of my mug of coffee,
reminding me of your warmth.
I find you in my dreams,
behind my eyelids,
on my skin, in my mouth.
Most of all, you emerge
from my pencil,
and I can’t keep you away.
You have a home on these
pages, spilling out each day,
in shapes and patterns from
the words I write for you.
What is Poetry? – Part 2
Poetry is the forsaken cry, the loneliest voices with the loudest minds,
captured in ink, blighted by drink, or bolstered,
emboldened with the bravado to think big,
to sing on a page,
to rage against the silence of days
spent drifting through the passive malaise,
the love of something and not for how it pays.
Poetry is the air up there, despair in the mind of a scribe
at not being able to fly, so it is
the flight of birds described by those who live in unknowns
to those who dream of being free.
Poetry is anything between a sucker punch or a long lunch,
a coupe de grace or a warm embrace.
It’s the lines of life in a face,
the wrinkled space between
never and eternity.
[It is a funeral in a typical church on the north side women are crying while fanning themselves because it’s summer. It has come to the time where loved ones get to share a word. The pastor declares a two-minute limit.]
Me: God is good all the time…
Audience: And all the time God is good.
Me: This raggedy muthafucka ain’t never been shit, and God saw that and killed that nigga. In addition, fuck boys cannot prosper spewing fuckery.
[An usher comes to encourage me off the stage. I motion with my pointer finger. One more thing must be said.]
Me: singing Come inside. Take off your coat. I’ll make you feel at home. Now let’s pour a glass of wine cause now we’re all alone. [There are two ushers now.] I been waiting for you babe just let meeeee… [They’re pushing me off stage.] …hold you close to me… [I break away and run to the casket] cuz I been dying for you to make love to meeeeee.
Audience: [mouths dropped]
Me: [a distinct bow]
Me: [flips off funeral goers and leaves]
What I hear in absolute silence
The wind blowing through the trees
Photo Credit: Kshipra Mahershi