Southern Fried Top 25

    Southern Fried Top 25
Everything after #1 is in no particular order.
1) Sharing final stage with The Misfits, after losing 2 members and deciding
that we would leave it to fate, then fate gave us Ben B. and it was just like
home again. I never expected us to make it to final stage, but I am so proud
that we did and honored to have done it with you guys!
2) Those crab cakes at Hobnobbers, beignets from Café Du Monde and Po’ Boys &
daiquiris at Gene’s.
3) The random skateboarders that latched on to the truck we were riding back
to the hotel in. 
4) Gypsee Yo’s poem on final stage, ugh!
5) Sania’s daily commentary on my wardrobe choices. 
6) Walking down the street singing random songs with Brittany, Jessica, Nia
and Tasha to help the time pass. 
7) Seeing Lizz and Sania perform some of my favorite poems by them.
8) Watching Giddy and Made Son try to out love each other in the compliment
battle before the cypher at The Healing Center. 
9) The random facebook shout outs and text messages from back home with love
and support. 
10) The live band that we ran into after abandoning our trip to Armstrong Park
to watch live jazz because it looked like the sky was about to fall on us. 
11) The Thursday parade.
12) Watching Brittany perform her poem for her mother in the cypher, then
crying with her afterwards and hearing about Jessica singing for the SoFri
video.
13) Watching all the poets dance their hearts out at the after party.
14) The goodbye with Tank.
15) My “I Am Spoken” earrings made by Janelle.
16) Ha Sizzle giving us a taste of his bounce music hits while we were waiting
for our daiquiris. 
17) Deep’s poem about her daughter.
18) Denise’s poem about her grandmother. 
19) Hannah’s poem about the little girl victimized in Ohio.
20) Aleasha Harris’ pussy poem.
21) Sharing this experience with two people I have known nearly my whole life,
and one who will hopefully be around for the rest of it and having them
finally fully understand my love not only for poetry but for the family that I
have found through poetry. 
22) The beautiful undisturbed look of the city. 
23) Friday night’s bout against 215th which included two poets that I was so
intimidated and in awe of when I first showed up on the poetry scene, and
receiving so much love and support from them. 
24) All the gratitude that Wally B showed us, although if it wasn’t for him
and what he created in Tampa there would most likely be no Misfits and knowing
that he was proud of us was one of the greatest things that I left Southern
Fried with.
25) Not feeling like I wasted one moment sleeping that could’ve been spent
roaming the city or with the poets.
*bonus moment* Getting my first Southern Fried 30!

Wicked Wednesday

 

Wicked Wednesdays

This week’s Wicked Wednesday will feature poets with natural hair in honor of National Poetry Month! By far, one of my favorite months of the year thanks to 30/30. Hope you enjoy this installation of Wicked Wednesday!

Gil Scott-Heron

ANGEL DUST

He was groovin'
and that was when he coulda sworn
the room was movin'
But that was only in his mind
He was sailin'
he never really seemed to notice
vision failin'
'cause that was all part of the high
Sweat was pourin' --
he couldn't take it
The room was exploding --
he might not make it.
Angel Dust/Please, children would you listen.
Angel Dust/Just ain't where it's at.
Angel Dust/You won't remember what you're
missin', but down some dead end streets
there ain't no turnin' back.

They were standin'
ev'rybody in a circle;
the whole family
listening to the preacher's words
Sis was cryin'
She alone held all the secrets
'bout his dyin'
tears fallin' to earth
Maybe her fault
He was so trusting
God only knew why
they was dustin'!
Angel Dust/Please children would you listen.
Angel Dust/Just ain't where it's at.
Angel Dust/You won't remember what you're
missin', but down some dead end streets
there ain't no turnin' back.

Carl Phillips

Custom

There is a difference it used to make,
seeing three swans in this versus four in that
quadrant of sky. I am not imagining. It was very large, as its
effects were. Declarations of war, the timing fixed upon for a sea-departure; or,
about love, a sudden decision not to, to pretend instead to a kind
of choice. It was dramatic, as it should be. Without drama,
what is ritual? I look for omens everywhere, because they are everywhere
to be found. They come to me like strays, like the damaged,
something that could know better, and should, therefore-but does not:
a form of faith, you've said. I call it sacrifice-an instinct for it, or a habit at first, that
becomes required, the way art can become, eventually, all we have
of what was true. You shouldn't look at me like that. Like one of those saints
on whom the birds once settled freely.

Carolyn M. Rodgers

From Space to Time

on a day when
we were dark
and not so full of
light
we met
    what did we find?
nothing.
everything, when we closed
our eyes
which anyway
had never been open.

once, we thought we
loved each other
       who can reverse
    time?
we tried.
we stepped out
of space
into some new
step of distance
and fell-
and not in love.

