Remembering back on times of good… (a player’s story redux)

It’s a great feeling being back in one’s hometown. Relaxing and speaking with old friends who are basically like family. Driving around the old parts where one use to ‘hang out” before growing older and having more responsibility.

I remember the old neighborhood, playing b-ball, bike racing, old rap battles and yes, video game play. I remember the absent of ones who left so long ago but memories will never be forgotten.

Not with me, never that.

I drove past yesterday an old poetry spot that isn’t in existence anymore, it was a bookstore called “Afrocentric Books and Cafe.” It was located on Olive Blvd in St. Louis County, a great bookstore, great conversation with the owner and his wife. Crazy enough it was the first place I read poetry at, a small venue roughly made up of six people would gather and just read their musings of the day.

Or even weeks for that matter.

This was also the place where I accidentally participated in a poetry slam. (yes people, this was before Russell Simmons Def Jam Poetry lol). Now at that time, I had no idea what a poetry slam was. I was under the impression it was just another poetry reading in which I brought a date to at the time. I told her I wrote poetry (mind you this was back in 2001) and she said she would love to hear it. So since I at previous poetry readings, this place came to mind. She agreed, we went but now it was different.

The major difference was there wasn’t a small group of people any more, I spoke of six, now try forty. I was nervous but didn’t panic, how could I, my date was staring at me and spoke softly, “This doesn’t look like a poetry reading like I seen on television.” I replied, “Uh, well…… I guess not.” Still, I signed my name up, anxiously I might add and go through with it. The night was a buzz, numerous poets, all genders, variety of age ranges all were present along with a childhood friend, MK Stallings, who now with two other guys owned the bookstore (the previous owners moved to the east coast just months prior to this event).

Alright, now to the event. I was close to last to perform and while watching the other poets step up my fear of “messing up” became greater. There were a lot of good poets, some even great that night (MK Stallings didn’t perform but he was a great poet in his own right) as I pondered feverishly “how can I do this…” But I couldn’t look like a “punk” so I did not back out. The majority of poems that night were mostly love stores and sexual in nature with a few revolutionary pieces thrown into the mix. My poem was a little “different” and I really didn’t know how it would stand out with the crowd. They gave “mad thanks” for what they heard from the other poets but I read it anyway. Hell, why not?

It was called “A Player’s Story.”

I know what you are thinking, “Where is the damn poem K.G??” Well, unfortunately, I can’t find it but rest assured when I do I will place it on my blog. I will see to it when I return home next week. Back to the story, this poem started off as a love poem, sex poem but at the end it made everyone stop, one person even said “damn!?” I don’t want to give away the ending so just wait until I post it. My date was impressed which made me think it was all worth it after all.

Yep, that was one of the things I thought about since being back in “Da Lou.” Crazy isn’t it?

Well more so as a middle age man thinking back on times of good…

“Reblogged due to me placing the poem in my reblogged post SMH!!”

Hey,…

as I stated before this was the poem I read during the poetry slam. Everyone and I mean everyone was reciting sexual content poetry and I came along with this…..

a player’s story

there she goes
man, the woman
of “nice” appeal
switching her eyes
back and forwards
grinning lecherous
at me, hell, I’m
da’ man of this
shit.

Player, player
wine chaser,
spicy nothings
whisper in close
proximity
your number
is our beginning
your trust
is your downfall.

Making progress
in getting to the homestead
obscure lights,
empty bottles
of light-headed
beverages.
The evening
was fading
into something
heated; as my hands
grasps
your thighs.

One beat motion
as our bodies
crashed into one
another,
mean-spirited
screams engulf
the room,
sexing
without vexing
was our tune.

This “creep” mission came to an end,
from casual associates
to intimate friends,
one factor she forgot
to convey,

she was the carrier
of AIDS.

And that was a wrap to the lovesick poems of that evening, hope you enjoyed and thanks again for visiting.