The Left Side Poets are a group of poets who met in the Spring of 2008 at Hampton University. It consists of Sophia Buxton, Ronald Clark, Shawnon Corprew, Nikieta Faulkner, S. Velvet Noose, Terry Odis, Tolani Oyefule, Daniel Parrish and Martin Tucker, though there are others who can lay claim to being a Left Sider. For this occasion, the blessed holiday that is Mother’s Day, some of the men in the group came together to put into words their love for their mothers. Hope you enjoy it. And if you do, be on the lookout for their first book, The Left Side Poets Present: Strange Fruit, which drops in the fall.

I, Her Son
By The Left Side Poets featuring Ronald Clark, Terry Odis, Tolani Oyefule and Martin Tucker

Her womb fostered my growth in its infancy
protecting my innocence
she was the first person to love me.
This is that, scaredy-cat ride home
where anguish hacks through my curls
I took that beating like the best of mice
with no hole in the wall to zip up my jaw
I needed you.
My back to the wall she reaches me
talks through cellular frequency
though I’ve never been afraid before, never like this.
No, not like this.
Held me in her arms,
lying down the foundation for my strength
she is the reason I made it to manhood
I just couldn’t disappoint.
Her eyes follow me,
taking in her own doing
she sculpted me in a cloak of her values.
I cry, her voice brings peace to me
my silence ceases, she beckons me
to move forward.
In return I give my word,
that I will stay.
Stay the man that she created
Stay the bold and caring soul
Stay the child with endless passion
with resolve as yet untold.
I needed to
sift through these blessed eskimo kisses
that fit the description of medicinal schism
from yesterday
sandbox amnesia.
She, the kindest complexion
utter peace begets her face.
Even when my world is broken,
and I, strangled in my place.
This mother’s day,
I have the privilege of seeing
four generations of mothers.
The oldest of which, doesn’t speak,
but I’m convinced, that God has hidden his smile behind her eyes
she’s my great-grandmother.
Her daughter, my grandmother,
is the strongest woman I’ve ever met.
I’m convinced that God has dipped her in resilience
because everything life throws at her has been devoured
without her flinching.
She’s eaten cancer for breakfast
a brain tumor for lunch
and bad knees for dinner -
she’s having Satan for a midnight snack.
My sister, at five-feet even
bears the weight of the world on her shoulders
with a baby on her hip
now tell atlas to do that.
I can’t wait to find a woman as strong as you
so I can make her a strong mother too.
Then there’s my mother
who uses her heart and soul as ingredients in all of her meals.
She fills more than just bellies, she mends spirits
I guess that’s why they call it soul food.
I stay on her mind,
as she does on mine
tissue in her hand, hours before a tear drops
she is God’s manifestation of his love.
A woman who shoulders loads Samson wouldn’t try
parts seas of despair with Moses’ rod
her hugs melt away layers of insecurities.
She is always there to listen
although I doubt and may not see,
she is steadfast in her offer
faultless belief in me.
I wanna raise daughters like you
the four of you together are more beautiful than
a month of sunrises that I pray I am able to behold again.
Gracefully entering the different phases of life,
as you age, I return the favor
of your protection,
healing wounds with reciprocation
and yet,
when the call for love is made
and request given for one
I will answer resolutely
Her, a goddess
I, her son.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

**Contribution by the Left Side Poets**

Today, I bring you my thoughts on the South’s latest son, B.O.B.

His much anticipated debut album entitled The Adventures of Bobby Ray, was officially released on Tuesday, April 27. I trekked on down to Best Buy and snapped up the last copy earlier this week. With his chart topping single “Nothin On You” already in heavy rotation on my iPod, I expected nothing less than the best. I wasn’t disappointed. At just 19-years-old, this young rapper has succeeded in doing what many other so-called artists could not; he has injected new life into the rap game.

Is the album a stroke of genius? Well, no. Sorry. The lyrics aren’t overly thought provoking, but what it does do is bring something to the game that’s been missing — It’s unique, and that’s definitely a compliment these days. I don’t know about you, but I swear if I hear one more album with 17 straight club bangers touting this or that rapper’s chains, cars, money, weed, bitches and hoes, I am going to kill myself.

Luckily, I don’t have to today.

If you’re familiar with his singles and mixtapes, you already know B.O.B. has a style all his own.  The Adventures of Bobby Ray transitions nicely between a rock flow, a rap flow and it even has a sprinkling of Crunk music. It’s refreshing and I encourage everybody, no matter what kind of music you prefer, to give this album a listen. You’re sure to find at least a couple of tracks you like. My personal favorites include Airplanes featuring Hayley Williams of Paramore, Fame and Bet I featuring T.I. and Playboy Tre.

