"The Band" with Spoken Word by Gaude. Pavements and Thoughts..

Strolling through dirt-tracks of thought

I, Stumbled across a class on gender equality

Lucky me! Blessed, with the opportunity to understand my
oppressors

Lest, I judge and criticize without for a second opening my
eyes

See, the tears of women before me weighed so heavy on my
skin

They, darkened my skin

Every push they felt, pushed me to the brim

Strong, beautiful women not knowing what to live for

Shunned from their own kin,

Folk don’t understand the bravery and desperation that comes
with whispers of delicate “I Love You’s”

To the same hands that beat you black and blue.

The real violence on women is not physical

Its, Spiritual. Its Emotional.

It is indoctrined in our minds’ eternal

Screams, turn into dreams eventually misplaced and forgotten

Begotten scars are minuscule compared to the bars your state
of mind, is confined to

Eyes, on billboards positioned to sell you low self-esteem

Tell you you’re ugly then tell you how to fix it with
Maybelline

Revlon models teaching women to compete with each other for
the affection of men

Aspiring to be Stay-At-home Barbies, with thongs as
accessories

And, Working-Gal Barbie, abusive boyfriend sold separately

Does not matter if they respect us

The only, goal on our prospectus is being the envy of our
fellow women

They’re pitting us in a bidding war against each other

So now, not only do we not love men

We do not love each other.

I’m sitting at the back of this gender quality class

This feminism class

This “Hate Men and What They Did To Us” class

This “Brotha’s keep keeping a Sista down” class

This “Down-With-Sexism” class – But, only for women

See there’s only one side to this prism

We’re fighting in the disguise of gender equality for all

But, open your eyes; it’s not only women that take the fall

Men get raped too – SHH! We shouldn’t take about that!

See men, they’re the enemy and that’s that

So lets continue this debate on who’s oppressor was greater

See, we’re slaves that fell in love with their chains

They defined us as lesser, and we decided it was better, to

Fight the oppressor and NOT the oppression

We fell in love with the instruments of our Liberation

Forgetting that we own the keys to our own Emancipation

I pray, that I may someday teach my sons and daughters not
to fight for peace

But to, Peace, for peace. And Love, for love.

WOMEN! We, and men go together, hand in hand

I pray that our sons may grow to know better

Than to cast shadows on the lights of their sister’s lives

And that my daughters realize the value in each and every
one of their eyes

Sisters, I pray, that on this eve

We remember that we are daughters, of Eve

Flesh of my flesh and, blood of my blood

You and I are the same

Maybe God made women second because men alone was not enough

So then you gave me your rib, Adam

And now we vibrate on the same wavelength, like atoms

Colliding like protons and electrons

I will wait for you, neutral

Till you’re done with your war

You cannot teach me to hate you,

And I will not teach my sons and daughters to hate men

Because the sins of their fathers do not belong to them

And No, I’m not saying that any tear was shed in vain

Or that every bruise didn’t cut deeper than a vein

I’m saying, why sign on the dotted line to live life as
victims of shame

It’s time to reclaim our names, and

Bump to the funk of LOVE.

"Bones" at Poets Passport

You're so big now.

Oceans for eyes, I see you seeing the world.

I feel you feel the world, in your fingertips,

as you claw your way, day by day

..through jungles of concrete, with diamonds on your feet.

I see you fight, tooth and nail, for big cheques with your name in the mail

I see you demand your rights; as women, and men, and children and them

I see you face adversity and counter it with humility.

I see you feed the poor, and show them they're not poor,

but teach them - to want more.

More: For their souls

More: So they know

More: So they grow

Oooooh. You're so big now

Broken heart with wings like darts

I watched you fall in Love

I watched you prance to rhythms in foreign lands,

And dance till you're dizzy on foreign sands.

I watched you admire distant places and different races,

Drunk, with inferiority, you accepted their superiority.

I watched you trade our castles for stones

And your flesh, for bones.

I watched you fall so deep [so deep] in Love

But mostly, I watched you fall, out of Love

With the souls of those whose blood flows through the very marrow of your bones

I watched you grow your leaves, and cut your roots

I watched you feed your mind, and nourish your soul

Then turn your back on those that came before

I watched you make your footprint in the world, 

Then forget your way back home.

Long walk to freedom, but the only thing you're free from, is the wisdom

to see that from yourselves is who you steal from.

..with no one to tell our stories, the only narrative is one that dims our culture's glory.

I watched you fall, in Love, with birds in distant skies

and reject the beautiful doves that hover above your own eyes.

Tongues, heavy with the weight of praise you have for tongues other than your mother's

I can barely hear you when you whisper to me and your forefathers.

But, I am, the soul, whose blood flows through the very marrow of your bones

I AM THE SOUL, WHOSE BLOOD FLOWS THROUGH THE VERY MARROW OF YOUR BONES

But you're grown, you're so big now.

I wonder if you feel me, can you remember me?

Do you know me?

