Great night at THE UNDERGROUND POETRY SPOT on tonight
Our gratitude and appreciation to all who attended !!!

and special thanks to our features, WORDS and LOGIK...
as well as KAUSHEN and BITTERSWEET for competing in tha first UPS "battle"....

Latasha Phillips, aka "Kaushen" will automatically be entered into our next battle on February 18th... who will she face next??? We will choose tha next contender at random from all volunteers whose names we will throw into tha proverbial hat....Seneca will send an email and a facebook message with tha entry cutoff date, probably will be tha Tuesday or Wednesday before...

I will get some video up tomorrow, fasho...but here is print version of tha verse i delivered during my hosting duties...this is tha only verse i recited. I would appreciate it if you would read it and leave a comment afterwards!!

from "IDENTITY CRISIS" ; an original poem from Michael Gaut aka "Mic" tha Poet

At nineteen years old, I went to Jamaica. Just ask my Mom and Dad, man, tha Irie Island will change you. I came back a different dude with a new attitude after drum circles on tha beach, we were singing Buju, like -

"Strange, this feeling I'm feeling
but Jah love we will always believe in
Though You may think my Faith is in vein
'til Shiloh we chant Ras-tafari-I name"

It was Mojo's twenty-five, man, happy birthday to you. I will never forget that night, or tha way tha sunset glew...glue...? ...I think I mean glowed???
Anyway, it stuck to me, too, like tha beads in my hair that I wore for a few
weeks when I got back, until my collegiate society reminded me of just that -
my impressionable youth -
and I cut those beads out with tha hair that I grew. Fast forward three years,
I grew my hair out again...but this time I was serious, man I wanted dreads!
(And I always get laughed at when I say that, just like back then)...
But I say
"If a white person has ever shown hatred towards a black person,
as surely some have, than surely a white man can love you, too...
And I saw style in that hair and I wanted it too!!! And in Jamaica, I saw religion
in that hair - and for me, that was something new - as I learned, just a little,
from a Rasta man who sat on a stool on tha front porch of a shack that had
only two rooms, he spoke of tha Mos' High and of Haillie Selassie-I, and of
more than a few terms and names of which I could not then recognize,
but I managed to find some kind of Truth in tha light of his eyes. And it was clear
that he viewed me as different from him, but just as clear it had nothing really
to do with our colors of skin. It had more to do with our reflections on Nature, and,
sure - most likely something to do with our perception of enslavement. But, truly, ever since that day I have not been tha same...and no matter how hard I try I simply cannot explain...but poetry let's me try again and again...

...so, whether I am barefoot, in Timb's, flip-flops or loafers - you can label me a
hippie, hip-hop, rude-boy, rock n' roller. A real son of a Gun, tha brother of a
two-fisted, non-militant soldier;
my Mother and Sister - God Bless their strong shoulders

Jamaica - come take yer boy home to tha island, i try to make time for ya, take flight like a pilot does, you see i know i am "white" but i've been color-blinded,
because,
my identity crisis won't let me live with tha fight n' fuss

mtp

posted by Mic Tha Poet @ 11:59 PM