Making Moves

From the Youth Speaks FAQ page: 

"I want to start a Youth Speaks chapter. What do I do? At this point, we do not have any plans to start a Youth Speaks chapter, but are happy to support your programs participation in Brave New Voices, where we do organizational development trainings. At BNV, you will meet other people from around the country doing the work, and will pick up all kinds of pointers. To learn how to start a

Looks like the only way to do this is to do it locally.

So far, all I really know is that there is not a Youth Speaks team in Oklahoma or Kansas (i.e. I have to travel for my resources). I also know that a majority of the team members from Philadelphia at BNV 2008 go to UPenn and they have a program at their college that fosters spoken word.  From what I've seen, it looks like a lot of places where there is a Youth Speaks Team there is a more local organization of the purpose. Like what I want H.E.A.R. Inc. to be.

It looks like the places that are closest to me that I could look into are Denver, Austin, Amarillo, and St. Louis. Here's a good resource: http://www.txywc.org/. And I'm looking into more. I emailed a girl at UPenn about their thing they have going there. I'm gonna talk to the sponsors of the language clubs at UCO about what they want their organizations to be involved in. I'm gonna put out some more feelers.  

I love it when things feel like they're moving.

Thoughts on Teaching and News About BNV '10

This morning I was reading The Diary of Anne Frank for Young Adult Literature and thinking about how there are so many little random things that interest me when I read. I was thinking about how even last year when my classes were structured solely on discussion, there was no way to convey ALL of the interesting anecdotal things that ran across my mind when I was reading. So I decided, in order to create more writing opportunities and in order to give students like myself an outlet, I'm going to have an open extra credit opportunity in my English classes when I start teaching. It'll be something along the line of: anytime you want to write a short essay about something you read in the text - THAT WE DID NOT COVER IN CLASS - feel free to do so and had it in by (date). This extra credit essay should be written as if it were a formal assignment and I might hand it back for revisions before I assign points to it.

Is it nerdy that I sit around and think about the things I want to do when I have my own classroom? I do it ALL the time.

The Brave New Voices 2010 festival is being help in Los Angeles, California. My friend (business partner?) and I decided that it is imperative to our project that we go to this festival. And I'm excited because, unlike so much of the rest of the world, I don't really care about California or the West Coast in general. But this will be my reason to go see it and to get attend this amazing festival!! I'm really excited. I have to save my money. I'd like to buy a video camera before then too!
(And this is extra incentive to lose 20 or 30 pounds, LOL).

trapped by now - original poem

right now i feel trapped
by my skin,
my body type,
my hair texture, this depression,
trapped by smiles that don't last,
by my voice,
and the personality i can't get past.
the mind's eyes view of me is
fit, toned;
natural;
cultured;
and happy.

but right now,
i'm trapped by society's image of a belligerent black girl
in a cookie-cutter upper-class world.
i know that inside her is an intelligent, strong, courageous african (and panamanian) queen.

but right now,
i'm trapped under a layer of fat that sugar keeps tricking me into indulging.
when i run, i know there's an athlete in here waiting to be set free.
someday all will see what's trapped inside of me,

but for now,
i'm trapped in the house when it rains; i avoid humidity
when others have proven that hair can testify to the life i am working to achieve.
time and money are gifts given to those who will use them wisely,
and there isn't enough of either to fit straighteners and salon stylists into the routine.

right now,
i'm trapped by all the things i'm not supposed to say.
i feel guarded when i should be able to use words to stimulate faith.
i know my voice has value when i use it the right way.

but right now,
i'm trapped by the desire to be someone you will understand,
trapped by standards with which i wish to comply but can't.
and yet i know the uncommon are the ones chosen to make a stand.

i'm trapped by now.

i am a snake ready to shed dead skin,
a butterfly hat has yet to crack open her cocoon.
i am change waiting for the brave to usher me in,
and a land that longs for daytime while staring at the moon.
i am a pregnant woman in her third trimester, ready to be free,
but knowing she'd better wait
if she wants to give birth to something better than now.

dawn is breaking.
people are learning.
hearts are awakening.
heads are turning.
some are being born
while others are re-creating.
i see it coming!
the future is tired of waiting.
the first battle is over
and victory is so close there's no more anticipating freedom!

we're trapped by now,
but with each breath we take, now becomes then,
and the trap gets further and further away.
one day we'll wake up in the future
and have our God to thank for getting us out of the now.

I Will Never Be a Competing Slam Poet

On April 28, I wrote a blog titled “I Will Never Be a Slam Poet.”

Here was some of the “rationale” behind that argument.

“I ‘bleed’ too much, feel too much, think too much.”

Last night I was watching Brave New Voices, and it solidified for me what I should have never forgotten. It’s not that I bleed too much, I was just doing it the wrong way. That’s what expression consists of: thoughts, feelings, and blood.

Then, I said, “I used to want to be a slam poet more than anything in the world, but I can't. I was meant to be different. Meant to write, not to perform. Meant to speak, not to recite. Meant to teach, not to compete.”

