Because Some Things Still Need Saying

Footnote

I think of you and me

as a novel I started writing

but didn’t have the patience for character

development, I used some clever lines

but never found a way to scribe

the proper ending

and for this, I am sorry

we should have been better than

only a few memorable first lines

a random array of inciting action

tragedy that I kept foreshadowing

from nearly our first scene

the beginning of chapters that

always kept us guessing

about the moments that came after

reading them back to myself now

I keep asking

was there some kind of lesson

the protagonists were supposed to learn?

back when we were both thirsting for something

you were arid and I was desert rain

it’s such a shame that I would never stay

constant

and it sounds cliché

but your heart wasn’t made to sustain

my barrage of constant plot twists

it couldn’t go back and read my prologue

so never knew the impact made by all the

prequels that previously existed

and while I insist

that I never began our story

with a sequel stuck in mind

I find myself desiring to rip out bad pages

write within the margins

a few author’s notes

or scratch out those moments

when the dialogue faded

into silence

silence, why were we silent

when the first time we kissed

was a zephyr’s scream

the first time we touched

cherubs caught fire, then splashed themselves with oil

just to cool themselves down

ignited, delighted

we’d lie in the bed afterwards

and simply

nothing ourselves to sleep

smiles on our faces

deep, meaningful

stretching

whole midnight’s long

replaced by

those

other nights,

we’d lie, in the bed,

guilty eyes on cold shoulders,

silently assuming that nothing was wrong

instead of trying our best to convince each other

of all the things that were right

or maybe this was just my plight, maybe just my

worry, maybe I was the one with the

inclination to hurry towards

recipes for disaster

¼ uncertainty

¼ denial

¼ infidelity, that spread out like miles

and ¼ fear that towered above

the death of one whole love

but we never did kill it, did we?

I just left, a gunshot wound to the back

I guess I assumed you’d move to the back

I expected you to

bleed out, easy

but you’re still here

present

you’re as present as my pages

you’re still here

present

you’re as present as my pen

which is why sometimes

I can’t help but draw you in

your name is still

a tattoo sketched to the backside of my heart

and like new lovers, it is skeptical of lasers

I cannot remove you

which is why I sometimes use other women as chasers

to help wash down my abandonment’s pain

staining my brain with the refrains of

awkward love songs

because I wanted to love you better, but see

I studied the blueprint wrong

which means every love that I’ve fashioned

comes crashing down

so I need to rework the construction of me

I been a long time coming

but my change is going to come

I’ve spent a lot of time running

but the day is going to come

where I will stop and face the

demons

my name is going to come

under question

either exorcise

or submit

but I am not a sorcerer

and I don’t conjure any spells

our rhythm is abstract, because it’s always been abstract

and the record keeps spinning

as we rotate detail upon detail

your love circling my love circling your love

circling my love circling

all my repetition about my

inability to love you

see

burning my notebooks won’t erase the words in me

no more than my walking away, can erase the you in me

but it might erase the pain a beautiful heart once sustained

when forced to beat to the rhythms of my erratic tendency

so please, by all means

let it burn

and may the embers flare like testaments to our once blazing passion

but stare it down, with the eyes of trauma survivors

who walked through the fire, and licked the flames

knowing there soul does not remain there

rise up in the smoke like a beautiful phoenix

knowing every time I ever told you I loved you

I meant it, even if it couldn’t sustain

this might be the footnote

to our love story

but hopefully, you rise from it in a blazing glory

don’t let this become heart’s epitaph

I heard a poet once say

there is love

after love

and I believe that

like I believe there are blue skies after rain

and I want that

like I demand joy after pain

because I need that

you need that

we

don’t have to remain

incomplete

like scattered pages

written

in vain

© Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet 2010

Theme Song of the Day, Dec. 25, 2010

Kings of Leon --- On Call

This song actually makes me think about the man I wish I had been with a certain someone.  She'll always know who she is.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

.....and Giving (The Poetry, That Is)

Going to add three more poems to my gift giving poetry spree:

1.  Rachel McKibbens is awesome embodied in one of the coolest packages ever, and is on my list of poets I must meet in person before I'm senile....lol....this poem is so emotionally charged, and her delivery is so great. (plus she has one of the most creative websites known to the internet...lol)




2. Brook Yung is hands down, one of my favorite poets.  Ever since I came across his poem "Changes", I have loved his style, loved his stage presence, and loved his words.  This poem right here, is so powerful, I will just let you watch it.  It continues to demonstrate why I'm such a fan.



