THE BEATS

Laurie Cook

My Dying Heartt

My Dying Heart

Each night the moon raises,
filled each moment with praises;
I dream of you. one more night i dream of you

We can't be with each other,
but we dying to see ourselves together;
my heart never stop breathing
because you said you'll keep waiting.
Though the hills and mountains have separated us,
but we are still desperate beside all odds;
no one can quench the fire we share,
no one can change our sphere;
we may be distance away,
but in my heart we both here to play.
Love is like a magical song,
soft and gentle, humming for us along.
One more night I want to be with you,
just your touch I know life is true;
together we cuddle like two robes tangle,
mixed in the fantasy of love, yet, we were humble;
Our heat from us makes us twins,
we swim in harmony, down your chest I feel so real.
Loving this,
your kiss is sweet;
but now no one knows I how I feels,
burning in silence, this wounds never ills;
I can't escape another day without you,
I can't walk another miles if my heart don't have you;
I call this “MY DYING HEART”
for in you I will fly HIGH.
We both have long for love,
when kneel at the alter, our bliss descend like the dove.

Nature

Dancevgil

for my SOUL

poetry
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".

for my SOUL

poetry
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".

BLACK HiSTORY MONTH

Sharing his work with a deferent audience is something he can deal with and, he knows how to manipulate his body vocabularies to reach out his intensions and motives, as to expel the means of one untied people can be. On the 14th of February 2009, the Windisch-Hunt Art gallery in Coconut Grove are once again celebrating the Black History Month, showcasing various artiste works from all range they certainly have the gig and vibe.

Something special came out this time, a dancer from Nigeria who dazzled people coming in to fill their eyes with one or two peep in the gallery. He moves around them with his dance movements and the smile on his face. Yet he never seems to lose the flow and rhythm of the musical beat. A beautiful African percussion. The gallery was occupied with people standing on deferent angles watching, while some, busying exploring the art works hung on the wall.

As Black History Month ends, folks also use this time out to share love with one another, children and friends. The park was full with people from deferent county, states, region. It was a very bright and warm atmosphere with the sun burning very hot in Liberty City Miami at the “Touching Miami with Love” .

Mr Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte a Nigerian dancer, intrigues the audience with his dance movement and body gestures. He speaks words of our fathers through his gestures and communication of the music, accompanying his dance steps. “it is very good for the kids to experience something like this and know how important culture really means.

At 2:00pm, Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte started his movement at Liberty City where he did his third performance of the Black History Month; “showcasing myself and sharing my History and Culture as a cultural exchange and educational vocation with kids, adults”. They where really pleased with what the dance and most of all, what the organizers and families gave as part of the support to the county/humanity. “we want to reshape the world with our ministry, our art, our words, and our lovingness”. The kids also shared some of their great art works and how they understand what is going on, on their various environments. Some of them did poetry, while some took the duty of getting people situated and making seats and other availabilities the guest might need.
They also took us back to the footstep of Dr Martin Luther King Jr (“I HAVE A DREAM”).“Reciting these words of Dr King really meant a lot to this kids. We want them to think positively, and knowing full well that they can make it, no matter the stormy weather”.

We want to build our community and make it a better home for our children to think positively and with open minds; instead of the harm devices and smoking cracks and weed. Because these, it loses their sense of understanding and their lives is fall shot with lost. 60-70% of these kids turn out becoming thugs and hoodlums, doing violence because they have not being educated the proper way.
It is not just doing convocations or gathering that only matters, but how educated these kids are in their various homes. Although I am not talking about the America, or Africa, but every corner of the world. We should give heed to the society, transform these mentality and change the system for better place.

Vincent

Coconut Grove Grapevine: Last night's art opening was a spellbinding event

Coconut Grove Grapevine: Last night's art opening was a spellbinding event
It was a night of blessed memory, each movements, each words, each sound, each gestures, each breath, becomes a force that moves with the wind and intertwine with me. I feel my body transcending into realm of imagination as i move vividly to sound of the music. I draw energy from the audience who stood in amazed, trying to see what the next move or gesture would say; " A study in Motion".

Coconut Grove Grapevine: Art is constantly moving through the streets

Coconut Grove Grapevine: Art is constantly moving through the streets
It was a night of blessed memory, each movements, each words, each sound, each gestures, each breath, becomes a force that moves with the wind and intertwine with me. I feel my body transcending into realm of imagination as i move vividly to sound of the music. I draw energy from the audience who stood in amazed, trying to see what the next move or gesture would say; " Lines of Movement".

