My Word!... I Am Poetry

I performed this piece recently and reminded myself how much I liked it myself... I think it's one of my most creative... If you have ever heard my poetry, you would realize that my style incorporates a flow resembling the delivery of hip-hop. I don't often write the type of poetry to be published in books... Quoting myself from 'Speak'... "Truth is in the spoken word, that's why I'd rather not be read but instead be heard..." My goal in writing this poem was to combine the colorful imagery of written poetry with the delivery of a spoken word piece...

I Am Poetry (Poetree)

Let me start by thanking my Mother... Earth... to my Father
For planting his seed, cuz indeed it was fertile
So I succeed in growth...
In the form of reeds
So you could read the quotes
And feel the notes as I come to be what I wrote...
Poetry...
In my roots, written on the loose leaves of the birch
Where the birds and the bees never leave
And the ink from the pen is like the sap of the tree
Cuz it lives in the wood that would be...
A piece of paper later...
If the lumberjack brings me down then he could be a player hater
In either form I'm getting pissed on...
Put it like this, I probably wouldn't exist
If the originator didn't send his only son
To make my leaves go and come with the seasons
As I need them...
To chlorophyll me up with the nutrition
From the light of the day shone in the forest
Before I'm chucked like Mr. Norris for deforestation
I'll be a scapegoat for the landscape
Portrait of the art representing the heart they put into me
The oxygen I put into them so they could breathe...
Now everybody wanna do me
Use me to fight for... what is right
Or write for what is wrong
Hear me tonight on stage at an open mic
Later I'll be in a song that I hope you like
Hopefully I'll take us all to a whole new height
And in the heat of the day, in my shade you would stay
And I might bear the fruits of your labour
So that you could savour the taste of my flavour on your tongue
And due to the nature of this one...
I came from the underground
Now I bow when the sky claps with the thunder sound
And the greater that would come out of me
Will make you see what I see
Feel the joy I have brung
Sing the songs that I hum in the wind for freedom
Til, no one is hung from my limbs
No pain, and now I'm stained in your brain
And in the sign on your Timb's
And you wondering my name
How do they call him?
And the answer... you probably already know it
See... Navy's the master, but me
I am Poetry

My Word!... Empty Barrels

This is my most recently completed poem (new shyt!) and is the second piece I wrote as a follow up to "Speak". One incident in particular served as the main inspiration for this poem. One of my professors heard me perform "Speak" for a debate team we were hosting. He was surprised, to say the least, and made it known that I hardly ever spoke in (his) class. A friend, who also heard me then for the first time, shared a similar sentiment. I'm usually very low-key, not to be confused with anti-social but I choose carefully when, where, and with whom I am more vocal. This is my response...

Empty Barrels

People always used to say I was not like most boys...
Growing up I was a shy kinda guy
Quite quietly reserved to myself
Ask me why and I'll tell you...
Because empty barrels make the most noise
Most toys don't make you much smarter
So I play with words
Because it is much harder to win
And I like the challenge
Of getting my barrel almost full to the brim
So if you want to describe him as quiet, think twice
Cuz his words are strong enough to incite riots
But... but I just don't want to start one
Smart ones know that those who have the least to say
They talk the most
And those who talk the least, when they speak
You should listen close
So it's not ironic that I'm not quite sonic
Unless I see a stage with a mic on it
Or if there is something to address
That is when I feel like my tongue cannot rest
None the less, all the more
When I was in form four
I used to speak on behalf
Of the boys in the class that were labeled delinquents
Cuz they were relinquent to the taunts from my teacher, unjust
Trust that "class lawyer" was the title she gave me
Still speaking, but now they know me as Navy
And to me there's a difference between
Speaking and talking
Just like creeping and walking
One takes less courage
The next, should be encouraged some more
Therefore... the next time you take the floor
Make sure that your words are the opposite of poor
Cuz my tongue is raw
So don't make me draw my lyrical pistol
And have you running to the door
I'm not above the law, at all, at all
But I would Empty Barrels on all of y'all
Make you fall from your poise
So call all your boys
And tell them what I said about making old noise

By: Yvan 'Navy' Mendoza