Cause then why do you Love only them, 

and not me. 

Dear Mr Poet at PoetsPassport.

Dear Mr Poet.

I admire your confidence.

The way you walk on stage and demand my attention with your silence.

Have my back ready for lashes, courtesy of your spoken word violence,

As you compose yourself, to breathe life, into words scribbled on scrolls

Little did we know, that you dug deep, into the bottom of your hearts’ hole

To stand before us and, bare your soul

Dear Mr Poet.

Contrary to popular belief,

Not all poets are born equal.

We can’t all paint beautiful paintings in the playing fields of our mind’s plain field.

It feels like the Lord overlooked us when he handed down his poetry graces,

I mean, You’re amazing.

Your words, have the ability to transcribe memories in hearts with no empty spaces.

The ability to transport me into the thoughts and places,

Of despicable beings, that do despicable things, to him, and she, and we.

Your words, put perspective, and help me realize that I may be a despicable version, of me

With, minion understanding of the trials and tribulations facing each step on the sole of our nation.

Your words, Mr Poet, help me see and believe Love.

The tango of your tangled Love webs my feet as I dance, and resist, while you dance, and persist.

Your broken heart, reminds me that Love isn’t always a two-way streak.

And sometimes Love is the peak, from which your heart will fall,

Into tunnels, of loneliness, and bitter hearts.

I don’t know what molasses are Mr Poet, but when you whisper those sweet words

Of encouragement, like redemption on Judgment Day,

I feel like an imprisoned Mandela seeing the light, on Freedom Day.

Dear Mr Poet, I don’t know if you know it,

But lately, your ego’s gotten in the way.

That thirty-minute self-intro you deemed necessary to bless us with seemed so irrelevant, it reeks of negligence, on your part

To your art, and your craft, it seems daft

That you would brag about merits and accolades

When true poetry has no awards.

But rewards in souls bared and shared.

Makes me wonder if your love for this is merely a façade.

And you’re chasing a lyrical high that was bestowed on you when you recited and standing O’s were endowed on you.

I wonder, Mr Poet, if your minds’ ever questioned why some of the most loved and renowned poems ever to grace us

Are synonymous with anonymous authors with no faces.

Shakespeare said “Don’t shoot the messenger”

But I’d shoot the messenger if he failed to bring home the message.

A preacher with no passage.

A hero with no courage.

A priest lying on the pulpit is a crime scene with no culprit.

I trip, I trip, I fall.

I need, I need, I call on Poets.

Dear Mr Poet!

I do not know if you know it.

But your audience misses you.

Like rain in the winter, we thirst for you.

Monsters Inc.

I don't remember being scared of scary stories.
Tales of, monsters and vampires to keep us afraid and consumed, with worry.
While we sit around fireplaces, worried
Listen to horror stories, worried
And hide away, shy and afraid, worried.

I remember being told stores and thinking to myself
These stores are lies, I can't relate to these lies
There's loop-holes and ties
I mean, why would two lovers go up a hill?
Monsters? Nah, they were looking for a thrill,
Maybe they wanted to hang-out, you know, chill
I don't remember being scared of scary stories.

See, I realized a long time ago that monsters don't live under your bed,
They sleep in your head.
They're there, being fed, by society telling you dreams don't come true,
By society, putting you in a box and trying to label you,
By society stealing from us, pretending to feel for us,
I fear those that earn our trust.
Those that, comfort us with Bible passage Psalms
While they fill their palms, with our dreams and intuition.
Distracting us with silly superstition.

Listen to the undertones in the dial-tones when we call on the monsters we trust.
They'll tell us education is the key,
and, at the end of school hallways lie the maps, to the American Puff Daddy dream.
The don't mention the student loans that slave your conscience, to a system of debt.
How does one dream selfishly to fulfill their destiny?
When, we're a generation crippled by our duty to please the hands that feed us.
How is education the key to opportunity,
When the only opportunity available is one dictated by you to me?

See monsters don't sleep under our beds, they're Alive in our heads.
Monsters make you feel like you belong in some parallel universe, outcast society,
of dreamers and dead poets, rhyming angry nouns with beautiful verbs,
smoking herbs, complaining about society while we do nothing
..but write poems.
Monsters make you feel 50 shades of cray,
about that abstract way you choose to sway,
to rhythms of drums even you can't hear
Monsters make examples of your heroes and turn them to zeros
Add that to your list of broken dreams, you free-thinking, book-reading, tea-sipping poetry fiends

I stopped checking for monsters under my bed, when I realized monsters live amongst us.

Within The Fridge!!

Meet The Fridge. The neo-jazz would-be soul-child of Erykah Badu, Sade, and Dwele and/or D'Angelo- but with a undisputed African jazz element. 

Vocalist: Samkelo Lelethu Mdo  
Drums and Percussion: Adey Omotade 
Bass Guitar, Electric Guitar and Flute: Mothusi Thusi  

(Photographs taken in Rosebank, JHB). 

 

I dont know..

