I love what they did with this video. Mannie The Poet gave us the truth in the story of homelessness in our country. Jadarae did her thing with the music. #Respect.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
For your reading pleasure Natasha Guy's "Beautiful Fixation"
The search for inner beauty is always a tough journey. Sometimes when the outside is impeccably stunning, it is hard for the inside to flourish and grow to the same magnitude. This is a poetic peek at how Beauty can go terribly wrong along the way.
Click here to go to Natasha Guy's Store.
Get to know She Seven
"Regret Nothing | Write Everything" is the mantra echoing behind the images in the poetry of spoken word artist Shelly Bell poetically known as "She Seven". She is a NC A&T SU Alumni with B.S. in Computer Science, VA certified teacher, and published author. She has been writing since the age of 12, but found that performance poetry was her purpose in 2009.
Since then Shelly has featured and hosted at Busboys and Poets, spotlighted at the Black LUV fest, National Poetry Awards and featured as a spoken word artist in two stage plays. Her raspy voice and laid back personality combined with real world experiences inspire all who come in contact with her.
In the words of Shelly Bell, "the hour glass is always half full, which means time is always on a dreamer's side."
For Booking inquiries contact:
Seven City Art Society
202.709.4522
sevencityart@gmail.com
www.writeoutofme.com
Rap or Spit Poem of the Week: 4 a.m. by Paradyme
4 a.m.
“You got to be strong”
So sick of these words being constantly drilled into my mind
As if needing a shoulder to cry
Makes me inferior as a woman
Makes me less of royalty
I should be more soldier
A robot
How dare you tell me when
I have held up my whole world high
On my shoulders
That never sag or buckle under pressure
That when I need one
That I’m not being independent
That I should suck it in
My cries for help
are never heard
because the deafening screams never leave my brain
I move with diligent progression everyday
Toward New
Toward unattainable
Toward incredible
But then you are the same people that call me when your man don’t act right
When you can’t pay your bills
And I’m wrong for telling you to get the hell up off my phone
That your problems are cyclical and I have my own
A strong woman with no warm shoulder to call home
During late nights
When my mind is battered and bruised
From yelling truth to deaf ears
From kissing away a childs tears
A child that just wants to hold their fathers hand
And to hear that she is loved
Because no matter how many time I say it
She doesn’t believe it because his actions speak louder than my words
She has gone DEAF from the sound of the phone call that never comes
Or doorbell that doesn’t ring
I go to sleep weary with a mind that screams relentlessly
Scorching memories of every image of self defeat that I have seen that day
Of every woman and man that I begged not to give up
Tried to get them to see what I see
But they are blind to the skies
Beautiful colors they can’t see
It’s like taking a VCR and trying to hook it to HD
Images chopped and screwed replay in my mind of every senseless death that I have had to try to explain to my children
That Bobby Tillman was real just like them
That he had a mother just like they do
Wanted to go to college just like them
But it was just his path
And with no one there to protect him
He was murdered by the demons,
the strangers I warned them about
I spend my day explaining to them that they can trust no one
And I keep them so close to me that they can barely breathe
Because if I don’t
I can barely breathe
This is that poem
That I call friend
Because at 4 am
My papers has ears
It listened to my fears
And tells me it’s gonna be ok
Just write your fears here
Scream God’s name here
Ask for strength here
But leave it here
And I do
At 4 am
Written by Amanda "Paradyme" Stockhma
You can find her here:
http://freedomsinkpresentsthespot.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Spot-wParadyme/121034...
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/paradyme
http://www.reverbnation.com/paradymepoetess
http://all-media-artists.com/Paradyme/
http://www.twitter.com/paradymepoetess
http://www.youtube.com/user/TheSpotwithParadyme
http://www.myspace.com/551409828
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Spot-wParadyme/121034...
