Rachel McKibbens Blogs!!

If you're a Rachel McKibbens fan like, me, you'll be overjoyed to know that she is a fellow blogger...holla! I first heard of her on IndieFeed and was so happy when I stumbled across her blog this morning. If you haven't heard about this bad a$$ poetess, well, now's the time to get hip to it!

She was kind enough to include the text of this poem in a recent blogpost. Way to read my mind Rachel!!

"A mama forgets what her weapons can do.
Can't know which of her failures
will be what does it."

Besides being an all around rockin' chica, Rachel also recently took home the title spot in the 2009 Women of the World Poetry Slam (WOWps). She is (was?) the slam master of the New York City LouderArts Project - a not-for-profit arts corporation committed to developing constructive and challenging spaces for artists to create, critique, present, and teach poetry. Rachel also apparently "collects butcher knives in her spare time:-)" You can thank Mongo for that last bit of trivia.

Check out her blog .

First Week of a Breakup

"The first week of a break up is like the first time guys have sex
it's awkward
and boring
and we keep telling ourselves that we're doing it right."

LMAO!! never heard of this cat before, but this is so good and so interesting. Starts off almost too funny to be deep, but ends very tenderly and true. Enjoy!

A World in Mourning: RIP MJ

There is nothing that I can say that hasn't already been said a million times over. Despite the drama and controversy, there's no denying that this man had real talent.


this is my favorite song of all time and always reminds me of dancing around my bedroom like a maniac:-)Michael - the world will never be the same without you but your music will live on forever!

Singer Michael Jackson dies at 50

Pop star Michael Jackson has died in Los Angeles, aged 50.

Paramedics were called to the singer's Beverly Hills home at about midday on Thursday after he stopped breathing. He was pronounced dead two hours later at the UCLA medical centre. Jackson's brother, Jermaine, said he was believed to have suffered a cardiac arrest. Jackson, who had a history of health problems, had been due to stage a series of comeback concerts in the UK on 13 July.

Speaking on behalf of the Jackson family, Jermaine, said doctors had tried to resuscitate the star for more than an hour without success. He added: "The family request that the media please respect our privacy during this tough time. And Allah be with you Michael always. I love you."

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The Result of Googling...

I recently found this poem, while googling "African Poetry." Most of it was...ok...but this one especially caught my attention. It kind of has the tone of the poem I recently posted, so of course I had to snag it. I have a soft spot in my heart for children and the craziness that they endure at the hands of irresponsible adults. This poem speaks of the sad violation of a young child...without being too explicit.

no author, but still very good. what do you thing?

MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER

I watched you roll
Roll from one side of the bed
To the other, and still
The clock chimes once.

I watch you sit and hum
Hum unintelligible tones
As mountains of tobacco
Disappear into your nostrils.

I watch your eyes
Fill with jerking tears
And your ears positioned
Intermittently to earth's pillars
Trying to place distant voices.

I try to cage my curiosity
But your crawling hands tap my chest
Papa, must I play this midnight encounter
To see the god's piercing eyes
And partake in this ancestral dialogue.

Poetry Tip of the Day

I must admit that, like most of you, I am often my harshest critic. I'm either so afraid to write crap that I forget to write at all or I'm too afraid to post what I've written - convinced that it's crap.

But, I've been inspired by poets who have recently taken up daily poem challenges. They have vowed to write everyday. This means that they will, from time to time, write things that are less than perfect...but at least they'll be flexing their creative muscles. Maybe you don't have time to commit to daily writing, but you could at least take the chance and write...even when it's not all the way perfect and you're not sure exactly where it will end up. It's better to write crap than to let the fear of writing badly paralyze you. It's usually better than you think.

Thanks my tip of the day. Take it for what it's worth.

:-)

Introducing the ZaatarDiva

Like most of my favs, I was turned on to the Palestinian-American poet/activist Suheir Hammad by HBO's Def Poetry Jam. It wasn't until I had the honor of seeing her spit live at a Palentininan students poetry night at my college, though, that I truly fell in love.

When you first see Suheir, the thing that gets you are her eyes. They're simultaneously soothing and arresting. Of course, she's absolutely gorgeous (which makes the words that come out of her mouth all the more surprising) but don't be misled. This is one deep chica. She delivers every word with a sincerity that is deliberate and purposeful.

Suheir understands life in paradox- Her writing hearkens back to her immigrant roots while illustrating her Brooklyn NYC life with hip hop fury. She extends that same complexity to the tales of others she constructs. With the eloquence of an expert weaver, she peppers tough topics (war, rape, love, heartache) with a fiery tenderness that is often lost in the modern spoken word movement.

In case you can't tell, I'm a fan:-) I think hers was actually the first poetry CD that I bought.

Among her many, many accolades, Suheir also currently holds the third place spot on The Poetry Foundation's list of Best Selling Books from Small Press (ZaatarDiva by Suheir Hammad - Cypher Books). She's been in the game a long time and has managed to still stay on top.

