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This poem is the first poem in
the Slam Series for the Los Angeles Slam Team who was this
year’s winning team at the National Poetry Slam. For
more information on the National Poetry Slam go to: www.poetryslam.com/nps.
And I stood on Pettis bridge,
This bridge in Alabama,
Above water that can never be blue like it was
And listened to the winds,
Like victrolas play,
The memories of yesterday.
Of men and women who fought and prayed
And on this very spot were slayed
They sought to vote and have their say
And naught but god could turn them away
And He was on their side.
So days later martin arrived and marched them
still to standing
All of them not moving
on the bridge that day
above the not blue water
And it’s not the brown of mud or the blood red
blood
that dripped down
That has changed the way the water looks.
It’s the black
Ink of promises made
Scrubbed loose
From white paper
By grey hands
That are done with having color.
Declarations rewritten
and written again
Like blank pages
Filled with unintelligible scripture
Written in invisible ink
By illiterate men
There is nothing to see here-
Just empty words
And bullshit promises
Written by poets with no legs
Who wonder why their words don’t move
Don’t march
Like sweet words that come from the heart
But have no heart behind them
They go nowhere.
But martin is not that poet
So he takes jeffersons pen
And rewrites this shit again:
in big letters, bold and black,
I won’t give my freedom back.
You can try to take it but you won’t succeed
my vote is the proof I was freed
And he stuffed that
in the ballot box
but his words had legs
that kicked the box open
so he gathered up the splinters
and built letters like crosses
that spelled FREEDOM
and he burned that shit on the white house
lawn.
And the water is black
Water black
Washed black with ink
And white with wet white pulp
And bits of red
Yes blood of course
And mud of course brown
And blue goes the water no more no more.
And blue goes the water no more.
No more and never again.
It hasn’t seen blue since sunday
when little boys and girls danced
With dogs sent to sic them
While old men kicked them
And they moved to the rhythm
Of night sticks that hit them
And in that moment the little boys and girls
Opened their eyes and realized
That America puts its’ poets to work telling lies
And 40 years later on the same bridge
I learned that I would have to choose
What kind of poet I would be.
America you tell lies and I will not help you do it.
You are like a president telling me to have
faith
In our democracy
When the fact that you are president
Proves the democracy has failed
And I don’t blame you but I hold you accountable
And I will blame you in 2004 if things haven’t
changed
Because you have promises to keep
Even if you didn’t make them
And words to live up to
Even if they’re not yours
Because blacks still aren’t free because they
don’t have a vote
But they are equal because no one else does
either
So we may not all be in the same boat
But we are in the same water
Stained black
With old ideas whose time have come
looking for new words
And clean paper
And fresh hands to write.
In big letters bold and black
Until we all have freedom I cannot sit back
I’m rewriting America and I’m doing it fast
Then someday soon we’ll be free at last
And I thank God almighty because he birthed
us free
And it was a man who took that right from me
And it will be a man who will give it back
When he writes in big letters Bold and Black
We hold these truths to be self evident
That all men were created to live as equals
And to die as free
Now don’t just say it
Make it be.
—Steven Connell
Steve has been a fan of the
word — written, spoken, sung, rapped, slammed —
for as long as he can remember. He has won both the first
two poetry grand slams in which he competed-making him the
2002 Hollywood Grand Slam Poetry Champion and the 2003 L.A.
Grand Slam Poetry Champion. He culminated the 2003 Slam year
by winning the National Slam Poetry Championship with his
team in Chicago. Steve’s web address is www.yapimadigg.com
and his CD “Intimate Nature of Knifefights” is available
there. Tour info is to be determined.
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WE ONLY WANT TO MAKE THIS COUNTRY AS GOOD
AND WHOLESOME AND PURE AS IT WAS WHEN WE STOLE IT
Eins, zwei, drei, fear, ignorance, hostility
Bank accounts the only form of accountability
Unless you count calories and salaries
While dishrags and douche bags are
displayed in galleries
Freedom of expression so confused it’s
inexpressible
Funded by an authority questionable
Black or white or left or right or in between,
it’s all negligible
With the politics of exclusion, everybody’s
eligible
So what’s up, what are you up to, what are
you up against
When they’re breaking down barriers it’s
hard to sit on the fence
If you think everything sucks then you’re
living in vacuum
Go out and see the world from its charred
façade to its smoke-filled backroom
But following rules can dull your vision
Till you can read the writing on the wall,
but not on your prescription
Schools pass out condoms and clean needles
and people say the end is near
While building up beer bellies so they can
crush their southern hemisphere
Working out lifting six packs
While I make love out of nick-nacks
Till your memento turned into a memorial
‘Cos love isn’t universal, it’s territorial
Erogenous zoning laws make it tough to see
each other properly
You think some things are private, they’re just
private property
We need an eye-popping
Jaw-dropping
Heart-stopping
Jolt of fresh air
‘Cos when open minds close up
Tolerance slows up
And the earth blows up
We haven’t got a spare
—Mark Schaefer
Mark is a Los Angeles spoken word poet.
