Words Influenced to Influence

Without the Dead Bodies I carried ©️2020

8 years ago
You were a part of me
A vital element of my table
A limb

But you fell off
Broke away from our connection
some say jealousy
others call it vampirism.
All I know is,
You no longer drain my oil.

8 years ago
I was full on
full blown, sick
too gone too see clearly the toll you were taking on me
The toxicity of your daily diet of drama
caused me diabetes, high blood pressure, and gout.

8 years ago I would have died for you.
I was dying from you, so why not martyr myself on costume love,
Like jewelry.
It dresses up nicely as long as no one sees the tarnishes in the metals.

8 years ago
I had no time worthwhile under my belt. I was feverishly exsisting but not living.
I couldn't find my own books in the liberation of my life.

Now I look back 8 years and see the world forward I've come. Without you.
Without the weights of us on my shoulders.

Let time flower
I've more pruning left. It's ok to let vines wither.
Conserve your soul.
Let 8 years of freedom count for something.

And don't be saddened by it.
Be prepared.

Paradise ©️2020

Creating paradise where I am
out of nothing more than a great desire for peace.

Lifting worship from a dusty place
Allowing creativity to flow like oceans from my eyes.

Willing the grasses to grow in the right directions for optimum brilliance in the sun.

I'm making paradise where I am. Conjuring a wholeness from the pieces of my new life I choose to keep.

They are assembled carefully
Stacked ever so painstakingly
To manifest a new home.
A stable sanctuary built out of love for myself.

Paradise!
By
R. Shawntez Jackson

That song you can't shake ©️2019

There's a song I carry
It's stuck in me
A part of my sinew now
Victory music
Resting in my bones
the story of my ancestors
the ways and means to understanding
the Joy's of patience love
and what prayers can accomplish in cover
How blood in music and faith can heal brokenness

"It's in my veins
It's in my veins
While the blood is running warm in my veins."

"Hold my hand Lord
Hold my hand
Hold my hand Lord
Hold my hand
While I'm on this teedjus (tedious) journey
I want JESUS to hold my hand...."

These hymns of lament
Cast iron to peaceless nights
and trembling bones
the melodies shed light that soothes the shaking sensation that flood us.

I'm walking around with classics
playing out in my actions
a different type of playlist
Surging my psyche
Positioning me
In ways I couldn't realize on my own
without the constant repetitions taught in family prayer practices
and temple in the true body
singing the truths erupting from my soul
What soul music is meant to do
Minister magic in times of tremble

By Ramon Shawntez Jackson

Church, S*x & Video ©️2019

3rd time today.
Checking for a golden flower in a purple sea
Walking the bruises out of my ears
and the searing in my inbox.
searching for a resolution to the reflux burn
creating keloids around my heart.
A condition of not understanding
Love languages, alternative communication, instincts, healthy s*xuality vs.
reinvigorating s*x and plain old lust.
where true love lays in the actions, or honor, and trust, and intimacy.
devotion changers.

It's the bases of a powerful tea
sometimes intoxicating enough
to wash out the actual facts
said to aid in letting go
of the bu****it too small to count but I'm
constipated offa faked ideology
& doctrines that don't make room for my gifts
Or career care less about the needs of the people. Cause the freak fell out
creepers got the spotlight as a commentator instead of a participant like usual.
False witnesses are likened unto a tidle wave of glass where everyone bleeds unnecessarily.

The instructions say I must pulverized everything
Get it all out & down to dust
then Steep it in something sweet
a pure scalding liquid.

instructions are smeared
The pages torn and stained
Unraveling spinning
"...drink?"

"If it will make me forget."

or at least stop acting high and mighty
like we aren't all scarred and flawed.
By R. Shawntez Jackson

#9

REVOLT©️2019

Got a piece of stone in my pocket
I can call on the ancestors with it and somebody gone die
Watch 'em fall by the fireside
Rifle in hands and not a sound
I got blue eyed African Angels in my hustle
And a stone in my pocket
And the promise of wil power in my tongue

What happens when the bad man falls?
What happens when the war is over?

By Ramon Shawntez Jackson

Such an honor.

Episode 4 - Poetic touch & Intellectuality Episode 4 - Performance art & Intellectuality In this episode I had the honor of interviewing East bay native R. Shawntez Jackson, aka “Shawntez the Poet”. He is an award winning poet/ spoken word artist, dramaturg, creative director, producer, playwright, professional actor, community planner a...