Broken Recorder Refocus

As a spoken word artist I never want to loose focus. Artists loose themselves in a negative arrogance. Even if they don’t blatantly express that quality, an artist’s actions speak louder than their words in an instance. Bestowed with this gift, words, I always want it become perverted with a big head. This post is great news for those who follow my words on blogs and forms of electronic media. Loving my craft I always strive to be a better wordsmith. Branding myself as a performing spoken word artist, I want my audience to not only listen to my words, but I also want them to experience them. This will happen. In the meantime read the post that will be written. Pray for increasing spirit living in me using my mouthpiece to speak. 

Jingle Jangle Goes His Keys

Daddy’s fumbling keys jingle jangle at the front door

Lets him know dad’s in high spirits

A single inebriated tear sways down his cheek

He just wants tonight to be different

Wanna stop the cups running over with fermented liquids which wash away daddy's limits

Gave him despicable courage

Possessed by short tempered spirits

Daddy looks down on family

Uses deconstructive words to describe them at eye level

Or smaller than him is

Broken English equipped

Daddy don’t speak good as his kids

And though the good they is

Be representation of his

Blurred by inverted bottles coked off of what he is

He always misses his reflection shining off their accomplishments

Cause he had forgotten that sharp sense of urgence

When he was the youngin listenin’ to hear the jingle jangle of the keys

When every jingle then chimed danger

Even the jolly of jingle bells would jangle mangled

Mysterious fearful of this life giving stranger

Danger danger!

Yell fire

Maybe then one of those I’m not in it nosy ass neighbors would listen

Finally pay attention

To the black and blue impressions

five fingered evidence of his aggression

intentions turned indentions

Pushing fist like pens writing physical sentences

Like shifting prepositional phrases changing mom's disposition and the lips he used to kiss

Ink blotted jabs jotting deep in her sockets

Foreshadowed eyes become bulbous

Burst into blisters glistening between slits

Where light illuminates life still reaching visible pronounce its existence

Psychotic the transference of power where son fought for freedom from daddy’s prison

Only to jingle jangle inherited the cell block become the warden

Important the montage of mimicry

Happy pappy always supportive long as puppets play to the pull pushed strings

Threaded fear through wrist and feet

Dare not step outta line

Jingle jangle daddy’s more than controlling

more like expression choking

like constricted windpipes

More closed than open

Now how you supposing growing hope can be digested without choking

Son can’t breath

the jingle jangle sends Harlem shaking shivers down spine as sound echos down the hallway

 Like a loud whisper exploding through his bedroom door

Floorboards creak until hallway light leaks into darkened fear

Counteracts under covers

eyes shut tightly as though they were stitched

son’s nerves working needles kitting knots outta intestines 

jingle jangle father hears Jr. breathin

and for a second first son sees himself reflected in seed

jingle jangled into a moment of clarity

sparing deciding tonight…

he’ll just let him be

jingle jangle goes the keys as he leaves gives relief 

elated son lays happy

child labor like overworked army brat battling

savors victory remember his hope's been realized

he just wanted tonight to be different