He started out writing songs and then found his niche at open
mics. He is a frequenter of poetry slams, circuses, and readings
and never fails to stun the crowd with his ingenious word
play and rhymes.
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I don't dance
Why does it bother you so
Much that I do everything
Like it is the last time
You came to me because you were
Too hungry to be
Afraid
We circle each other
Carefully watching the other
Stalking and hiding
Choosing words with great
Care always on tip toe
A cautious and curious dance
—Brent W. Burrowes
Brent is a local singer-songwriter and can be found on a Saturday
night at the McMenamins in Sherwood playing his original folk
music and lots of Bob Dylan covers.
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Feb
27, 2003
Dear Wal Mart
No! No! No!
You got it all wrong! In fact, you got it EXACTLY wrong. I wrote
to you about a year ago to point out that you, a huge corporation
run by one of the wealthiest men in America, that drives small
businesses OUT of business, and ruins economies of entire town,
should not use Zorro, or even a smiley face dressed as
Zorro, as a logo. In this letter, I also mentioned that
Robin Hood would also be a bad spokesman. (Or spokesmiley, for
that matter.)
So, I just turn on TV, and there is a Walmart ad, with the smiley
dressed as Robin Hood! What the heck! Do you guys do ANY research?
Much as Zorro defended peasants from wealthy landowners (ie-
Walmart being a wealthy landowner.) Robin Hood STOLE from the
rich (ie- you) and gave to the POOR (ie- the people who get
put out of business by you.) In any case, he surely would be
spending a lot of time sacking Sam Walton’s house if he
had the chance.
This would be like if the Catholic Church started making ads
with Martin Luther as spokesman, in yellow smiley form or not.
Or some tech company using the Unabomber or something.
Geez, I am not even asking you to stop being evil, just to stop
being hypocritical about it.
Thank you,
Rich Mackin
POBox 890
Allston, MA 02134
NO REPLY!
Rev. Richard J. Mackin’s legacy of letters
started during his years at art school with a letter to M&M’s
asking what was up with the name M&M’s and took off
when he actually received a response. He started writing amusing
letters to many different companies and felt validated in
his belief that what he was doing was an art form when a friend
of his turned him on to ‘The Lazlo Letters’. Rich
came to realize that his writing and his activism were not
mutually exclusive. As Rich said in our interview, “My
writing can get political and my politics can get fun”.
He has written letters to corporate conglomerations such as
Phillip Morris, Nike, and George Dubya; surprisingly, they
often write him back. Critics of Rich’s work often bring
up the fact that he is only one person sending in goofy letters.
Rich states that yes, he is only one person and that is the
level of difference he will make. Being in the position of
published author and performing at poetry readings on a national
level helps Rich to get his poetry out to the public. It is
his hope that even if he does not single handedly tear down
capitalism that he will at least help sway those who might
be on the fence about some issues.
In the five months that Rich has been in Portland making it
his home he has volunteered for the Summer Reading Program,
progressed in his involvement with the local Zen Buddhists,
works as a Muscular Dystrophy Volunteer Coordinator, frequents
poetry readings, attends men’s groups, supports the local
art scene and involves himself in local activist movements.
Another of Rich’s many interests is studying gender issues.
He feels that men need to read more on feminism and discuss
it with each other. As expressed in his style of writing,
awareness levels are critical elements in Rich’s work.
The idea is education versus anger.
Rich’s books ‘Dear Mr. Mackin’ and ‘Thank
You For Your Continued Interest’ are available for $10ppd
each from Gorsky Press PO Box 42024, Los Angeles, CA 90042
or via Rich’s website at www.richmackin.org.
I must recommend this website. Not only will you find more
information on Rich’s Consumer Defense Corporate Poetry,
you can also find out what he is up to around town and check
out some of his fabulous book reports.
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