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what poets do (freewrite exercise)

August 27, 2014

playing with rhythm and spitting some of that ol’ skool spoken word vibe




I drink rum from God’s thumb,

sipping from a drum

belly beat so thirsty makes you go dumb,

can’t lose –no never, just won

sharp shooter without the gun

they call me the cousin of the chosen one

seeing visions like I carved out the sun

prophesying beyond unsung stories

run ramped with little one’s

fingerprints, writing history with tongues

lashing, clashing comets against content against commas

against the familiar rhythm of my lungs

breath, boxing out the meter hung high

above the heads of the congregation

looking up to the sky for revolution

but the battle will never be won

on dreams created by someone


check yourself and see how I sip

spirituality, how I flip your reality

with mere words alone

see God’s thumb is my thumb too.

once you understand that

life starts crystallizing into clear view.

this, my friend, is what poets do.

One Comment leave one →
  1. September 16, 2014 5:57 pm

    Inspiring stiry there. What happened after? Good luck!

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