the louderARTS Project

Blair

BLAIR is an award winning self described Urban Folk Poet/Singer/Songwriter from Detroit, MI. In the words of Metro Times journalist Melissa Giannini, "Blair focuses his work on the hope that rises from the ashes of despair." In 2005, he was part of Walk & Squawk Theater Company's The Walking Project as both a writer and performer. The piece was performed in KwaZulu Natal, South Africa and will run in other parts of the world over the next two years.

BLAIR is a 2002 NATIONAL POETRY SLAM CHAMPION-Team Detroit. He's been nominated for 7 Detroit Music Awards, including Outstanding Acoustic Artist and Outstanding Acoustic Recording for his album Jet Black/White Noise. In addition to holding the post of Poetry Editor at The Furnace Magazine, Blair is also a poetry instructor in Detroit Public Schools as part of the city's Inside Out Literary Arts Project. BLAIR is the January 2005 HBO Def Poerty Jam Featured Poet. He currently studies privately with a poetry instructor. Blair's won BEST FOLK ARTIST from Real Detroit Weekly and the Detroit/Wayne County Council for the Arts, History and Humanities Performance Award in 2003. He's also Def Poetry Jam/Metro Times 2003 Poetry Contest winner.


WWW.BLAIRPOETRY.COM




Fat Bastard
Cape Town, South Africa

Let us fill your glasses. This wine is made
by us women on a farm once owned by men.
A new constitution intoxicates the nation. We women
plant the seeds, irrigate the land, wait for grapes
to grow into perfection, then crush them into wine.
Bottle it up like old resentment and sell it.
In 1995, the whiner protested "It's not worth it"
trying to hold onto a piece of shifting ground.
Said "You may as well take it all."
Then claimed he didn't mean it.      But we took it anyway,
nursing his sour grapes as we have for decades.
Our cooperative farm is ten years old. We women
fatten our collective pocket, keep the quality high and gratefully,
never miss an opportunity to thank our former boss.
We raise a glass and our new name
                                                            to him!

Her Jazz

we couldn't hear her screams
over the sounds of the machines
so we just left her there
innocently
trying to shed snake skin eyes
they lay their hands on heaven and it burned
the smell of smoke and angel wings
filled the room
chiarascuro never seemed so fresh


"fly"

she pleaded though it fell upon bat ears
walk, don't walk, walk don't walk
flashed like a letcher in the park
and now too many things remind her of
too many things

everyday is like
what fresh hell is this?
every night is like a klan rally on the front lawn

it seems that
rape is like a short brick wall
too high to jump
yet too short to think you can't
it's got no legs
they walked away with it's soul

these machines pulled a train
as she lay there all
I think I can
I think I can

i think I can
but there was no can open
              'er eyes welled up
like
two jiggers of whiskey while
they waited to be drunk and devoured
longed to be lengthy

the machines ate fear and excreted arrogance
these power hungry fuck dogs
these buckets of false pride
these open head wounds posing as pillars of strength

"so now what?"
she shook


it was a shy gun and
it would be a soft kill yet she would mean
every inch of it
as she stood there all nickel plated
arms outstretched
she tried to stop crying
but she didn't know that song yet

she wanted to strum the strings of a peaceful sitar but
she didn't know that song yet

she wanted to compose a symphony of decision
but she didn't know that song yet

she wanted to sing the truth
but she wasn't sure that she still had a voice

and now her jazz was about to get real avant garde
the wailing saxophone of her mother
the bellowing tuba of her father
the hammering bop drum of his
the soft long piano of her life
playing the song of
one
more
decision



© Blair



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