KING OF SORROW

they said I'm a witch
discarding my incense
on any garment it perches on...
I was cast by the stone of men,
driven by my mates.
By those who I call FRIENDS!
I'm crying to everyone ears
dancing with frustration
day and night.
I cry to prove my innocence
but was oblivion
by my maker.
I flea to the mountain
where I pitch my tent;
I cause the day I was born;
leprosy embrace me,
sharing the same supper with me.
My skin falls apart,
my beautiful attire became
a sorrowful evening.

I am now the beast
everyone run from;
take my life;
Don't let me enjoy these grieve anymore!
Send fire from above
to consume me!
Send the night hawkers to
to come devour me
before morning light!
Allow vultures to say my last prayer!

A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY

A traveling party found itself catapulted from inside a long and dark tunnel of a magic forest. There they had a vague memory that when the trip started there were only smaller number of them, perhaps fewer than 10. now, looking around, they were 36, then 70, or perhaps 100, all packed together and looking all identical and rapidly increasing in number if by magic.
Then a sinister game began. Soon they realized they where that bunch landed wads kind of a protective circle inside a prison, that none of them could leave except under the penalty of death. Another problem was that each individual, even inside the delineated safety zone must stay connected with the group for, alone each individual would be immersed in toxic wastes that kill instantly (within second). Finally, and worse, the grace period afforded these involuntary pilgrim was very limited: in 280 days they were to be expelled to be on there own. What to do?
They discovered that, in the confine of strict laws, they have creative power; that they could be and do everything they wanted.
So, first they decided to stick together, live for one another, and use their power of creation always for the benefit of all not for anyone in particular. They cultivated special skills and talent that focus on the collectivity's need. Voluntarily diversifying, some took on the dangerous task of defense, some specialize themselves in looking for food and process it for everybody. Others took on the task of keeping the community clean. They built a most sophisticated portable flee market that moves like a river where everyone indiscriminately finds what they needed for survival. They even created a high tech administration topped by a leadership that cares, comforts, heals, and delegates and inspires. In the end, this small group that started the journey as an anonymous bunch had grown into a model of a most civilized and self-sufficient community. They conquered their present and even planned for the future. When they left the protective forest there was no sorrow but rejoice.

ANOTHER HOLIEST HYMN

I gazed at the morning sun coming from the east
it a very bright and warm morning I told myself ready to deep my feet
into the world.
It is not a joyous day to sing hymns and praises,
nor one of those holiest or the bravest days,
But a twist like a mirror that reflect you to your past.
A drum beat that skipped your heart each time
the clock ticks, for another body is been berried,
while you count your days with fear, tears,
when you see the faces of your loved one.

As we journey together into these unending race,
we are left with ourself to decoy the mysteries and wonders
of our nature, we are yet another dust from soul
of the our maker.
We are the rivers that flows in circle, that cannot be traced
of its beginning or ending.
We are the beast in the forest, the birds on the sky,
mammals and many other history that cannot revealed.

We are ANOTHER HOLIEST HYMNS........

Coconut Grove Grapevine: He energized everyone after a long day

Coconut Grove Grapevine: He energized everyone after a long day

They said he is a track/rap/cracker,
selling hits/shit in the hood, he was a dealer a hater.
Young boys and girls knew him Weller,
that old G hanging at the conner.
With time flying faster
his trade has became bigger.
A big fella named, BELLER
O yeah that what they used call him “BELEER”.
He is no gangster, nor a fighter,
but with passion, he is became a jack ass cracker.
A street rapper who rapper whose hits hit track cracker!



Vinc

"WAR CHILD"

“WAR CHILD”
Roaring sound elude the air, bullet flying everywhere. The street is deserted, women, children, brothers, sisters, everyone fleeing to an unknown destination, finding shelter to rescue their heads and the life's of their children and love ones. We had no where to go, no one to run to. Those who we think can help us, most of them have died, while others have fled to neighboring villages. The more we run the more the war keeps coming close. We never had a day or two to rest before the war reaches our tent. I lost his mother during one of the conflicts while we were trying to escape a terrible plot by gunmen who came in surprise in the middle of the night, both of us miss our way and couldn't find one another.
Story came that she is died. That she was shoot while trying to find her way towards a narrow path, some people say because she was pregnant she couldn't run, that she was in pain, maybe she wants to deliver, then died on the curse. Some say she is nowhere to be found. But to me, that was the last time I saw my mother. The only memory I have is the last time we held hands together, running for our life's. Maybe that is the way life has decided for both of them.
Or maybe, life has something ahead for this young boy to become a voice that will rebel against the oppressions and discrimination. Maybe he is the positive force that will one day stand up and redeem his people from pang they are.