I've included a few of her better known works below. Enjoy:-)

Mike Check



What I Will

"I will not dance to your war drum
I will not lend my soul nor my bones to your war drum
I will not dance to your beating
I know that beating is lifeless
I know that skin you are hitting
it was alive once
hunted
stolen
stretched
I will not dance to your war drum"

Quote of the WEEK

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it's dressed in overalls and looks like work."
-Thomas A. Edison

thx aw for the tip

Famous Poetry? Oh No-etry:-)

Nothing reminds me of childhood more that Where the Sidewalk Ends. Awesome!

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Stuff I Like: More Hidary!!

This was the first that I ever heard from her...and I fell in love. It starts off with the quickness and continues with very witty lines, but despite the comedy, she hits the nail on the head of a universal truth about first loves. It's so easy to get 100% wrapped up in love...(infatuation??) and lose yourself in the pursuit of someone to hold you...whoa...deepness. I should write a poem about that. Anyway...nothing this chica does ever disappoints, so check it out.

"By now, I could have had a PhD in philosophy
internal medicine
middle eastern studies
stem cell research.
But no.
I have a PhD in him.
Funny how he brings me no income.
No pension.
No future..."

lol

enjoy!

ps...she has a cd...If you love me...my birthday's just a few (9 to be exact) months away:-)

Stuff I Like: Vanessa Hidary's Hebrew Mamita

"The Hebrew Mamita" Vanessa Hidary

For anyone who has ever, ever, EVER been "the other" - this is the absolute truth!

"What does Jewish look like to you
Should I fiddle on a roof for you?
Should i humor you with oy veys and refuse to pay?"

RIP Harold Norse: Activist and Beat Poet!

The world lost a poetic genius earlier this month when Harold Norse passed away. He was one of the trailblazers of the beat generation and truly a poetic master who let it all out on the page and on the mic.

I have included a bit of his obit below, but I think there's no better way to honor a poet than to highlight one of his most famous works.

Enjoy!

my thoughts are with his family!

I’m Not a Man

BY Harold Norse

I’m not a man, I can’t earn a living, buy new things for my family.
I have acne and a small peter.
I’m not a man. I don’t like football, boxing and cars.
I like to express my feeling. I even like to put an arm
around my friend’s shoulder.
I’m not a man. I won’t play the role assigned to me- the role created
by Madison Avenue, Playboy, Hollywood and Oliver Cromwell,
Television does not dictate my behavior.
I’m not a man. Once when I shot a squirrel I swore that I would
never kill again. I gave up meat. The sight of blood makes me sick.
I like flowers.

I’m not a man. I went to prison resisting the draft. I do not fight
when real men beat me up and call me queer. I dislike violence.
I’m not a man. I have never raped a woman. I don’t hate blacks.
I do not get emotional when the flag is waved. I do not think I should
love America or leave it. I think I should laugh at it.
I’m not a man. I have never had the clap.
I’m not a man. Playboy is not my favorite magazine.
I’m not a man. I cry when I’m unhappy.
I’m not a man. I do not feel superior to women
I’m not a man. I don’t wear a jockstrap.
I’m not a man. I write poetry.
I’m not a man. I meditate on peace and love.
I’m not a man. I don’t want to destroy you

San Francisco, 1972

Read the Obit -
William Carlos Williams once wrote to Harold Norse, who has died aged 92, that "you are the best poet of your generation". Often associated with the Beat writers, Norse began publishing in the early 1940s, befriending and collaborating with leading 20th-century literary figures, among them WH Auden, James Baldwin and Allen Ginsberg. The author of 12 books of poetry, Norse was nominated for the US National Book award in 1974, but never achieved the success of his more celebrated peers.
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Stuff I Write: BABY B prt3

Part 1
Part 2

She is no longer baby
On the streets there is nothing to do but beg or turn tricks
She chooses the latter
She grows full and sensual
Learns that she has something they are willing to pay for
She falls for a man who wants nothing but her body
Considers her to be currency
A means of barter
She makes love to powerful men
Hoping to leech their strength, but they drain all of her and only crave her weakness
She makes love to weak men
Hoping to make herself feel stronger
They will praise her womanly hips, her magical lips
But it will not be enough

Finally, she finds herself in the arms of a woman
For once, she know love
She knows the warmth of skin that wants nothing and offer her everything
She learns to trust the curve that fits perfectly into hers
Learns to cook with coriander
Learns to call it coriander, instead of cilantro
To always light candels before love making
To always blow them out before sleep
Then suddenly
Very suddenly
All too suddenly
It sours
She suffers heartache for the second time in life
She cries bitter tears as her lover chooses the bottle over her
She is saddened that she cannot be enough
She tries to kill herself
Takes a bottle of pills and a capful of bleach
But, somehow she survives
Wakes up
Hails a cab to the emergency room on 5th street and passes out for days
After months, she finds God and learns to love herself
She cries less now
For weeks, swallowing feels like burning
But reminds her that she is alive
Sees herself as beautiful, just before it is too late
She knows far too much for her age now and it shows on her face
She lives quietly now
Thinks back as far as she can remember
Then escapes gently to her maker
No one remembers her name
“Baby Baby Do you love me? Will you love me, even if it doesn’t turn out right? Would you still love me if you knew the world I was borning you into”
Baby looks up at her mother
And it is best that she doesn’t know