 Still not convinced? Well then I suggest you go see the man for yourself.  I recently saw B.O.B. and Lupe Fiasco at the Steppin Lasers tour in New York. It was one of the best shows I have ever attended, and if B.O.B. (or Lupe Fiasco for that matter) is coming to a town near you, you need to scratch together a few dollars and go. I guarantee it’s money well spent.

I won’t continue to rattle on, but I will end by saying this: B.O.B. is hugely talented, and I have a feeling we will hear a lot more from him in the future. Jump on the bandwagon kids! Get this album. You know I never lie.

So here goes nothing.

For those of you who don’t know me personally, on May 10, I finally became a graduate of Hampton University. In an unexpected and exciting turn of events I got accepted into the NBC Page Program and within three weeks of returning to Atlanta I was on a plane to New York to start a new chapter in my life. I must admit I had a myriad of feelings going into this situation: fear, excitement, anxiousness just to name a few.

Now, I have been here a few days shy of a month, and the feeling that penetrates most of my days is loneliness.

Don’t get me wrong America. I am enjoying my job. As hard as the Page Program pushes you, I have fallen into the routine of daily life there with incredible ease. The work is cool (it could be worse) and the people are great, but my mind always drifts back to my days at Hampton, and I can’t help but wish my Queens, my Sorhors and all of the other people that made that place great could be here with me…and I feel sad.

The transition is not easy. That goes without saying. And that’s for a few different reasons.

 First of all, I deal with a hellified commute. I work in Manhattan, but I live in New Jersey. On a good day the trip is 1.5 hours each way. Most days it’s 2 hours. That doesn’t really help my social life, as I am usually running to get back to the crib at a decent hour.

 Second of all, why didn’t anyone tell me that finding an apartment in New York is like buying a one-way ticket to the 7^th circle of hell? The ordeal is as interesting as it is stressful, especially since I’m currently ducking brokers who swear I owe them $1500. Yea…right. (Hope they are not reading…)

Third, shortly before making the big move, I lost someone who was a huge part of my life. No, he didn’t die, but he’s definitely not coming back. I won’t name names because I don’t think it’s appropriate, but just to recap the situation, I was in a pseudo, not so exclusive, somewhat convoluted relationship with this person for nearly a year. Basically, I was his dirty little secret. He never told anyone he was with me; in fact, he jumped through hoops to hide me. Now why did I put myself through this foolishness? I’m glad you asked.  For all his faults, he understood me and gave in to my incessant (and I’m sure annoying) prods and pleas for attention. But at the end of the day, I got fed up and I cut him loose. He responded with a tirade of hurtful text messages saying that he had planned to ask me to be his girl, and he didn’t want to be my friend and the clincher…he erased my number.

Can you say “hurt” America? I was so hurt, but when I really pulled myself together and thought about it, there really is something fundamentally awry within me. First, I let a man keep me under wraps that long. Second, when I think back, there were only five months during my entire college career where I was truly unattached to man.

That’s less than half a year.

So, I have to ask myself: what is it in me that makes me feel I need a man in my life to be happy? And the answer is I have no idea. I was not one of those kids with the sad, broken childhood searching for the love of my father and whatnot. My childhood was fine. My daddy loves me…that’s not the problem. Maybe I’ll figure it out before it’s too late.

Last, (and let’s not get sensitive here), I’m coming fresh off of four years surrounded by black folks. At the risk of sounding really silly, adjusting again to a majority environment is interesting. I would not call it hard, but it has its challenges. (White people don’t take any offense…I still love you J) I find myself holding my tongue a lot. It bothers me that I can’t totally be myself, but that’s the world we live in.

Meanwhile, I know what you’re saying: Michele you have only been in New York a month. Stop tripping! I know, I know. I am extremely blessed to have a job and especially one that affords me such awesome opportunities. As my friend told me last week, people do this everyday, but I guess I just needed to get it all off my chest.

All I can do is pray for better days. But until then…

Yours truly,

Lonesome Peach in the Big Apple

I know it’s been a long time America, but I had to come out of my semi-retirement as a blogger to say my piece about the BET awards.

Wow. Can you say train wreck?

In the wake of Michael Jackson’s sudden death, BET tried to revamp its award show to be a tribute to the late King of Pop. What ensued was a shabby, poorly scripted three and a half hours of television. It was nothing short of a mess…and I’m being nice.

