Mason/Dixon: The Blog

Though times, minutes, hours, months and days might separate,
Certain things have a talent of never changing and remaining the same.
Like hearts.
Like love.
Like who we are.
Like you.
Like I.
Like Us.

I thumb through the pages in your poetry book.
One by one.
Imagining that each new page is
As promising to me as they were to you
Once
And you hold nothing back
So...it's like you're filling my empty spaces

Two completely different souls,
Different experiences
Drawn together
Perpendicular in unison. Becoming one.
Finding each blank space and filling it up,
Like Psalm 23’s cup.
Overrunning with what makes it real.

I trace my fingers across the words written on the pages in your poetry book
Left to right
Block stanzas
To jagged lines
One after the other
As if my hand is holding
The pen that you held
To write these words
So...it's like you are holding me

Make me your words
Design me in the fashion of your stanzas
Draw my outline with each line you write
Color me in with your emotion
Hold my heart in your fingers and craft me to life
Write me
Read me.

...lay me. Across your lap.
Touch me. Search me.
Fill. Complete me.
And hold me...
...like I am your poetry book.

Labels: collaboration, write

Labels: def poetry, hip hop, spoken word

Misconception, disbelief, hesitation, and defeat
Many look to compete, to try and douse intense heat
Not attempting to shine but this light is too bright
My wings are getting cramped in a plight to take flight
Comply with mediocre but Lyricism knows me by name
She told me to cling to her gifts and abandon the mundane
It’s insane; I obey but they spit me out; hate her flavor
Lynch me along with my purpose; actually betraying HER

Verse Two: (N. Steven)

Illusions sprout confusion, using images for abusing
On the other side lies I, gripping my gift, made for using
Choosing to be more than just a hobby, more than a simple past time
Whether it be four stanzas or verse free, each white line becomes my lifeline.
Because in a world where foundations are cloned and copied, rarely built upon
I open my lips, and use my voice as a stone to build up on…
I use my voice to rip mics, crush lies, and heal wounds
More than keeping it real, keeping my voice is keeping it true
Job Chapter 32, Verse 18, these words I speak is not a game
For if I ever spoke for less than the real, then consider me insane…

Verse Three: (Spoken Word)

Competition, inferiority, intimidation, and authority
The tearing down of others to gain superiority
I know that you’re ignoring me, but cannot deny this speech
You discredit my love for this art in order to impeach
Me from my earned position to gain an inheritable lump sum
Why are you confused as to where these words I say came from?
All that I require is for someone to relate to this inner fire
My desire is to give an answer to our societies inquire

Verse Four: (N. Steven)

Give me a mission, I’ll make a statement; Give me a mic and watch me break it
and know that having and keeping your voice is exactly what you make it
Keep your voice in the face of oppression and when everyone tells you not to
Keep your voice when no one else does, when they all would rather watch you
The game’s being congested with more spectators than players
More than enough hands held open, waiting for healthy favors.
I prefer to stay exclusive, distinctive, matchless and irreplaceable
So you can never turn away from my voice whenever, however it’s facing you.
Check the spins and winds of time and whenever there was evil
The greatest source of opposition came from the voices of the people.

Labels: collaboration, poem, truth, write

N. Steven
Replay the track, I’m back, not rapping,
in fact my status is “reading my soul”
Totally sold to the art of playing my part
in a screenplay that has yet to unfold
A sense of suspense suspends in the air
as reality lets loose what was already there.
Yet here I stand, pen and heart in my hands,
prepared to lay bare, never playing it fair.
For together, we’re like Thelonius,
some might call it ceremonious
The Mason/Dixon line’s not holding us,
so don’t dare to call it erroneous.
More like synonymous, on top of us,
it shocking and rocking the lot of us,
But for now, this wordplay is Phase One,
Phase Two holds a lot more promises…


Spoken.Word.