Stuff I Write: BABY B prt2

Part 1

III.
No one will ever tell baby this story
They will only say that she is an orphan
Baby will grow up and love dolls and enjoy liquorice that will turn her mouth black
She will have friends
In the group home and later in her foster home
She will be normal for a while
Then things will change
First slowly
Barley noticeable
As her foster brother comes in to lay beside her night after night
In the beginning he will not touch her
He knows that he must not touch her
He only longs to be next to her
Inhaling the smell of Bubble Yum and play dough from her skin
Then he will go farther
One day, he will reach under baby’s blouse to feel...
Nothing
It is the absence of a womanly curve that entices him even further
He does not need to force himself upon her
Because he loves her
At age 11, he is the first man that baby will know
She does not know how to act, so she remains silent

IV.
The first time baby cries softly to herself
Because it hurts a little
Yet he kisses her
Softly
And it feels a bit like love should
He tells baby that she is beautiful
That she will break hearts one day
She believes him and hides his promise within her like a road map
One night, they are discovered
As he enters her and she lays silent, thinking of what they will have for lunch tomorrow, her foster mother walks in
The lights are switched on
There is crying
There are too many people in the room now
He is taken away and she never sees him again
She feels it like a lump in her soul
Like a toothache from too much candy that refuses to subside
But she has not had too much
She has barely had enough of him before he is sent away forever
She believes that he is the only one who loves her
Baby tries to go to him
Over and over again, she runs away
After a while everyone tires of looking for her

Stuff I Write: First Ever - BABY B

So...when I first started this blog, I had this idea that it would be a place to post "stuff I like," which I think I've done a bang up job at, and "stuff I write," not so great.

This is my attempt to rectify that. I trust you, my homies in the blogosphere enough to share my writing with you. Most of it will probably still be in draft form, but all of it is open for feedback and critique. Be gentle, though. "I'm an artist...and sensitive about my shit"

I straight up plagiarized that from Elament...:-)

Anyway...here is the first bit of something I finished last night...good bye writers block...hopefully. It's a bit lengthy, so I'll post it in parts. Please share your thoughts.

enjoy!

Baby B – Susan Baba – Tue June 16,09
I.

A woman holds a baby on the 8th floor maternity ward
Although she is a little scared
Her body still a little scarred
This baby means the world to her
“Do you love me baby?”
She gently coos
“Do you love me?”
She knows her baby cannot hear her
And even if she did, she could not understand
But she asks anyway
“If you knew this world I was borning you into, baby, would you still love me?”
Baby looks up with knowing eyes
Although she does not know

II.
She cannot know that in an hour
Her body still shivering from the sudden absence of her mother’s placenta will be alone again
She cannot know that a man
A pimp
A marketer
A seller of love to little girls with absent fathers
A seller of hope to men who have grown bored of all they have become
Will leave her with no one
As quickly as she has come into this world
She will be alone again
She will not see him walk through the doors as her mother coos on
She will not hear as he hurls insult after insult to her giver of life
She will not feel as her mother’s lifeless body collapses at her side
She will never hear the gunshot
He will never look her in the eyes
His grudge isn’t against baby, anyway
But her mother
A hooker
Trying to play house
He will spit at her and leave

Newsprint: Unrest at the allegedly rigged Iranian election

Rigged or not, this election business is making people get off their duffs and mobilize. My thoughts and prayers go out to the Iranian people. Let's hope for a peaceful transition of power...

Iran: Election Aftermath and World Reaction
Muted Response Reflects U.S. Diplomatic Dilemma

Iranian Presidential Election Sparks Outrage
After a hotly contested election pitting President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad against leading challenger Mir Hossein Mousavi, the government declared Ahmadinejad the winner on June 13. Mousavi's supporters took to the streets to protest the results.

The confused aftermath of Iran's presidential election is complicating the Obama administration's planned outreach to the Islamic republic and underscoring the challenges facing the president's new approach to the Middle East based on shared values and common interests.
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Quote of the WEEK

"We need men who can dream of things that never were."
--John F. Kennedy

Slacking

Ok...I know that I have pretty much broken the golden rule of blogging and left ya'll without a post for far too long.

Well, let me explain...so...my real job...yes. the one that pays all of my bills and helps me buy all of your presents:-) has been eating up my life for the past few weeks.

Then I went on a much needed vacay...now I'm back.

I promise to post some crazy good stuff this week. Promise...Plus...I just wrote my first poem in months. Finally getting over that writer's block hump...I hope. I might post that too...

Smooches!

Def Jam Poetry - Georgia Me "For Your Protection"

Check out this hott poetress

tonight at the MIXX

Live band KICKS OFF THE NIGHT @ 9:00-10pm
Poetry STARTS @ 10pm-12am



ps...the video below is is pg13...at least. enjoy!