Voices From the Row: Nature Doesn’t Need an Alibi

Hotep,

Guest writers – here on W. O. R. D to the Masses – is nothing out of the ordinary.  I believe that everyone, even death row residence, have a voice.  Usually the only obstacle to their expression is the proper venue.  

The expressions that flow from my pen prove to be therapeutic, informative and sometimes inspirational.  So, I wanted to share my venue with the residence of North Carolina’s Death Row in order for them to share their expressions.

The plan is to make this segment a monthly installment, which would be a much welcome addition to this venue.  One problem; I’m very selective about the expressions displayed on this platform.  So, a monthly commitment is doable, but not probable.  If the writers are willing to bring the heat, then the blogosphere will feel the flames.  I can assure you of that.  Ya heard?

It’s no secret that J. Dushame Murrell is one of my favorite, “Voices From the Row.” His style of writing will captivate your ear if you’re willing to hear.  For example, “The Great White Shark – man made applause.” A great white shark devours and destroys; an applause is produced through the continuous action of hands.

In this particular expression, Dushame reveals his connection to nature through the slow death of our planet, by the hands of man.  In turn, he parallels the slow death of Mother Earth, to a potential state sanctioned execution, to be carried out by the same “man made applause.” Feel me?

You see, through Dushame’s expression, capital punishment is seen on a much broader scale.  The death that plagues this planet is killing all of us.  Expeditious or slow; nature is dwindling, through “man made applause.”

Still Livin,’

MannofStat

Copyright © 2014 by Leroy Elwood Mann

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Nature Doesn’t Need An Alibi

My laws of Nature adapt to withstand any attack from Jaws!

The Great White Shark – man made applause.

Give me a round of mold, plants and some Native BLOOD!

And maybe a lightning bug.

Dip my finger in the Dirt and Penicillin prescriptions will linger in the earth. 

I write for my ancestors picking tonight. 

Souls trapped in a MUD SLIDE.

You ain’t know, but that Glow-n-the Dark, isn’t a STAR.

It’s a Death Ride, Getting closer.

Killing Mother Earth with your pesticide.

Now you try-n-to kill me with some Chemical.

I guess success breeds confidence.

Cause a lot of hopes, done died inside this fence.

I hear another storm is coming but can’t find the eye!

I WONDER WHY? NATURE doesn’t need an Alibi.

J Dushame Murrell

Copyright © 2014

A Spoken Word…

Hotep,

I don’t attend church as often as I should, but today (3/30/14) I was drawn to the first floor conference room, in search of a Divine message.  It was there; I met a true revolutionary for Christ, the Reverend Ann Beck.  Her sermon was titled, “Divine Restoration,” and centered on John 9:1-7.  This is the story of Jesus restoring the sight of a blind man, using saliva and dirt. 

Sista Beck vigorously reminded the congregation that restoration comes through the Creator.  “Material things can’t restore our brokenness.  Trying to fix yourself without help only gets you into trouble.”

At the conclusion of the service, I introduced myself – revealing that I was a blogger inspired by her message.  I asked her to allow me to share this message with the world.  Her initial skepticism was overshadowed by the vigor of her mission, and translated her approval with a firm look and a stern, “yes, you may.”

I was thrilled to say the least.  The fire within her words inspires me to share an example of how one person’s brokenness can be used to restore the brokenness of others.  So here we go:

2k13 has come and gone.  For some, 2k13 came to an end in a similar fashion as all other years spent inside this box.  For me, 2k13 concluded with high hopes of prosperity, and an emotional hurricane that made our final class of the first semester, a literary milestone for anyone in attendance. 

You see, prior to 12/18/13 (final day of first semester) I wrote an essay that illuminated the brokenness surrounding the dress code for North Carolina death row prisoners.  

The title actually came to me in a dream.  “Blood On My Sleeves: the shade of reproof.” (http://word2themasses.blogspot.com/2013/12/blood-on-my-sleeves-shade-of-reproof.html)

I didn’t expect to share this expression with the class.  I wasn’t planning to post it on this blog either, but Divine Intervention will always prevail, right?  At the request of my classmates, I closed out the semester with a thought to grow on.  At the conclusion of reading this piece, a dry eye within our space was light years far from commonplace.  Feel me?

My disdain for the red jumpsuit somehow bridged a gap between myself and those garbed in civilian attire.  Crazy, right?  I mean, standing deep down in the valley; looking up at the beautiful snowcaps of the mountains above, I had no idea that my voice could trigger such an avalanche of pent-up emotions that would tether every person in that classroom, to the reality of being buried alive.  The sense of digging our way out is now, a universal understanding.

The restoration of my brokenness in 2k13 made way for a smooth transition with immeasurable optimism setting the pace.  This week of March 24, 2014 is worthy of being chronicled as a long-awaited transition; a transition that has been in the making since the origin of this W2TM movement. 

Four years ago, I merely wanted to be heard.  I wanted people to know that I am still here.  Today, I’m capitalizing on an opportunity to be heard on a much broader scale.  Na mean?

My journaling instructor, Mrs. Tessie Castillo, has been instrumental in helping me to understand that my position against capital punishment isn’t exclusive to my current circumstance.  This will be my life’s work.  I shared this with my team of literary expressionists, “FFLOW,” during our planning session on 3/27/14. 

