As the blue moon climbs over the Potomac River,
I lay my tired body down next to the planted field.
Momma tells me that I’ll turn 13 tomorrow; my birthday wish….to be free
Like brail, the scars on my back speak to the humility in my life.
My dog Jip lays beside me and with a warm tongue conveys everything will be fine.

It’s the early fall here at Georgetown University
My name is Cornelius, Cornelius Hawkins and I write these words so you know my plight.
Here with me are my father, mother and 2 yr old sister.
We toil the field from dawn to dusk…the salt herring and cornmeal give us strength.
And my hands are forever clinging to this rosary and I pray God will hear my prayers.

I can’t begin to tell how afraid I am each and every day.
I try not to dwell on our strife and struggles, but day dream of downright happiness.
My family and our ancestors before us have been confined to slavery for 200 years.
Momma always says “There is no slavery, just ignorance”.
I hold her words near and dear to my heart and I never give up hope for a better life.

"The present is gone. Fantasy is a part of reality
and we take the breaks off. We're thinking clearly
yet not thinking at all, and this feels right.
We stop trying to control things,
The warm rush of chemicals through us. Is this brain damage?
We forget all the hurt and pain in life.
We wanna go somewhere else. We're not threatened by people anymore. All our insecurities have evaporated.
We're in the clouds now. Wide open,
We're spacemen, orbiting the earth.
Yeah, the world looks beautiful from here man.
We're nympholeptics, desiring for the unattainable.
We risk sanity for moments of temporary enlightenment.
So many ideas, so little memory. The last thought killed by anticipation of the next.
We embrace an overwhelming feeling of love.
We flow, in unison. We're together.
I wish this was real.
We want a universal level of togetherness, where we're comfortable with everyone.
We're in rhythm. Part of the movement, a movement to escape.
We wave goodbye.
Ultimately, we just want to be happy.
Yeah, yeah!
Hang on,
What the **** was I just talking about?"
*-Jip

The spoon's side jumped
Between moon shaped glasses,
He jip jived dipped and dived
Forward more toward something resembling music.
 
A fresh song and dance.
New tunes through an ordinary water holder,
Nestled between plate and napkin.
The sound got his mate all jazzed up,
So he joined with his own swift swinging tune.
Who knew that dining things could own a beat?
 
They found a new way to show
They had a rhythm from their fingers to their toes.
It was them together.
Hearing things they thought they would never.
 
So they skedaddled downtown
Piddle paddling through the streets.
Clanking their feet into light poles until their soles were sore.
Smacking hands on drums where knees used to be.
 
They threw nonsensical sounds around that made sense together,
They flowed like a bird’s song to its dear old Mrs.
Common sounds with a unique meaning.
They were loud and crazy with a vision slightly hazy,
For they didn't see the sheriff approaching.
 
The sheriff caused a bigger scene then they ever were,
Yelling and wrestling with them.
He stopped their show saying, "There ain't none of those nonsense words on my street, especially not from your kind."
 
How kind they were,
They left without a question.
There was no need to fuss and rush
They were goin'.
 
They thought that with sounds like these
There was no use wasting them on empty streets
And park benches.
 
Back to the club they ran
Eager to hear their cheering fans they had left behind to show the streets their new found sound.
 
That stage is where it started
And stayed for a while.
On that stage their imaginations could run ramped on an empty canvas of ears.
 
But on their stage they had to stay.
Hidden.
For a little while,
You see the streets weren't ready to be shown these beats,
This wasn't Joe Schmos show put on every Thursday afternoon near the salad bar,
Quiet enough not to disturb the guests but just enough to give a nice background noise to their chewing,
Oh no, no, no.
 
This was jazz.

when i was a kid we had a neighbour, mrs hargreaves who had a phone and a visiting dog. jip.

not many had phones then and we would go across the main road to the call box

or use hers in an emergency only

any way the dog was homely looking

with no fashions then in breed except perhaps the pekingnese

wandering the backstreets of this small town came to the football pitch by the allotments

getting on to lunch time it was

spoke to a lady with her dog a corgi/jack russell cross and talked in admiration

she thanked me and explained that he liked a walk before they went to bed and i wondered

then made my way back into town

where a cat was sitting in the road