I said, “I am not saying that slam is shallow (although I know some think it is). Yes, it is a game...but I believe that games and competitions show people's character.“

In response to what I wrote, my friend Lauren Zuniga said, “Slam is just something we do. A game we play so that the Ego can have a good time and give the Spirit permission to write.”

Brave New Voices changed my opinion of all that. Team Philadelphia consisted of Hasan Malik Babb, Josh Bennett, Aysha El Shamayleh, Noel Scales, Chloe Wayne, and Alysia Harris. On the season finale during the final round of the grand slam, the whole team went onstage holding hands and crying. They told the audience that they had not been behaving like a team over the course of the competition. They said the scores and the desire to win had distracted them. Because of this, they made the decision to forfeit the final round as a team. All six of them together chose to say it’s not about the competition but about the poetry, about the difference that words can make. And to top it off, they still performed. They blessed us with their words and refused to be scored. In my opinion, if they hadn’t forfeited, they would have won. I think perhaps they knew that and felt they didn’t deserve to win if the win would mean more than the words. Damn.

Slam is just a game. Prior to watching this episode of this show, I wasn’t sure if there was a right way to play it. But those six kids put the entity of slam poetry to shame. They showed me and the world that the warrior generation really is fighting for something more than titles and recognition.

When the grand slam was over and the rest of the qualifying teams had been scored, they were all brought on stage to announce the winners from low to high. When the announcements were made, the teams were asked to stand in ranked order by their teammates. They all refused. They said they wouldn’t split up that way because they were all one team and it was all one prize. They started shouting, “One Team! One Team! One Team!” And the show’s host threw up his hands, went offstage, sat down and let them do their thing. Their voices were heard. The show ended with all the teams on stage intermingled, hugging each other, congratulating each other, chanting, “BNV ain’t nothin’ to fuck with!” That’s the truth if I’ve ever heard it.

Here are some of the things I texted to Kosher when I was watching this on TV.

“Now, I want to master slam, not to ever win any kind of title but so that I can teach kids how to save their own lives through words and performance.”

“They are so beautiful. That is why I want to teach so that I can help bring that out in them.”
“Those kids have already learned to self-actualize in a way that makes sure nothing can ever be too hard for them.”

The only time I ever cry like I did while I was watching that show is when something intense happens in church. That’s how I know this is holy. Somebody is going to watch that and get saved. Now I know where else to point when the church house isn’t helping.

Those kids have given me direction and desire. They lit a fire in my soul that I thought would never burn outside the four walls of an evangelical church (this thought turned into three poems, especially the one titled “Wise Words”). But now I know: Holy are the beautiful things, peace, humanity, sincerity. And they are holy no matter where they are seen.

Here are some of Kosher’s comments during our conversation.

“You can do it, if you’re ready for holding their bleeding wounds.”
My prayer over the next year is to become ready – through inspiration and meditation on the goal.

“If I would die today, I would be glad knowing that the world will be in good hands. I thank G-D for them.” - Kosher
I agree.
I cried harder when I read this statement, because the competitor in me, the attention whore in me, doesn’t want to die without leaving a mark. That part of me doesn’t want to die today, because then those kids would get all the credit for their bravery and conviction and I would have no legacy to leave. I cried because I knew my feelings were selfish. It doesn’t matter who evokes the change as long as it happens. Fuck my competitive drive. Blessed are the brave hearts for they will be remembered. Humbled are the timid hearts for they will always strive to be remembered.

“It is possible to be saved by the blood of Jesus, but only if Jesus wept from hearing them. They are the living gospel.” - Kosher
That needs to be a line in a poem.

Today, I opened a vein, mixed blood with ink, and it poured out looking like poetry.

Brave New Voice (an homage)

The most powerful lesson I could ever hope to teach
Is the one that shows you there’s no height your dreams can’t reach if you let them.
Human beings are the most destructive
and the most resourceful of all the universe’s things
But I promise you this, new voice,
Someone will hear you if you scream.

Perhaps it will only be your neighbor at first,
But if you show her where you bleed,
She will seek to mother your wound until it seeps into her as well.
And I promise you this, they will hear when two voices scream.

If you tell them you refuse to steal Paco’s culture
Porque su padre no habla ingles
They won’t be able to ignore the noise that you and his whole family make
When you scream

If you tell them love is what we were created to give
And it doesn’t matter if Adam chooses Eve or Steve
Or if all three of them shack up,
All that matters is that they love each other and the world hard enough
to scream

So tell them, new voice,
That you will cover your head even inside their school doors.
You won’t judge them by their gods if they let you worship yours.

