Spoken Word

Spoken Word

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Mumblings of an old lady...

Damn! superstitions what a laugh!

The number 13 never done me no harm,

I've crossed black cat's in their paths,

beautiful, cunning, strong,

they don't intimidate me,

jheri curled, afroed, dreadlocks,

whichever breed they belong,

walked under ladders,

even stepped on cracks in the sidewalk,

where I live that cain't be avoided,

sent mirrors crashin' to  the floor,

be lucky to survive seven more,

Been hit by brooms,

beat by fist, and kicked,

but never been  to jail,

Once, I crossed a lady twice,

still haven't burnt in hell,

'course I live there anyway,

My palms been a itchin'

but money never come,

left eye keep a' twitchin'

and half moons risin' on my thumb,

still don't got a man,

or chirren' of my own,

and if it wasn't for these cats,

I'd be livin' here alone,

twelve black cats,

have been my lucky charm,

so the thirteenth one,

won't do me any harm.


Thursday, April 9, 2015

My Poem

My Poem (Version one) written 1984

Upon conception you were my only thought,

 the fertile portion of my being,

I felt you grow in the womb of my mind,

from a tiny syllable, a quick thought,

and then develop into words,

long sentences from the heart.

I longed to caress you,

Once you traversed the birth canal,

I cut the umbilical cord.

I fed you metaphors,

until you were fully weaned on rhymes,

And once you were I composed you,

my love, my word, my poem,

and sent you away into the world,

a perfect reflection of your origin.

by Vickie Bass ©

My Poem


 (New Version)

Upon conception you were the focus of my attention,

the modem of my soul,

proud to be the mother of your invention,

proud to be the locus of your control,

I've felt you grow, within my brain,

from a syllable to a phrase,

Your pulse beat a soft refrain,

and your heartbeat twelve tonal arrays,

you developed in three-quarter time,

from a minute to a few days,

Once you traversed the vocal cords,

I wrapped you in tempo,

rocked you in time, fed you metaphors,

until you were fully weaned on rhymes,

I composed you,

my poem, my words my allegory,

dressed you in prose,

and sent you out into the world,

 to tell our story.

by Victori April 9 2015 ©

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Unseen Inspired by God 9/28/2008

Do you know who I am?

If I stood before you in a hurricane,

or the wing span of a duck,

on a quiet lake, near a rock,

in the spark of an eye,

in a cup of brew from Starbucks,

or within the sincere intention in a lie,

or the adrenaline in the effort of a try,

Would you know me then?

You look for me in superficial things,

like cars, and chains and flashy bling bling,

I have come to you 

in the form of a  woman, a man,

This poet's right hand,

even appeared to you as a lamb,

once in a burning bush,

and you still don't know,

that I am that I am,

No mystery here,

I am the spirit 

that animates your soul,

And when three or more of you,

gather together in my name,

You partake of me whole,

I am that teardrop, on your page,

Am those wrinkles,

That show your age,

Am those volumes,

that speak your peace,

am that scream,

Your frustration release,

I live forever and never decease,

You kill my young prophets,

then send them home where I wait,

And I birth out another, just reincarnate,

You can't silence me I'll never be damned,

As always I am that I am. ©

Untitled (Inspired by God) 12/9/2001

I am that I am,

I never claimed Islam,

Hindu, Christian, Jew,

Recall the parable and learn,

I manifest as fire,

and wood that wouldn't burn,

As every element indeed,

As water that caused the bush to bloom,

air and earth that nurtured it's seed,

I am that I am,

I am Alpha.

In the beginning,

Hebrews called me Elohim,

I am depicted as a lamb,

I am Ein Sof.

The Egyptians called me Amen,

I am depicted as a ram,

I am Omega, in the end,

I am that I am,

I've been called Emmanuelle,

Jehovah, Jah,

Yeshua, Jesus, Allah,

Shiva, Messiah, Amma,

I am the Way, The Truth, and Light,

Some simply call me LOVE,

You can call me what you will,

The world is mine and the fullness thereof,

just call me if you feel,

I am the Creator of the sun,

Under which you bask,

Do I need your piety?

I shouldn't have to ask,

I am that I am. ©

Friday, April 3, 2015

A Short Walk: This Walk We Take


This walk we take
from cradle crawl,
to stagger gait,
assisted baby steps,
before we fall,
to solo straight,
into the rising sun,
we walk upright,
before we learn to run,
into his light,
a gleam in our eyes,
a spark, a fire,
we chase the night,
we hunt for hope,
for dreams, our souls desire,
along this walk we take,
Too young to know fear,
or the bite of pain,
we only hear, and vaguely discern,
the lessons of, those who've loved,
and demand we love, and be loved, in return,
we hardly listen to the survivors,
the elite few,
who've walked this walk before us,
who know these treacherous forest,
How steep the hills, the sun, the rains,
and the traps of the predators who lure us.



This walk we take,
has become a jog,
a daily routine, 
into a mist a fog,
to a finish line,
which remains unseen,
but we keep moving,
we heed the call,
we've seen too many others fall,
into pits we know not where,
We soon learn to heed,
the jungle creed,
that parasites feed,
on both weak or strong unaware,
we pray a nightly prayer,
carried on angel wings,
to keep us safe,
and in God's care,
we slow for breath,
when obstacles arise,
beam gone now from our eyes,
it's not to the sleeper go the prize,
but to the deft,
those who are wise,
who veer not too far,
either right nor left,
but stay the course,
who will survive,
This walk we take.


This walk we take,
onward, upward,
this road we trod,
brings us closer  to
our beckoning God,
and so we come,
our backs now bowed,
we hear the voices,
of our ancestors now,
from cane clutch,
to stagger gait,
assisted elderly steps,
before we trip,
to fainting falter,
no medaled victory,
for the race we run,
nor newspaper clips,
of our win or slaughter,
before we touch,
with tear wet lips,
the outstretched hand,
who carried us through,
This walk we take.

victori ©

Thursday, April 2, 2015

How I Do?

How I Do?

I do worst than some,

but better than most,

I don't have riches or wealth,

but the Holy Ghost,

Who gives me health,

Don't need to make you fall,

so that I can rise,

I can lift you tall,

and still soar the skies,

There's room for us all,

From where ever I start,

To where ever I flow,

I entertain angels, in my heart,

Just so you know,

Don't need to blot your shine,

For me to glow,

No need to push you behind,

For me to grow,

Even if you treat me unkind,

 knock me to the ground

Plot my decline,

Push me over the brink,

but  if  you  thirst

I'll still offer you a drink,

it may place me first,

and cause you to shrink,

but it's how I do,

don't care what you think,

This gift of God is free,

This gift of God is true,

I reach my apogee,

It's how I do,

I get the victory!

What about you?

Victori ©