And what’s become of us is, now,
declared as Significant Importance
Reproduction of a Zealous Phonomenon,
once barren from Impotence
Two unlikely Life Forces,
a part of citations of Differently-writ Sources,
Experimented to show forth data
to what a Combustible Force is
Compatibility is merely a ploy
to distract from the underlying connection
Yet, in retrospection, ‘tween our Lyrical Bars
lays a Love Sonnet’s affection
Uncommonly, we exude the Poetic Oneness
that one is meant to live
Our indifferences gives me the insight
to finish your lyrical Sentences

Labels: collaboration, poem

Quick! How many hip-hop emcees/artists can be mentioned by our favorite Jedis? Read on and find out!

Verse One: Spoken.Word

My very first words/"mic check, one two, one two"/
From the "Sugahill Gang"/Hip Hop gets its cue//
Began wit few/"Chastisement"/Became a "Rapper's Delight"/
But first/was "King Tim III"/Made a classic overnight//
"Run DMC" n "Cool James"/Began to transform the listener/
Dedicatin' Hip Hop back to its creator/Like a catholic baby's christener//
I fell in love wit my "Radio"/Wit "De La Soul's" jazzy rap/
"Dr. Dre" was my brother's step-daddy/Sportin' his "NWA" ballcap//
Not just rap/The "Native Tongues Posse"/Warmed up our political voices/
Showed to the free world/The consequences of limited choices//
The gangsta's voice is released/At the drop of Dre's "Chronic"/
Real talk/of our biographies/Tastin' bitter like tonic//
"B.I.G" and "2Pac"/Strengthened Hip Hop's name/
But the war of rival coasts/Had our 2 soldiers slain//
Not in Vain/Their legacies/..."Outkast", "Jay-Z", n "Nas"/
Made one community's voice/Into a whole culture's Cause//
Chorus:
Listen up/yeah we here/wit a fresh new sound/
All nations/lend ya ear/mainstream/undaground//
Newly found/once as "stars"/now like a "supernova"/
Prophesied/Hip-Hop's/destined for a takeova//

Verse Two: N. Steven

My very first words/”mic check, one two, one two”//
threw the whole world in a frenzy/wondering what we’d do//
They watched us “Walk This Way”/”Bridging the Gap” to different sounds//
They were “Plug Tunin’”/trekking across brand new grounds//
A new species of sound/and I stumbled into the laboratory//
Tripped over something “Notorious”/another chapter in this story//
I became “Miseducated”, /and took DLP with “TLC”//
“The Fresh Prince” expanded his kingdom/letting almost anyone see//
My “Speakerboxxx” began a search/for something truthful enough to hurt//
Bigger than “Big Pimpin’”/something allowing Hip-hop to work//
It was found to be “Ludacris”/yet shining like a “Black Star”//
“Mos Def”inately un“Common”/from “4th Avenue” to where you are//
Defining love from lust/splitting the “Black Eyed Peas” from the chitlins//
Searching for “Classics” with “Kweli”ty/Finding “The Roots” when mixing in the kitchen//
Sick enough to make “Mars Ill”/painful and playfully nice//
It sounds so right/and it sounds so nice/Hip-Hop: one of the loves of my life…//
Chorus:
Listen up/yeah we here/bringing new sounds/
Crossing oceans with these potions/mainstream/undaground//
Newly found/once as stars/blown like a supanova/
Stop taking up space/Hip-Hop’s designed for a takeover//

Labels: collaboration, poem

Plain = N.Steven

Bold = Spoken.Word.

This starts as one line, with an infinite conclusion
A mix of love, life, and Lord, quite an eclectic infusion
Passing the pen and pad, like a weed-totin' rotation
Tradin' sensations, peep this poet-emcee collaboration
N V this duet, like the 14th and 22th letters
Got chu' blown like a feather at how well our rhymes flow 2gether
Still we maintain our high, our fly and hypeness rivals the sky
Some ask why we shine and I reply that in God we rely
Easy to see, it is, that these lines and rhymes are His kids
And He's timin' this to show people what time it is
Time to write, time to sing, time to shout, time to live
A flow to give, not a show it is, but livin' time-e-less
Know this flow is ALL MOTION, and the light is now green
So make moves like Janet; Rhythm Nation's on the scene...