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/paradyme
http://www.reverbnation.com/paradymepoetess
http://all-media-artists.com/Paradyme/
http://www.twitter.com/paradymepoetess
http://www.youtube.com/user/TheSpotwithParadyme
http://www.myspace.com/551409828
Show of the Week- Poetic Recovery Radio Show
Poetic Recovery radio show is on Monday Nights 10pm - 12am and can be accessed by going to http://www.wscma.edu/wksb
For more information contact Maurice Taylor
Coming Soon Isis Sun's debut cd "Boudoir"
| Isis sun's debut CD, Boudoir - available Winter 2010 Isis sun's Boudoir is a sexy trip into the erotic poetry of Isis sun. Each track embraces an intimate desire that lies inside a woman's head. The words are revealing, the compilation of music with prose is dynamic, and the passion is beautifully evident. With pieces like "3:33 Rising", "Satisfied", and "Backside (Dividends)", there is an afterglow for every salacious thought. This project was a long time coming and now, will be available in Winter 2010. For more information and/or pre-orders, contact Isis at www.isissun.com or isissunpoetry@gmail.com. |
2010 NATIONAL POETRY AWARD WINNER Isis sun is an upcoming East Coast poet. Her poetry centers around love and erotica, and with over 1900 pieces in her repertoire, her art is blazing a sensual trail in the minds of her readers. Her first published work, MUSE Volume 1: (Erotika Unveiled) was released in Fall 2009 and is available through www.lulu.com.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Spot Welcomes Monica Monet Dec. 2nd at 10pm est.
MONICA MONET
Soul is not something we acquire. Soul is embedded into our very beings
based on our surroundings and our experiences. And when that soul
searches for release, it emerges in the essence of Monica Monet.
Born in Philadelphia, Mississippi, a town infamous for its role in the Civil
Rights movement, the soulful sounds of Monica Monet were influenced by
such phenomenon that embodies life, love, heartache and rebirth.
Moving to Atlanta in 1997, Monica Monet signed a recording contract with
Beyond Entertainment. Under this management, she penned second album
entitled Season’s. After the release of this album, she decided to take
some time for self refection. Monica Monet moved to Jacksonville, Florida.
There she furthered her penmanship, transitioning from song writing to
chronicle the discoveries she made in her journey of life and music.
Music is my canvas, “ says Monica Monet. “ I am ready for the next level –
to show the world what Monica Monet has to offer!”
Twitter: MonicaMonet904
**It is my honor to have Monica Monet on The Spot
Dec 2nd! Monica is a down to earth beautiful
woman that rocks! Her music? Oh yes, it's sure to
please the ear that hungry for soul. Make sure you
join us." -Paradyme
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Rachel Walker- Greetings From The United Kingdom
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Subsurface:Verbal Jazz II avaliable now!
Subsurface: Verbal Jazz II is brought to you in a way that only Tshombe Sekou can. Its soothing yet powerful. Bringing together the elements of wonderful written and performed Spoken Word and soulful inspiring Jazz. Make sure you add this to your collection.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Rap or Spit Welcomes Natasha Guy Nov. 28th @9pm cst/10pm est.
Natasha Guy is a 20-something yr old writer, poet and editor currently living in Los Angeles, California, USA. She is a mother of two who enjoys writing, crafts and baking. Truly a lover of all things creative, Natasha has multiple writing projects in the works, as well as a few multi-media surprises soon to follow.
Websites/Links:
Tumblr: http://rzrtonguedpoet.tumblr.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/
~Beautiful Fixation, released Oct. 24, 2010 via Lulu.com
All That Is Within Me
Every piece that flows
Is inked from blood, sweat and tears,
Exposing something inside with each line.
The metronome of my heart beat
Is what keeps the rhythm in my head.
It is not a superfluous continuation of multiple expectations
Thrust upon me by those who choose to be cynical
Naysayers and gossip hounds sniffing ‘round for a bone.
This is not simply my life’s work on display.
It.Is.My.Life.
My thriving fortitude
Is humbly offered for
The greedy consumption
Of my salivating bedmates
As we undulate in common rivers
Trying to make sense of the obscene.
When beauty is prostrate
Within the words gathered on the page,
Those are my ever living
Dreams and visions
Stretched out, not for judgment,
But for escape from suffocation.
Copyright ©2010 Natasha Guy
Extraction of Beauty
I stand in concentration over the gleaming metal table ready to begin my quest,
But mindfully and constrained, I won’t be wasteful because there is an end…about 5-6 liters in.
Sedation was easy, catatonic states are for those waiting to become a masterpiece.
The dutiful cleansing was tedious, the end result before me though was oh so worth it.
Taking a moment to breathe in the simplicities of life, eyes closed and hands poised.
I begin to stare at the rise and fall of the chest cavity, a rhythmic beauty in its own right.
But I am in search of the inner beauty, that which shines through the very pupils of a being.