Scream until governments no longer turn blind eyes to the men, women, and children dying in the streets.
Scream until your voices reach the corner offices of the tallest Wallstreet buildings.
Scream until one job pays one salary regardless of what organs you carry between your legs,
Until politics becomes about getting work done not about getting words said.
Scream until there are as many programs teaching kids the danger of STDs
As there are corporations selling us sex through our television screens.
Scream until your friends no longer get pulled over simply for driving while black,
Until ghetto children are safe from police attacks.
Scream until gangs are no longer cool and we stop using drugs to escape.
Scream, because, I promise, it’s a nobler way to wade through the pain.
Scream until you can say “I’m proud to be an American
Because everyone here is free.
On this ground, we honor and bless the ones who died to give us what we see.
But I proudly stand up for him, for her, for me,
Because we are the generation that realized the ancestors' dreams.
Our flags have stopped waving and we give our allegiance to one thing
The brave voices that got us where we needed to be.”

I Will Never Be a COMPETING Slam Poet

On April 28, I wrote a blog titled “I Will Never Be a Slam Poet.”

Here was some of the “rationale” behind that argument.

“I ‘bleed’ too much, feel too much, think too much.”

Last night I was watching Brave New Voices, and it solidified for me what I should have never forgotten. It’s not that I bleed too much, I was just doing it the wrong way. That’s what expression consists of: thoughts, feelings, and blood.

Then, I said, “I used to want to be a slam poet more than anything in the world, but I can't. I was meant to be different. Meant to write, not to perform. Meant to speak, not to recite. Meant to teach, not to compete.”

I said, “I am not saying that slam is shallow (although I know some think it is). Yes, it is a game...but I believe that games and competitions show people's character.“

In response to what I wrote, my friend Lauren Zuniga said, “Slam is just something we do. A game we play so that the Ego can have a good time and give the Spirit permission to write.”

Brave New Voices changed my opinion of all that. Team Philadelphia consisted of Hasan Malik Babb, Josh Bennett, Aysha El Shamayleh, Noel Scales, Chloe Wayne, and Alysia Harris. On the season finale during the final round of the grand slam, the whole team went onstage holding hands and crying. They told the audience that they had not been behaving like a team over the course of the competition. They said the scores and the desire to win had distracted them. Because of this, they made the decision to forfeit the final round as a team. All six of them together chose to say it’s not about the competition but about the poetry, about the difference that words can make. And to top it off, they still performed. They blessed us with their words and refused to be scored. In my opinion, if they hadn’t forfeited, they would have won. I think perhaps they knew that and felt they didn’t deserve to win if the win would mean more than the words. Damn.

Slam is just a game. Prior to watching this episode of this show, I wasn’t sure if there was a right way to play it. But those six kids put the entity of slam poetry to shame. They showed me and the world that the warrior generation really is fighting for something more than titles and recognition.

When the grand slam was over and the rest of the qualifying teams had been scored, they were all brought on stage to announce the winners from low to high. When the announcements were made, the teams were asked to stand in ranked order by their teammates. They all refused. They said they wouldn’t split up that way because they were all one team and it was all one prize. They started shouting, “One Team! One Team! One Team!” And the show’s host threw up his hands, went offstage, sat down and let them do their thing. Their voices were heard. The show ended with all the teams on stage intermingled, hugging each other, congratulating each other, chanting, “BNV ain’t nothin’ to fuck with!” That’s the truth if I’ve ever heard it.

Here are some of the things I texted to Kosher when I was watching this on TV.

“Now, I want to master slam, not to ever win any kind of title but so that I can teach kids how to save their own lives through words and performance.”

“They are so beautiful. That is why I want to teach so that I can help bring that out in them.”
“Those kids have already learned to self-actualize in a way that makes sure nothing can ever be too hard for them.”

The only time I ever cry like I did while I was watching that show is when something intense happens in church. That’s how I know this is holy. Somebody is going to watch that and get saved. Now I know where else to point when the church house isn’t helping.

Those kids have given me direction and desire. They lit a fire in my soul that I thought would never burn outside the four walls of an evangelical church (this thought turned into three poems, especially the one titled “Wise Words”). But now I know: Holy are the beautiful things, peace, humanity, sincerity. And they are holy no matter where they are seen.

Here are some of Kosher’s comments during our conversation.

“You can do it, if you’re ready for holding their bleeding wounds.”
My prayer over the next year is to become ready – through inspiration and meditation on the goal.

“If I would die today, I would be glad knowing that the world will be in good hands. I thank G-D for them.” - Kosher
I agree.
I cried harder when I read this statement, because the competitor in me, the attention whore in me, doesn’t want to die without leaving a mark. That part of me doesn’t want to die today, because then those kids would get all the credit for their bravery and conviction and I would have no legacy to leave. I cried because I knew my feelings were selfish. It doesn’t matter who evokes the change as long as it happens. Fuck my competitive drive. Blessed are the brave hearts for they will be remembered. Humbled are the timid hearts for they will always strive to be remembered.

“It is possible to be saved by the blood of Jesus, but only if Jesus wept from hearing them. They are the living gospel.” - Kosher
That needs to be a line in a poem.

Today, I opened a vein, mixed blood with ink, and it poured out looking like poetry.