Labels: collaboration, poem

I’m all ears.
Here taking the blunt end of your tears and fears for years
See it clear-ly that I’m closer than your most thorough peer
See, right now? The world is lowly and polluted
Zombie vagabonds begging for some truth undiluted
I want to use you, so use me how you see fit
Grip me to equip; I’m your punching bag to hit

Yo, from the first to the last of it
Delivery is passionate
The whole and not the half of it
vocab and not the math of it

I am your rhythm nation, your ill ish; your definition
I am your theory, your premise, and I’m the answered question
I am your politics and your diplomatic establishments
Your “we hold these truths”, “In God We Trust”, and Ten Commandments
I want your sighs, your groans, and every syllable
I want your scores of pain and each triumphant parable
I want the echoes of tribes crying out for revolution
I want the stirs of revival as Christ became our restitution
I want everything that you have
All that you got; confide in me
Come bring it all. Sincerely,
Your M-I-C.

Labels: mic, poem

Talk to me.

Give me all your worries, your issues and concerns
Let me see the intensity at which your heart burns
See, right here? The world is all ears and listening
I’m the ladder, the escape route from the hole you’ve been fishing in
I’m your loudspeaker, your soapbox, your volume level turned on high
I am the ringing in your ears when the truth cannot be denied

It’s only right that I address this
You gotta be in it to win it
I never come lame, Type killin’ in the game
So get busy.

I am your def jam, boy, fall out, i am your panic at the disco
I am your own krump session, your eardrum, your loud resounding echo
I want your blood, your laughter, your soul, your grit
Your care, your caress, your breath, your spit
I want your tears, your mind, your heart and your muscle
I want your tales of risk, hard time and hustle
I want that sound of 400 years of survival
I want the sound of an ole Baptist revival
I want all you have to offer
All you have to say to me
I want it all. Right now,
I am your M-I-C.

Labels: mic, poem

Illest Emcee/Album
Lauryn Hill/Miseducation of Lauryn H
Mos Def/Black on Both Sides
Lupe Fiasco/Food & Liquor
Mars iLL/ProPain
4th Avenue Jones/Stereo...
Eminem/
The Roots/Game Theory
Common/Be
Jay-Z/Hard Knock Life, Vol.2
Pharoahe Monch/Desire


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Labels: poll

Labels: poem, thesis

I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I grow up. I can't know how old I was, and that's probably not really important, seeing as how people in their 20s are still figuring out what they want to be when the grow up.

However, I think that for the longest time, I really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. It started with the usual stuff.

1. Spider-Man.
   
2. Police Officer.
   
3. Teacher.
   
4. Writer.
   
5. Actor.
   
6. Rapper.
7. Male Dancer.

Even now, while I am in college, making the final strides into a lifelong career, I still thought I knew what it is I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing.

But now? I think I know. I think I want to make a change. I think I want to make a difference. I think I am tired of the same old same, the regular routine of drugs and violence, madness and insanity, apathy and laziness. I think I'm getting a little tired of big mouths with silent voices. I think I want to let a revolution take place.

Starting with my words.

Because I am not your black pride poet.

I’ve never been in a Million-man March.

I am not your anti-american, anti-economy, anti-prophylactic poet.

I do not pray to Allah, Buddha or Mary Jane.

I am not your Black Panther, black beret, black record label.

I am not a pop culture icon.

I am not your oooo’s and ahhh’s and militant speeches.

I am a poet.

I am a writer, a human, a blood and bone being.

I am you. I am me. I fight. I bleed. I hide. I seek.

I am music unfiltered.

I am God’s smile. I am God’s dried teardrop.

I am underground music. I smile and frown as I do this.

I am an empty wallet in search of dough.

I am a blank ballot in search of mo’.

I am a written “yes, yes ya’ll”, with the boom, bass and bump.

I am a poet.

I am not a flowery song, I am the song that births flowers.

I am a truthful contradiction, in consonants and vowels.

I am my heart’s cry. I am this nation’s stain. I am this nation’s pride.

I am John Mayer. I am Nas. I am simple. I am lyrical.

I am proof of Proverbs 18:21. I am so much more than letters and words.

I am not a phase, a moment, a fad. I am a ballad. I am a 16-bar freestyle.

I am a poet. And I've got something to say...

because no one else is saying it.

Labels: introduction, poet, write

Labels: introduction, knowledge, originality, truth