What I don’t understand is why BET can’t ever seem to provide a show with even an inkling of decent production value. Can someone explain this to me? The MTV awards always seem to go off without a hitch, and both channels are owned by media mega-company Viacom.  What is the problem?

For those of you who were lucky enough to miss it, I’ll recap.

I don’t think I have enough time or space to individually name all of the awful moments of the 2009 BET Awards, but some notable screw ups include:

1) The awkward pause as Jamie Foxx asked the production crew if they were on the air

2) Trey Songz’s lack of ability to read

3) Zoe Saldana telling the nation (or at least the part of the nation that watched this mess) that her co-presenter was in the ladies room

4)  BET’s arbitrary decisions to name nominees for some categories and not for others

5) Jamie Foxx’s many attempts to pump up a generally unenthusiastic audience

And trust me there were many more.

In my mind, the bottom line is this: Michael Jackson was a perfectionist. Dead or alive, I don’t think he would appreciate anything put together this badly in his name.

A short tribute video would have been sufficient BET. If you are going to do something, do it right.

That is all.

I would like to inform you that I have officially bought into the hype. Slumdog Millionaire is one of the greatest movies of all time. No, I am not exaggerating.

The movie raked in a number of awards this year, winning an amazing eight Oscars and four Golden Globes. However, in my book, that hardly constitutes greatness. I have lost count of how many times I have sat down to watch an Oscar-winning film and ended up cursing the Academy and asking God for those two hours of my life back. But, lucky you, I took one for the team and watched it for all of us, and lucky me, it was nothing short of awesome.

Like another one of my fave flicks this year (The Namesake), Slumdog Millionaire casts a rare spotlight on Indian culture. Based on the book, Q&A, by Indian author Vika Swarup, the movie tells the story of Jamal Malik, a young man from the slums of India. Jamal competes on the popular television show, Who Wants to be a Millionaire, in hopes of catching the eye of his long lost love, Latika.

It sounds simple, right? I know. I thought so too; however, this movie is anything but simple. The only word I can think of to describe it is masterful. Slumdog Millionaire interweaves a variety of storylines and images to create a beautiful love story.

As usual, if you have a couple of hours in your busy schedule, I implore you to give Slumdog Millionaire a chance. Trust me…I rented it twice. The awards and fanfare are well deserved.

Judging by the rampant coverage on CNN and other cable news channels, I can make a safe bet that all that needs to be said on the following subject has already been said by one person or another; however, I cannot leave you without putting in my two cents. Three letters and a lot of ill feelings have been flying around this week. That’s right: AIG.

As usual, for those of you who are out of the loop, I’ll do a quick recap. AIG executives are under fire this week for doling out more than $165 million in bonuses months after accepting more than $170 billion in federal assistance.

By the way federal assistance = your tax dollars. See the issue?

According to CNN.com, President Obama took responsibility for the debacle Wednesday saying, “”I know Washington’s all in a tizzy and everybody’s pointing fingers at each other and saying it’s their fault, the Democrats’ fault, the Republicans’ fault. Listen, I will take responsibility. I’m the president.”

I just have one thing to say. Besides being an unacceptable error in the language of the stimulus bill, I feel like anyone who speaks English with any degree of comprehension knows that the word, “bonus,” implies that you’re doing a good job. Since clearly that isn’t the case, why in the world did AIG executives feel that they deserved bonuses? I mean, really. These people are congratulating each other on being the masters of the universe while the bulk of the American people are struggling to keep their homes and their jobs.

Truthfully, I don’t think we’ll ever get an answer to that question. It’s just another illustration of the insatiable greed that got our country in this position in the first place.

I just know one thing. I better get my money back…or else.

I just have one question: ladies and gentlemen, what’s in a name? On one hand, a name can be the difference between getting a job interview and being another resume in the closet at You-Name-It, Inc. On the other hand, a name can be an interesting conversation piece. I say all of this to say: America, think before you name your kids. Now, many of us may not be at that point in our lives yet, but I feel the need to plant this seed in your minds early.

There are two categories of names that really bother me. First, is the “I’m a cool, hippie celebrity so I can name my child whatever I want” name. Some notable examples include award winning actress Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter, Apple, and who could forget the king of pop’s son, Prince Micheal. Listen here, you may be famous, but your kid’s name is still stupid, period. Celebrities, you might be able to get away with this odd behavior because you’re famous, but the bottom line is, it still looks like you picked your child’s name off of a Scrabble board. Stop it, please.