This body washed and purified in its naked glory is just the beginning.
Hair strong and vibrant, muscles taut and defined, bone structure riveting, I could gaze forever,
But that would be a tragedy in and of itself, to end my mission before I’ve even begun.
A bird in the hand cannot be accepted this time, completion and perfection are my demands.
I will dig until I find it, until I hold it in my hand, tangible True Beauty, you will be my gain.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I tell myself as I diligently lift each orb from its suctioned place.
I hold them, dissect them; marvelously engineered, but not as stunning as my treasure will be.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste, so maybe beauty hides in the folds of that fleshy organ.
I peel back the fascia, pop apart the hemispheres, I am intrigued by the findings, but not mesmerized.
The tongue can be one of beauty or give death; it is of no interest in this journey.
The vocal chords can purr songs that give life to ideals such as love and faith,
But it lays lifeless without the vibrations of air flowing through it, what a disappointment.
Maybe the lungs pink and moving will give me more of a rise, although I doubt that I’ll find it.
Perhaps I will find it in the lower part of the body, where waste is banished and cleansed for use.
I am tingling and vibrating with excitement as my new revelation leads my nimble fingers.
I cannot slow down, yet I must not overlook anything either, only 5-6 liters of time draining away.
It takes patience not to destroy while trying to find the beauty inside but being snared by entrails.
Exhausted with my restrained pace I hack through muscle that holds it all together, a nice neat package.
I attack the bone as if its hardness is preventing my very existence, maybe it lives in the marrow.
Where is the beauty within and why do I feel like it’s oozing out even though I see nothing but platelets.
“Can it really reside in the most obvious place,” I ponder as I zoom in on the faintly beating heart.
I carefully slice into the chambers with controlled enthusiasm, my own breath labored and audible.
My eyes burn with excitement as I concentrate on the heart of this open matter.
I am now holding in my hand, a lifeless organ that has ceased to pump life and beauty.
Where is the inner beauty that I have sacrificed to find, destroyed a piece of art in search of more…
Violently I release my anger of its avoidance on what is left of my pet, my poor mangled pet.
Choking the elusive last breath from an already lifeless body in frustration at my complications,
The truest beauty seeping out from between my fingers encircling and squeezing the filleted neck,
It all escapes me as I collapse in 5-6 liters of wasted time and substance, wallowing in filth.
Another failed mission, the search continues…
WISH: When I See “Him”
.
I want you.
Every inch of you.
From the top of your head
Down to the depths your soul.
Yes, I want your heart.
I want your thoughts.
I want your hips
So I can wrap my legs around
And…wait, not yet.
I want your trust.
I want your hopes.
I want to be your future.
I want it all.
I’m asking for a lot, I know.
But, I’ve never meant this
More, than when I say it to you.
I’m willing to give you
All of that.
I will offer you everything that I want.
I can’t lose you to fear,
Not my own anyway.
If I’m willing to walk through fire,
Certainly I can jump the hurdle of fear.
I hope it’s not too late for us to achieve…
That my instability hasn’t caused irreparable damage.
It would be suicide to a little part of me,
Never able to revive, if I let you be
Linked to someone other than me
In the way that I can only see
You and I.
You may, at one time, wonder what I see
In you, when I look at you that way.
I see the most amazing man…ever.
Your determination rivals that of the gods.
You are the stuff of which legends are made.
In silence, you are a pillar of strength;
The strong silent type with a smirk.
It lets me know that your silence isn’t idle.
Even your saunter has an obvious purpose.
The drive I’ve seen in your eyes tells me that
Success is not an option in your future.
And trust, that’s not all I see.
I see the hand that caresses my body
Into multiple levels of happiness.
I see kissable lips that encase a smile
That awakens the sun daily,
Sending it in my direction.
I see the arms that welcome me.
They say goodbye and support me too.
They hold me still when it’s for my own good.
I see eyes that I hope our child has,
Full of care, purpose and fire.
I see a man, Lord help me, who raises my temp.
If…no, make that WHEN, we get to our destination,
The city may never see snow again,
The way you ignite all that’s within me.
I could go on forever painting a picture with words
But I’m being slightly selfish this time.
I don’t want to share with others all that is mine.
Well, all that I want to be mine,
All that I see, when I’m in bed next to you
And I open my eyes to the rising sun.
Copyright © 2010 Natasha Guy
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