Wednesday, January 26, 2011


She had a dreamcatcher on her back that was tatted there to catch her aspirations before they escaped her
Intricate weaving weeping out any that shouldn’t be there
It rests just under hair
With feathers there to weather the storm, so she could soar above the clouds
She’s fly
Even when life throws her partly cloudy skies
She got foresight clear enough to navigate to her destination
Nations mingled into her single complexion restin beneath a tattoo
But covering a work of art
I’m tellin you, she’s fly
And she don’t even know it.
Refuses to get high off the air up there
Yet her feet are placed sound on the ground
Sometimes unsure of her next step
Unrest requests her soul to walk among us as a rule
But her spirit obeys no laws at all.
Not even gravity.
She’s fly.
And if you ever wanna ascend to her level
You gotta give in to the wind
And ride it.
She is why I am no longer afraid of heights.


Waiting on the bus today I met this man
He had on a tan work jumpsuit
And Lifes lessons left him with a streak of gray that trickled from his temples down his cheek
As if he cried from his thoughts instead of his eyes
Wisdom dripped from every word he spoke
like they had been dipped in his stream of consciousness
He was a gravedigger.
He didn't smell like dead ppl
In fact
when the wind blew, his cigarette smoke smelled like flowers
With a hint of dirt
Like he himself had been planted there as a tribute to a transitioning soul
He had dirt on the boot soles
soaked to his knees like he decided to pluck himself and take a look around life
He said the graveyard was peaceful.
Dead ppl don't raise no hell like the living
Instead they welcome you with open arms that speak peace in silence
Instead of a piece with no silencer
They don't sneak up on you
They don't carry guns
Because they won't kill spirits
I wish we knew this prior to heaven
Maybe then we wouldn't assasinate the spirits of our children
The spirits of our brothers
The spirits of our women
Spirits should be given wisdom
Imparted by souls that left before us
And right then I wondered
As he drove the spade of his shovel in to dirt
If he dug up ancestral wisdom in the process
And couldn't contain it all
And that's why it cries from his temples in the color gray
Irrigating to his mouth
He spits this same truth to me
some lands on the ground
and a sapling seeps from the cracked concrete beneath us
His teeth remind me of tombstones
Standing strong where some have fallen
He rolls lillies into tobacco paper.
Says that it ain't no use in complaining
And smoke signals his worries to the heavens like rising spirits
His calves are shaped like the same spades he makes graves with
As the bus arrives
he digs them curb deep in to the street
and boards his bus.
the pollution from the muffler fertilizes the thoughts he has just planted.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

T. Odis @ Ball State University

This is the entire poem from the Black Ice Presents: The Unspeakable show! Enjoy!!!!
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Sunday, January 9, 2011


THANK YOU, from the depths of my soul, to all who came out to features this week, as well as those who were there in spirit. Stay posted for my next show!


T. Odis

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