Now, I must talk to my people. Black people…I think you already know what I am going to say. Please stop giving your kids these weird names. I know you think you’re being different and exotic, but at the risk of sounding mean, it just sounds ghetto. Yes, ghetto. Sorry guys. You are giving your kids the stamp of shame.

Now, I know what you’re asking. What names are considered ridiculous and down right unacceptable? Well let’s set down some guidelines. Let’s see. If it starts with a “Z”, leave it in the book where you found it. If it’s over three syllables, don’t even think about it. Next, apostrophes, hyphens or any other arbitrary punctuation are a strict violation. Finally, I’ll go out on a limb and say nouns and adjectives are a no no. Thinking about naming your child Precious or Queen? Don’t. This is not an Alex Haley novel; it’s not okay.

Please don’t get offended. I’m not telling you to conform. I’m telling you to be mindful. It’s fine to be different, but “Rundasia” is not different; it’s crazy.

That is all.

If you have been following news in the entertainment world lately, you might already know what today’s topic will be. Yes, you got it. Entertainment news outlets are reporting that Chris Brown and Rihanna are back together.  In the past, I have declined to blog about this topic because, let’s face it, everybody else already was, and I still don’t want to talk about the actual incident. I want to ask a question: put in Rihanna’s situation, would you go back to Chris Brown? How far is too far when it comes to sticking by your man?

Now, I know, I know. They are in love and he’s sorry and all that jazz. Now that we’ve gotten those minor details out of the way, I will answer present my case.

Considering the pictures that have been released showing the blood in the car and the damage to Rihanna’s face, I can say with wavering confidence that I could not go back to him. Why wavering confidence? I’m glad you asked. I know what it is to be in love, and I know how blind it can make you. However, I think my fear would overpower my love. Let’s be real; domestic violence usually is not a one-time thing. Assuming that the pictures are authentic and the information that has been released is true, he didn’t just grab her and shake her up a little bit. In all honesty, I could get over that. No, he slapped her around, and statistics would suggest this will not be the last time.

At the end of the day, I guess it’s unfortunate for Rihanna that she had to go through this in the spotlight. She is not different from many women. Most women would go back to the man that they love.

What would you do?

Sigh. Here’s the thing. Not only did 14-year-old Travis the chimpanzee escape, he used a key. That’s right. He didn’t chew through the cage or slip through the bars; he picked up a key, unlocked the door and walked out. The moral of the story? People should not own wild animals, but they definitely shouldn’t own smart and wild animals. At least a tiger can’t unlock a cage door.

Furthermore, this was not the first time Travis attempted his great escape. According to CNN.com, in 2003, the 200 lb. animal terrorized the Stamford, Connecticut community before being caught. All evidence points to the conclusion that she should have gotten rid of him then, but common sense just isn’t as common as we all thought.

The bottom line is wild animals are not akin to the cute, cuddly creatures we see in cartoons on the Disney Channel. Think about that the next time you (or your friend) think it would be a cool idea to own a boa constrictor or a something equally dangerous. This is not the Jungle Book. One day, you’ll find yourself on the evening news wondering why.

That is all.

I argued that you can get further with intelligence than with physical beauty. She argued the opposite, and I have invited her to write her argument for the blog so keep reading for that.

Okay. I know. I know. Some of you are shouting at your computer screen, “By golly she’s right!” Others of you are shouting, “girl please…you’re crazy!” Well, hear me out. By the way, I am well of aware that it is advantageous to possess both qualities, but if I had to choose one or the other, I would choose to be smart. My argument is simple: smart can get pretty, but pretty can’t necessarily get smart.

Intelligence can take you places people. In my experience, having “smarts” leads to a more financially stable life. You can get promoted faster because you’re simply better at what you do than your peers. And when you earn more money, you can get a makeover. Seriously, it’s true.

On the other side of the spectrum, I will admit, if you’re pretty and dumb as a bag of rocks, you can be financially stable too. Let’s face it; in the world we live in, physical beauty can lead to some serious cash flow. The real issue is staying power. I hate to be cliché but beauty fades.

Now, it may seem wrong to cite examples, but I want you to know where I’m coming from. Oprah. Yea, I said it. Let’s be real. When she first came on the scene, she was not particularly attractive, at least not to me. But the lady is dog gone smart. I’m pretty sure nobody will deny that, and because of her intelligence and business acumen, she is on top of the world…and she doesn’t look half bad these days either. I could cite more examples, but I won’t go there.

But hey, this is America, right? Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. I have made my perspective clear, but I would like to know yours.

I’m ready. Have at it.