3. Zora Howard echoes, as elegance and grace meets a revolutionary's pounding fist....she is Maya, Nikki, Gwen, all rolled into one.  Her voice is a hypnotic loud speaker and the audience eagerly anticipates being amplified.  This poem, in a time of global conflicts, speaks volumes.






I had to add these 3 amazing individuals to the mix...their poems reach out from the pages.

I'm realizing that there are so many, so many more amazing poets, worthy of a view.  I could easily give the gift of poetry 365 days a year.  Much love to the poets, everywhere.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Poetry, the Gift that Keeps Giving

I'm on such a poetic high right now, that I needed more...lol

1.  I've mentioned Jamaal St. John enough times on my blog for most readers to know that I deeply dig his pen.  This poem right here is a testament to recognizing the state of affairs, and wanting to positively correct them.  Love it.  (The defiance that seeps from his mannerism...this gets me pumped every time...lol)




2. When God created metaphors, he lent them to the world, with the understanding that one day, Joshua Bennett would become his designated master of them.  When he spits, the audience sees tapestry.  They see artist diligently painting magnificent lines.  The finished work is a masterpiece.  And this poem is certainly no exception.



3.  Rudy Francisco is the 2010 iWPS champion....even though I could be silent right there, I must say that he has consistently been amazing.  And I love this piece because it is an amazing account of how we as poets sometimes feel exposed.





4.  If you have any appreciation for humanity, this next poem is for you.  Anis Mojgani reached inside himself and spilled out the type of poem, that every poet should try to find.  'Every time I write, every time I open my eyes, I'm cutting out parts of myself, just to give them to you...so, shake the dust, and take me with you when you do, cause none of this has ever been for me...'  Awesome.



5.  Marshall Soulful Jones has a style that his name implies.  It is soulful.  It is melodic.  It is hip-hop, neo-soul, bluegrass, rock, pop, rhythm & blues...frankly it is everything lyrical.  I remember coming across this poem, and thinking "yeeeesss!!!!"




Again, 5 amazing poets, whose words are felt time and time again.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

It's Christmas...I Gave Myself the Gift of Poetry

Currently in many homes around the world, one of the most elaborate and extensive gift giving sessions has begun.  It is Christmas morning, a day that most people forget is supposed to be about love and the birth of Jesus, but instead turn into an excuse for presents.  Well hell, let me join the festivities, by giving myself (and all of you)  something that echoes in my soul:  amazing spoken word.

1.  Ka'mone Felix might have taken genius and acquired a patent for that shit...lol..the more I know of her, the more I am impressed.  She has an innate ability to simply grasp your attention, and once given, it is never taken for granted.  This piece right here speaks volumes about her ability to mesmerize while on stage  (By the way, if you've never heard of BPD, look it up.  We cannot understand if we are not informed!!!):




2.  Megan Rickman's voice is brush strokes of mellow jazz embracing splotches of heavy blues.  It is soulful, it is weighted, and it reaches out and wraps you up inside of it.  This poem is that voice's love song, melodic, liberating, and deeply felt.

  



3. Jazmine Williams....Imagine flying head first towards a wall, and in the process, becoming so enamored with the wall, that by the time you're close to impact, it is welcomed.  Then, out of nowhere, you discover that it wasn't a wall in the first place, it was the floor, and you've been falling not flying.  That is the essence of this poem.



4.  Mahogany Browne makes coming to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe feel like a trip you made with family.  Hostess extraordinaire, she is also fierce poet whose words have the power to blanket you in encouragement and guilt you into submission.  This piece is so explosive!!!



5.  You'd be impressed by Aja Monet simply by hearing that at the age of 18, through poetry, she raised $7,000 for Hurricane Katrina victims.  The fact that this year, she doubled those efforts for the victims of the catastrophes in Haiti would only go to further impress you.  Watching this poem helps you understand how wisdom comes in many forms, but it is never limited by age.  (I love the little dialogue she does before the piece....there is love after love....so profound, to me.)



Hopefully you all enjoyed this gift, as much as I have. All 5 of these amazing poets are prime examples of why I love spoken word.

More videos to come.

 Merry Christmas everybody.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet