I primarily see myself as an Orator and having spent time in the pre-Blackberry trenches of freestyle battle rapping my main forte is performance poetry. The (re)Imagined series is mainly a personal writing exercise as my performance pieces take varied forms. First things first as Jay-Z says, “I’m not a rapper dawg!,” and I give full respect to those who do this professional. What I do is lay bars on top of the cadence of the rapper’s voice (not necessarily the beat) and intertwine references to the original song with whatever theme I’m on. As to be expected I’ll take advantage of this medium and intertwine images. Thanks for any time spent partaking in these offerings.
(re)IMAGINED #735: Mystery
Inner Diction sans a compass can encompass a morass for the Ignorant to listen. Universally ignite heat then lightly surf soundscapes for the friction. Some may have read of us thumbing pages under windows hazy. Minstrel versions parading, others sharing painted faces. Flip. Must. Gregarious, gerund walking, Jet-li’s. Creating Higher flames like Dante rollin’ j’s in Hades hating on Virgil’s lack of backbone in the clutch. King James’ shaky hands, rewrite scrolls in Igbo transliteration assisted by un Taino. Then. Go.
Suns start raining: Some’ll say the rays Are too radiant. Change gestating, neo-natal nation making. Darts: Flaming.
Destiny cuts her side glance, right away, at Fat’s Chance. Dudley Deux To(o) His Center-Write, Incomparable. Puns rest in Solar Plex, comments coffin codes.‘Montezuma’ in bars, Sirius like 2 far away stars. Proceeded to offering transplanted Island prose, on Ivory Tower’s Marbled floors –
Excellence is my Preference,
Never dumb as sh!t,
Standard bearing solar Lunatic scholarship Long Since Any f*cking
Oar or Slave Ship or Morpheus masked wearing agent in the Matrix…
My genies black out lights –
I channel suns: Ben-
Jochannan, Carter Woodson, Robeson –
Fractions In actions, Can Pack a thrust. Cowards quick to duck if a matter Must. In this World, one Must To their Shadow Clutch. Now, 2 Moons float, One globe, U-n-I can both Grow. But now it seems the cracks show I w®ap poems in hidden scripts, dey spider bots can’t decipher it –
Oops, can’t get cocky holmes, NSA been tappin’ phones. Dey in the Danger Zone whose Archer(s) Guard the Thrones?
Wave ya hands, and Say it like Wii.
We vs. EUphrates!
Camera angles cascading, Masquerading. WE Graphic,
Tryin’ to flip scripts, like George Luke did,
Turning a Sith Lord, into a whiny simp.
See me, frequently, Resident overlord of meandering Metaphor,