Can Words Birth Voices: ...If No One Is Listening

By Shake the Poet

Can Word Birth Voices is a book of lyrical works comprised from a collection of poetry by Richard A. White, known to the Spoken Word World as Shake the Poet. These poems are of varius topics, stemming from love and sex to politics and personal life experiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 9, 2010
• ISBN: 9781463464356

Shake the Poet

Shake the Poet was born Richard White, quite some time ago in Brooklyn New York. Raised in Newark, New Jersey, Richard discovered his love for writing poetry by age 12. In his college years at Montclair State University, Richard was named 'Black Shakespeare' by friends who would listen to his poetry recitals. After September 11th 2001, Richard joined the US Army and was stationed in Fort Hood, TX. While in Texas, Richard discovered that he had landed in what seemed to be the Mecca of Spoken Word. Central Texas was a flowering world of poetry, filled with open mic venues and competitions. With new stages available and a cast of insightful and imaginative new friends Richard honed his talents and joined the ranks of National Slam Poets and elite spoken word artists from across the country.

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© 2010 Shake the Poet. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/1/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6377-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-6435-6 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010912577

Printed in the United States of America

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Paintings

Should I Hate This Nigga

She is God

Can I Speak For Us All

HANDS OF TIME

Scared tissue

A BEAUTIFUL CREATION

Chocolate Addiction

FIRST DATE

I AM...THE POEM

Deep Breaths

Gospel Truth

Graffiti on the Wall

Boogie Man

Your Smile, Your Smile

Your Man for a Moment

Late Night Writing Session

What Was My Name

Waited For You Last Night

Her Heart Beats Faster Than His

TURMOIL AND TOURNIQUETS

True Feelings

This is a Love Poem

THIS… IS… ABOUT… OIL

Who’s protecting our daughters and raising our sons

This is About Oil Pt 2

Our Lifetime

A PEACEFUL SLUMBER

Honestly Baby,

My Bitch Poem pt.1

Bounty on My Tongue

DEF-inition

I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN

I WANNA BE

I.E.D

I Escaped Death

I Have a Dream

In Her Eyes

Letters to Iraq

Love Affair Smile

Love is---

Love You Past Your Pain

Maybe angels don’t…---

Moonbeam

NO REGRETS

There’s No Sunshine in This Poem

Roles

She is God---

She Don’t Blush

Soft Skin

Sounds of Music

Cancer

143 WAYS TO LOVE YOU

Who We Were

Book of Her

Clown Faces

Praying to See

Naked Beauty

Is she Love

A Foreword on Shake the Poet

by Y

Shake the Poet, a New Jersey native, whose most recent anchor in the human experience has attached him for three or four years now to the Central Texas hill country, lives with vibrancy in the letters — vowels and consonants — contained herein. His license as a linguistic craftsman reaches new heights in the present collection of thoughts and emotions that have been inked with painstaking effort into a poetic opus, which spans an impressively broad thematic range, encompassing family, relational intimacy, love, pain, suffering, conflict, healing, resolution, politics, contemporary and popular culture, representational agency and, as the phrase is most commonly reverberated in the brilliant vernacular of both urban and rural communities, keeping it real.

Known as not only the poet, Shake is also characterized within his sphere of influence and various poetic circles as a poet, prophet and prodigy, one who speaks lyrically, with a prescience that is profound, seasoned and, most importantly, sincere. Of the more poignant works in the collection is the piece Overcoming Cancer, wherein Shake expresses,

I’m dying inside/but not today … as long as I’m still breathing/I’m going to live today like there’s a thousand tomorrows

Shake clearly immerses himself in the process of writing. The juxtaposed solemnity and hopefulness of the above lines from Overcoming Cancer present the reader public with a powerful and resonant imagery, while capturing not only a reflective and emotional moment for the author, Shake, but succeeding in the expression of an involved approach to writing and life realized within the words of each creative rendering. The process of language, idea and imagistic creation shine, as well, on other works: Drowning Myself, This Is About Oil, 143 Ways to Love You, If I Were President, He Hate Me and Poets Beef with Rappers, to name a few. Though primarily known as a spoken wordsmith and slam artist, Shake the Poet passes the poetic written examination with As — Es, Is, Os, Us and sometimes Ys. He makes a convincing and impactful translation from the oral tradition (spitting verse into the openness of space) to delivering and taming language on sheets of paper and between college-rule notebook lines.

Hold this work of poetry in your hands and embrace it with your mind. Use eyes wide open to observe it and employ the longing for transcendence or the wisdom of experience to reach (or, at least, approximate) it from your cerebral station in this realm of existence.

Paintings

If I could paint you a picture of my emotions… my tongue would be the paintbrush, your body…

My Canvas.