 Ai

Conversation

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

Mari Evans

The Rebel

When I
die
I'm sure
I will have a
Big Funeral ...

Curiosity
seekers ...
coming to see
if I
am really
Dead ...
or just
trying to make
Trouble ...

Cornelius Eady

Grief Bird

After those buildings fell,
And New York City stank from bad intent,
And the wind twirled with human pigment,
And the sky darkened in one spot and howled,

There we walked, newborn, holding flashlights and shovels,
Dusty with shock, the streets painted mad,
Ears still smarting from the evil crumble.

Now the combing, the sifting,
Now the hauling, the uncovering.
The astonished song.

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Wicked Wednesday

Wicked Wednesdays

This week’s Wicked Wednesday will feature poets with natural hair in honor of National Poetry Month! By far, one of my favorite months of the year thanks to 30/30. Hope you enjoy this installation of Wicked Wednesday!

 

Lucille Clifton

"poem to my uterus"

you uterus
you have been patient
as a sock
while i have slippered into you
my dead and living children
now
they want to cut you out
stocking i will not need
where i am going
where am i going
old girl
without you
uterus
my bloody print
my estrogen kitchen
my black bag of desire
where can i go
barefoot
without you
where can you go
without me

Quincy Troupe

"Snow & Ice"

ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
pain of situations
where we move ever so slowly
              so gently into time - traced agony
the bright turning of imagination
so slowly
grooved through revolving doors, opening up to enter
mountains where spirits walk voices, ever so slowly
swept by cold, breathing fire
                        as these elliptical moments of illusion
link fragile loves sunk deep in snows as footprints
the voice prints cold black gesticulations
bone bare voices
              chewed skeletal choices
in fangs of piranha gales
spewing out slivers of raucous laughter
glinting bright as hard polished silver nails

 

Alice Walker

"THEY WHO FEEL DEATH"

(FOR MARTYRS)

They who feel death close as a breath
Speak loudly in unlighted rooms
Lounge upright in articulate gesture
Before the herd of jealous Gods

Fate finds them receiving
At home.

Grim the warrior forest who present
Casual silence with casual battle cries
Or stand unflinchingly lodged

In common sand
Crucified.

 

Robert Hayden

"Those Winter Sundays"

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
   

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Happy Nappy Complex

 

 

Happy Nappy Complex

 

You would think with this natural hair movement going on in America I would finally stop hearing stupid questions like: "can i touch your hair?"
or even more annoying: " Girl when you gone do something with your hair?"
or most annoying of all statements from black women about how they cant quit the creamy crack because they hair too nappy,
that's like black men saying they don't date black women because they have too much attitude,
we just weren't made to lay down
soooo
Forget what ya heard
because i am my hair
this disorganized chaos is me at my best
twisted, picked and pinned up on the left
braided, plaited or all over my head
even when I'm hungry my hair get fed
mayonnaise, honey, eggs, coconut oil
cinnamon and oats stretch from curl to curl
or should i say strand to strand
cause my hair be just as confused as the curious hands
that flock to my fro like flies
oblivious to my rolling eyes
but most of the time, i don't really care
even i cant stop touching my hair
especially since i tend to be a product junkie
Shea Moisture, Organix, my hair is my personal little lab monkey
and I'm rarely afraid to experiment
whether with avocado guts or some electric blue tint
YouTube has become an educational source since Dec 210
before that it was low fades and earrings bigger than big
now its Afro that reach our for God
3 strand twists and Bantu knots
its like my hair embodies versatility
and an uncanny ability
to display the definition of just chill
a mind of it's own, it does whatever it feels
and i just get to accent it
I'm usually quite meek but bring up my hair and it gets passionate
so many reasons a woman of color should never be ashamed of her crown
when they get to be preaching bout they naps i cant help but frown
ain't no such thing as bad hair just hair that's misunderstood
we just need to rethink our definition of good
cause too many women with the bone straight be wishing they hair stood proud like ours
be wishing they could make fros that looked like chocolate clouds
now I'm not bashing the relaxed just saying if they wanna know the meaning of undisturbed
they should kick that creamy crack to the curb
and come rock with this real stuff
this shocking face at how good it feels stuff
this hop out the bed and fluff it out swag
wash and go, smelling like a fruit snack
its a lesson in patience but a bigger lesson in self love
a test of confidence and just when you've had enough
it helps u find a friend that can pry from your hand the box of creamy crack
understand the criticism and helps u snap back
so despite my love for India i just cant agree
cause my hair says almost everything there is to say about me
©, 2012, Spokenheart

From "Abnormal Behavior" by Spokenheart available for purchase at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Spokenheart