Eclecticism is the word. Like a jazz musician who creates his own style out of the styles around him, I play by ear.
In this time, in search of the dream that eludes me
I am a beat conscious, bohemian sort of sophisticated hippie
slash 21st century griot to the core, with a fetish
for the lingua franca, because my native tongue lives in the poet tree.
In this time, I continue the struggle of wordsmiths before me
in the name of freedom of expression as a young warrior poet
with the soul of a sage inhabiting the body of an eclectic collector
of breaks, rare grooves, and revolutions at 33 and a 3rd
(along with the aural biographies of Miles, Monk, Trane & Bird).
& in this time, I remain humble regardless of the wealth of myself
beside me. words I manifest give meaning to the jazz
that makes seasons swing & forces unseen seem
like footnotes to that same dream, remaining to be seen,
though it resides in me–for I am the metaphor
deconstructing verses from news with words
born to be poems speaking in an idiom of individuality
that hopes to create hues both infinite and eternal
in the spaces in between these indelible blues, forever
beckoning us back through the continuum of humanity.