Friday, April 13, 2012

Original to Be (J-R Original)

Everyday let more of yourself creep through the cracks of creation, spilling through the tiny crevices, feel free. You feel me. Glow hot like multi-colored prisms, reflecting rays of light. I walk to my own rhythm. Rhythm. Rhythm. Dare I dare I be different in a world that has us photocopied; split images of the next mannequin standing, blindly we think ourselves original. Original is a sense of self that makes people gravitate towards you, naturally, a fresh hue glowing in appearance; ablaze; golden;  vivid as the sun lit. Original is how you are born; a unique compilation of identity. People veer towards those original—it’s the closest thing to real they’ll ever get.

See somewhere between growing from a seed to a flower, from a daisy to a rosebud, I forgot the definition of original. I forgot that I was first-hand genuine, inspiring as free flowing avante garde; the precursor to a destined soul’s prototype. I feared myself for compromise’s sake, forgetting the times I feared nothing for original’s sake. Once on a quest, clear minded and care free…or maybe my list of cares when the clock rolls back were free from less chaos, funny enough, I realized what had been forgotten. I remembered originality. I remembered what originality required, further than what it symbolizes; to express oneself in an independent and individual manner; to express in creative ability. Dare I dare I ask, what could be more individually expressed than who we are as people; energies with imperfections and weakness’, alongside the push to keep picking up our feet, our hearts, off the ground regardless of mistakes, regardless of pains; what  could be more creative able and independently expressed that the paths we all hold behind our eyelids?

In all our experiences, collectively, we hold a path from beginning of our existence to the transformation of our now, upon fortunate endeavors and unfortunate circumstances—we all hold an original product of mind; a life that no one can fully understand unless they were the very soles we walk on. Dare I dare I say let your originality flow like the boys that used to beat box on the street corner; sporadic, melodramatic jisms, boomboxic rhythmes, rhyming to your own beat; two-stepping to your own groove, illustrating your own picture—be free, you feel me.

Give Me Five On The Black Hand Side (J-R Original)

Give me five on the black hand side; a power movement
of self pride. You are Wo-man. You are Man
May your bosom spread like wings, Mother Nature; to nourish and feed the world we roam
May your broad shoulders open the curtains to security of the one’s you love
Vivacious nectar like rainfall to Zion
God’s selected angels in nubian smooth skin; vitamin D flourished; sun protected---survival
of the fittest, May your working hands reap noble and humble to your seeds
Deep rooted to the enchanted; African, Egyptian, Carribbean descendants. Nefertiti
in my eyes; bloodline thick in gold-jade from that of an appletree, growing bittersweet whispers
of knowledge. See the apples fall; gravity.

Give me five on the black hand side; acceptance and recognition of the out hand side---discover you embrace; history you unfold; Am is revealed
Kill two birds; Jim Crow, with one stone; the mind---let your tongue tell stories of the truth
Earthquake fire from the universe. Band strong together, stand tall together; to build a better captain planet of living because the world we live in shows no remorse, disregard 
goes out the window of those who abuse authority so fear must go out of ours; out the window, falling to its doom.
Dead on the floor of the fabric of America; racism, we stand in your face and pull the trigger; click
clack pow, for Trayvon, Emmett Till, the found and the unfound; masses drink knowledge, forever quenched, tired of the injustice

Five, five, five, just five on the black hand side. I put my hand out to you, outer side up. Keep it smooth like the old school side; black power and love of the 70s A generation culturally recognizing its place in the universe. More than men and women, royalty of another realm—hear them cheer in African tribal circles, Jaa love to the spirits, hearing stories of the wise around the fire; let conscious life beseech you

Give me five on the black hand side

Monday, April 2, 2012

Ladybug Love (J-R Original)

photo source

Ladybug love. The most intimate. As a child the luck of a ladybug sticks as much as a three leaf clover or seeing a penny and picking it up. Love holds the same luck. A person; unique and different crosses your path, and they linger momentarily. For that moment you are at peace, the luckiest person in the world. Make the wrong move, an unexpected event and at the right point, the right peak, the right level, your ladybug is flying away. Flying away to bring luck and love to another. What will you do when you meet your ladybug?

A Fragile Entity (J-R Original)

The heart is a fragile entity; strong, but fragile. Emotionally induced, spiritually inclined to be with you every step of the way. Only God knows where I’ve come from. Only God knows what I've endured, but He’s given me a gift to write poetry and express. In this tainted heart are stories of joy, laughter, tears, love, pain, strength and the likes hoping to connect with other who carry the same stories.

Who I Am, Who I Will Always Be

Out of all things expressive, poetry is my first love. I'm not a model or anything, but I wanted to do something that capture who I am; a poet. The coolest thing about the background is that each page was a hand-written poem(by yours truly) and the words "emotions I can't speak" is a line from one of my poems

Across the Bayou(J-R Original)

photo source

Sugar Shack by Ernie Barnes(ART PIECE)
Across the Bayou by Joycelyn Renette(POEM)

Mistakenly distant, but close in heart
Tell me my love, does your soul sing the blues for me
That same sullen jazz tune folks used to hear across the bayou
at the ol' juke joints. Black faces rowing by lantern
flickering lights floating across the rippling waters like fireflies
among high grass and the night moon

Greeted with warm smiles and open arms
sweat, moistened bodies touching and moving. Trying to get a piece
of that devil's pie after a hard days work. Tell me my love
does your soul sing the blues for me? That same jazz tune
smooth as black satin you caress me

Did you miss me
Of course I did. You're my baby
across the bayou I'll never stop singing for
Across the bayou I'll never stop waiting
to hear that blues tune my soul wants to dance to with you

Can I wrap myself in your love and sleep in your dreams
That i may stay with you in the midnight hour
Never thought I'd find another to dance through life with
limitations restrict us from swaying together
to the language of infinity, a song that will forever play
Tell me my love, does your soul sing the blues for me?

Epiphany of a Writer

As long as I’ve loved writing, I’ve always approached it as a hobby or friend; greeting it with positive gestures. In this approach I never fully thought that my thoughts could be scripted into something worth public substance, something worth the people’s time. When I think of writing that masses of people will read I think of a task forced style of writing; hour after hour writing on a topic you hold no interest in. Then I think of the world and the people who inhabit it and realize—how could my writing not hold something worth people’s time? I am the people. Splitting image in the ups and downs of life; a twin to the world in the decision making of love and the worry of decisions made. Only now does the quote make sense, “the greatest job is feeling as if you’re not working at all.” I couldn’t tell you who said it, but I can tell you it holds truth.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Wine and Candlelight (J-R Original)

Take a wine and candlelight endeavor; a flickering spotlight across the plains of your cerebellum. Aroma seeps; oozes; intertwines into the temporal. In this stand of time let your creative juices flow and see where the vibrant sparks take you; let your guard down and see where innovation leads you; see where you go. Everyone’s creative lane takes them into their own paradise of fixation; a secret resort behind your eyelids---breathe, take it in and let it go. Out into the universe, let your heart hang open to life’s courses of instruction, producing  the potential you hold; the positive energy you are spilling over. Spilling over in positive energy to fulfill a destiny; fulfill a yearning for the impossible; a craving to do the unthinkable in our lives: achieve the things we feared we couldn’t. No longer burdened by heavy past, let not the eyes and minds of others halt your aspirations or dishevel your motivations. They know not what you attain to achieve.