I don't know how I feel about homosexuality
See I, never awarded myself the authority to posses an opinion on another's sexual compatibility
I never, took the time to define whats right or wrong with what one does with their personal time
I never, thought about drawing out the line that's ought place limits to abort another's comfort


Cause see, She is not me and He is not we so how can we tell she not to kiss she?
We does not see the world as do she, nor does we feel what she feels when she's with she
We do not understand, better yet, comprehend the intricacies that she oversees each time she makes that conscious decision to do she


It takes courage to stand up, despite societies blaring chin up, and brace the silly face that refuses to embrace


See I've never played a part in this homosexuality right or wrong debate
Seems to me it mirrors close to deciding on an interracial couple's fate
Baseless and Ignorant, careless and arrogant


I personally wouldn't give a shit on who someone reckoned should be my mate
My date to the socially-appropriate ball, 
where we wear dead cats as fur in the fall.


Social standards were built on a miserable bias
the same standards that tells little girls to wear pink and like flowers
the same, standards that tells young men to only pull out chairs and open doors for their mothers and virgins. 
Only the sinless shall fall? Seems the sinful make the call. 


So, I dont know how I feel about homosexuality
But I do know I wont play a part in suppressing anyone's identity 
If anything, let them scorn us for falling for frogs and sidelining our prince

They're not there anyway, when our tears we rinse.

Learns To Ride

My sister learned to ride a bike today

She throw caution to the wide and..

Let the balance of life lead the way.


 
She peddled and meddled and..

Let her fears astray.




My sister learned to ride a bike today,

Reminds me, to learn something new each day. 

Untitiled

Life' Devine. Entwined in Time. Surely its mine.
Flowers Scented. Renders me demented.
My eyes Entrenched. Drenched.
My heart takes a back seat, Benched.

How can I win when the city is at a loss?
I try to sit it down, it reminds me who's boss.
Who paid the cost. Inevitable toss.

Can I live in the peaks of nature, or the skyline lofts?
On the highest of terraces, or the lowest of troughs


I can not begin to fathom
The shallow emotional water people lather

Let me speak my mind Dear Officer,
before my thoughts scatter
Officer: Its for the better

I yearn to hear free spirits call,
not confined in minds banter
I dare not ask what society's taught you
To fit in its social outfit, or be loyal?

Faceless suits on horseback rally us numb
Beat us to conform, we fall backward and dumb
Voiceless and Hopeless
Naked no Less
Stripped of that inner strength
I oblidge we go that extra length

My, pages turn red
Im not sure if its ink or the blood that I shed
Tears and despair, its not fair
Why is Her soul in threads?

Haibo!
Go slow
She yearns to hear the rhythm in her hearts flow
Signs from the devine that her essence will someday show

While her life withers, her dignity grows
Should her flower be picked?
Why give away her timeless rose?
..to a figure the social circuit chose
Believe his lies, his false glow
He promises her the sky, but even she sees the false hope


so her legs close

Temptation is for the weak, but none are strong
So even when the pleasure feels right, Know this
You could be wrong


Drink from life's fountain of troubles, fill your social cup to the brim
Drown is your sorrows, Or Learn To Swim
away from the good, and towards all that grim
There's light at the end of the tunnel, dim

Are we the products of our surroundings?
Or the division of our soul?
Emancipation of me the ultimate goal?
Or the Dessication of me, and my life whole.


If we graduate from the teachings of the earth
How am I supposed to not be of the dirt?

Shouldnt I dwell in the belly of the sinful sun spells?
and kiss the rays of the Sahara summer days

How is the possible deemed possible?
Life's salad seems un-tossable

As it throws out the Honourable
Calamities, how heartlines seem stressing
We forever seek bad choices; never ask for wise blessings.


Words in Bold by Vocabsnova (D.Sak) and the other noise by Gau-TheSpokenFor

books with no tittles & no covers; Story of life has no beginning or end

We went for a while without seeing each other

You had your feet skating through the world

I and I had mine; high in the divine, ultimate concubine

So i picked up a pen, put it to paper 

And penned through the thoughts i had for you

Picked up all kinds of paper

The “I’m-thinking-of-you-so-i-thought-i’d-have-a-memory-of-you" paper

The back of the receipt-in the back of last weeks jeans-paper

And i wrote down what was on my mind

Fcuk that proof read and edit

My thoughts own their own credit

Onto paper reviled and mindspace debit

I want you to know what i feel when i fell how i feel

How I react and act when thoughts of you come intact

You should know i cant go by my day 

invasive thoughts of you deter me from my way

I poured out my soul,into the universe's control

And the very next day, as music and other penetrated my membrane

i wrote it down on the first piece of paper i found

Placed on the top of the pile 

And with binds as fierce as the river Nile

I bound the juvenile assortment of unedited consortment

Put photographs of stills that reimbursed the image of my minds pupil

Placed on your side of bed

Prayed that id never forget the magnitude of you

i swear this is true