Can we make art together?

Let me take these Reds, Orange and Yellows- mixed with your tears and create water colors to cover your scars, finger paint charms across your arms,

a crown above your head before I join you in bed…. My Queen.

Woman who wears weary wounds of war so well, like he wrote in Braille,

the pain you’ve endured- pour yourself into me….

And I will bleed until your blues are perfectly purple/

until your every problem is mixed with pleasure of equal measure,

then I’ll apply pressure to your treasures and squeeze diamonds from your hymen…

Can I paint you this picture….

Can I kiss your every inch without you tensing up

or lay you down without you getting up,

just let me touch, as deep as I can go- let me make love to your toes….

Let each one wiggle as they’re tickled by my tongue,

place your feet on my chest- your knees toward your breast and let your pelvis do the rest,

I remain erect, planting in your garden, deeper…harder…

reaching farther into your heart into this dark room,

let me massage you while I’m inside you, lay beside you,

moan me a tune to grind to, behind you…

in deep enough to combine with you until you cum spinal fluids.

I wanna stay running on your mental elliptical machine through your dreams….

Until you see me and begin to cream through your jeans,

squirt through your skirt and leave a mess on your dress.

Baby let down your night gown after our night on the town….

Don’t make a sound….just show me how, and I’ll do it.

Speaking your body’s language fluently,

appraising your precious jewelry while I make your skin glisten….

Baby I will listen….

I hear everything your body is saying, but right now our souls are praying –

Can I paint you this picture…

Where just the right mixture makes the perfect elixir,

Our fingers interlocked, eyes locked on your eyes, I’m wrapped in your thighs, temperatures rising,

kiss the back of your eyelid when you blink…deeper I sink,

share this with me, inhibitions to the winds, get careless with me, share bliss with me.

Ecstasy, head, breakfast in bed, your hunger will be fed….

Just the way you like it,

bite it til you write it across my chest, stake claim to my flesh,

lay my head on your breasts, deep breath and rest, our first draft….

Let me run you a bath…. Vanilla bubbles, I wanna touch you,

wash your hair, your back, dry you off lay flat… massage oil treatment….

Give you all of my secrets, you keep them,

we’re in the perfect position to mention them, teach me from your own curriculum,

I’m eager to learn and easily taught and persuaded

Let’s fall in Love and make it, sacred, let’s paint it naked, can you take it…

Can I paint you this picture…

Picasso your problems and private parts….this is the art from my heart;

I’ll start with some Van Gogh

And go where no man’s hands have touched;

gently brush the Divinci off of your Buonarroti,

Salvador Dali, make your Mona Lisa smile while we lay Monet…

let me sculpt your orgasms, paint your pains away,

Perfectionist, Impressionist, sexual medicine,

pure/ emotional cure/ for /you to explore/ your/ options… we aint stopping….

Just ink blotching, erasing your problems,

enjoy this picture, this painting,

creating a masterpiece in these sheets,

sleep with me, Beauty and Beast with me,

dream of me in between your sea and ocean, floating on hopes…

lotion your openings, caressing every tip….

the taste of your lips drips from my lips to your hips when I kiss them,

holding your wrists, against the wall as you crawl toward the ceiling,

sexual healing, the feeling you’re feeling as I’ peeling through your clothes

to expose your most erogenous zones is driving you crazy….

Baby amaze me, lay me like a bed of stones and take control….

Can I paint you this picture…

of the two of us making love in a bed of bliss, smoke of incense,

emotions intense, can we share this art form,

make your heart warm when I enter your soul….hold you…

mold you a happier morning after and an afternoon of laughter to end the chapter…

make every moment matter…

Picture perfect, no frames nor borders, days change like quarters,

lets Sun bathe as Sun rays pour upon us….

Leave an image that lasts a lifetime, forever displayed in the museum of your imagination….

my infatuation, into our creation…..love making…..

Can I paint you this picture

Should I Hate This Nigga

Should I hate this Nigga right now…

He ain’t taking care of his child, he’s the reason she no longer smiles and walks with her head down,

Step-child is getting the attention that should be given to his own children

His spending habits for his own bastards don’t matter, make their Momma manage

Two year old walking and two in the baby carriage

Her only flaw…is having 3 babies before marriage… She was naïve back then

Now she’s so mad at him she no longer dates Black Men

Should I hate this Nigga right now…

Perfect woman by his side, his bride but his pride got him thinking his shit don’t stink

Dirty laundry hidden under his sink; he beats her

Treats her like property he ain’t handling her properly, and it’s no secret

Along with the beatings he’s cheating, sleeping around, using every means of keeping her down

He’s a clown, his life…kinda like a circus, no job the Nigga is worthless

He even goes to church to flirt