Deep in my sleep I bellow,
light flashes deep into
the heavens cry, unveiling it garments of non
existence,
a tempest, a shrill wind,
a eye of eagle eroding through
the rivers. Thus; greed prevailed in thy
vineyard.

Deep sleep in my dream I quench,
the thirst of agony, lingered in
the borders of innocents soul.
“I listen to each word coming
from his mouth,
each vessels he puke
rebel the string he abide”.
A bitter junction like the sparrow
tide to its web.

“As we forgive those who wrongs us,
so shall the dowers who miss leads us
realize we are no seed for Hebrews”.

the street is crying deep,
lamenting as the scorn pierce deep,
its swords knows no justice with its struck.
The street is falling low,
innocent juveniles
wonder for better days
cos thy sanctuary is false before them.

deep in my dream I am cast away
my dreams, my hopes where blown astray,
my history,
my courage is hung,
killed by the same weapon
I
once admire.

“children should be going to
schools,
not fighting in battles, because
they will lose their
life
even if they survive.”

for Emmanuel Jal and many other children who were taking away by military men to train to become a weapon of destruction to mankind. who have fought in Sudan's war. To those who lost their love ones and still mourning as we speak. The war in Sudan, Zimbabwe, Liberia, Kenya and all over Africa continent.

“We need peace and justice”.
Vincent

war child

"WAR CHILD"

"Children should be going to school, not fighting in battles, because they will still lose their life even if they survive."
From the book of "war child" by Emmanuel Jal
Emmanuel's charity Gua Africa (Gua meaning power in Arabic and peace in his native tongue Nuer) supports survivors of war from Sudan and Rwanda who are in high schools and universities. These are the people who will rebuild their countries in the future. Gua Africa also sponsors children at primary school in Nairobi slum and hope to find support for more pupils. Emmanuel's dream is to build a school in Leer in honor of the woman who rescued him, Wmma Mccune.
There he will be able to give the children from his home what he was given. "education and freedom"

www.guaafrica.org or www.warchildmovie.com

A Young Man On A Mission

"Left home at the age of seven/one year later I'm carryin' an Ak-47." For hip hop artist Emmanuel Jal, a former child soldier in Sudan's brutal civil war, these lyrics are hardly empty posturing. They are the bitter reality of a young man who was "forced to sin" but determined to "never give up and never give in." Today, wounded but still hopeful, he fights a new battle: bringing peace to his beloved Sudan and building schools in Africa. This time, his weapon is a microphone. See why audiences from New York to Berlin to London rave about the award-winning film, War Child, and have embraced the hip-hop artist with a terrifying past and a gentle soul. Interspersing original interviews, live concerts, and rare footage of Jal as a seven year-old boy, War Child will make viewers cry, laugh, dance, and celebrate the power of hope.

I want out!

the dancer is you in the Savanna rains
When you ask the bus to go on forever
and
the looking glass is you when
definitely
Yu ask my buttocks of images in paraffin
roaring burning black in haephestus' furnace
the days are calabashes of dead palm wine
that blossom into red blood in the black ambulance
yu say your life is my presence
turned into destitute vocabulary

but I forget
Joan of Arc was White
Very White the paper of hell's menus blistered
and scalded my Steve Biko fingertips
When I looked back
the wayward bus was right in front of me
Its single tyre Cyclop's smarting eye

When they began talking of digris

She looked at me at my empty silence
but you write write poems
how come you got no degrees?

the stamps in this detention mind
turn livid like a charon capsizing in Urine
the smudges on my face is debating faeces
the wormz these my fingers are typewriter keys
the Cry in the raining nyt trying
trying
to mangle the english language

I
forget
my dreadline is close
I have taken my poems
I'll get the books when I
bring your money
the typewriter was neva mine

When the becomes so real
and the poem refuses to end
enslaving to write all hours
I
know longer have tears to cry
remember
when I insisted on paying the bill
and yu knew I had no monies
and stared as I ate piles and miles of
spaghetti bread yu didnt know
that was my first meal in 4 days I
never said fasting was voluntary
Out the Savanna music kinged
for appearance's sake
lets hold hands

between pages of blazing gasps
your thighs when they crush me are delirium bantustans
and the flags
words from Senghor silences the Wind!

The Winter moon imprisons girls
poetessez with thighs like akhmatova
and
!
blood red blobs drop on this poem

Im not trying to emphaSIZE!
the blooddrops in my plate
Scarlet a red soup of gritty tears
gravel of brain sawdust
on the drill of time(s)
answer
What race was scipio africanus

the rains in the Savanna dance you
definitely.


Phillip Zhuwao