I closed out the session with a much-spirited recite of, “Pace of Passion” (http://word2themasses.blogspot.com/2013/11/pace-of-passion.html).  This time it wasn’t my brokenness that reached the people; it was the realization that a spoken word can shake a dying soul.  Ya heard?

“Get the mud our of your mind.”

Reverend Ann Beck

Still Livin,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2014 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Doing What You Do

Hotep,

Former South African President, Nelson Mandela once said, “Forgiveness liberates the soul.”  Allow me to display the power within these immortal words:

William Little was the product of the 80’s crack era.  Gold chains, fly kicks, and the tightest whips were the goals of a young hustler seeking the street acclaim of his or her peers. 

“No one expected to live long.  Everyone expected to dress well.” Back then; a hustler lived for the day.  Tomorrow would work itself out.  Feel me?

William Little served 10 years in prison for the murder of Lamont Hatton’s younger brother.  Lamont Hatton was intent on avenging his brother’s murder.  For more than a decade, he watched his brother’s killer walking around their South Philly neighborhood as a community hero, speaking out against gun violence.  “My mentality at the time was either kill me, or I’ll kill you – I don’t care,” Little said.

Lamont Hatton spent many days in the barbershop where Little was employed.  Without Little knowing who Lamont was, the brother of his victim was able to covertly stalk him.  

Eventually, Lamont realized he would be doing his community’s youth a disservice by servicing his own selfish needs for vengeance. “I remember thinking, I’m no angel.  People forgave me.  Why can’t I forgive Will?  I can be around this brother now.  I don’t have no hatred.”

Lamont watched Will run after school mentoring sessions throughout the city.  He watched Little lead hardcore poetry slams that dramatized life-changing choices with the realness of a man finding new life.

As I write this, I can’t help but think of the grave lengths the state of North Carolina is going through to cause and witness my death.  My covert stalkers are willing to spend millions of dollars for my state sanctioned execution.  

The combination of meals, appeals, medical expenses and housing makes the common taxpayer a prisoner as well.  The practice of capital punishment covertly stalks the prisoner within the walls, and the prisoner living outside the parameters of the concrete box.

Human beings are designed to forgive.  It’s what we do.  The story of William Little is proof that even killing can be forgiven.  False accusations can be forgiven as well – even if the false accusation leads to the wrongful conviction and state sanctioned murder of a Mann striving for blind justice.

There’s no way I can say this enough:  I DON’T WANT TO DIE.  However, spending the rest of my life in prison, for a murder I didn’t commit, is not a relief from my present circumstance.  I refuse to be content with not being executed.  I’ll simple keep doing what I do until my day do freedom arrives.  Writing and forgiving.

“I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul, by making me hate him.”

Booker T. Washington

Former Presidential Advisor, Abolitionist and Author

Still Livin,’

MannofStat

Copyright © 2014 by Leroy Elwood Mann

FFLOW

“The distance between you and success isn’t necessarily a yard – it’s an inch.  But to get that final inch is excruciating.  You have to stay committed.”

Will Smith
Reknown Actor

Hotep,

I’m not a mechanic, in the traditional sense, but I would guess that a person who possesses the skills to disassemble an engine – remedy the problematic functions, then return the engine to its full integrity – probably feels a strong sense of achievement when the engine turns over without the slightest hint of imperfection.  Writing brings me a similar sense of achievement.

Sharing my creations hasn’t always been a rewarding experience.  At times, I’ve felt like the only English speaking person in a foreign land.  Some of my works have been misconstrued as insulting and offensive for whatever reasons.  Some warm-hearted individuals have labeled me a wannabe thug or the worst kind of criminal, but my FFLOW continues to turn the socket wrench that remedies the problematic functions of my past.  So listen to this rhythmic rumble of an engine climbing a mountainous circumstance, and gaining momentum:

Honing this gift the Creator has given me, I think it’s important for the detractors of this platform of positivity, to know that your opinion of me is not my opinion of myself.  You may label me to be nothing more than a rusty, old 1979 Honda Civic.  No matter.  My drive for success roars like the engine of a 2014 Cadillac CTS. Na mean?

I recently had an in depth discussion with my editor about this 4^th year of W2TM.  Her sense of direction has been my GPS to the ear of the masses.  She will continue to give me the green light to debate the injustice of capital punishment as if I was sitting at a dinner table – talking with my closest friends.

Because of this, I no longer try to voice my opinion.  No longer do I try to be heard.  At this stage of the game, I realize that trying is just a noble way of describing failure.  This 4^th year of W2TM will exhibit my most diligent efforts of simply “doin’ it.”  Ya heard?

Seven of this year’s first 11 posts were written by some of my fellow writers who share this struggle of reproof.  These writers have come to know the sense of achievement behind the ink that breaks down the barriers of our existence.

The guest writers of 2k14 know the pride of my FFLOW (Fanatical Fist Lights Out Wordplay).  And it’s proven to be contagious.  The many hours I spend holding an ink pen has a tendency to cramp my hand, when my tool of the trade is no longer in use.  Sometimes, to the extreme of drawing my hand into the shape of a fist, a mere reminder that I’m a fanatic with the pen.  So, if I’m bearing a fist, due to writing, it’s only right that my wordplay, pack a punch that’s lights out.  Know this!

So enjoy this ride.  The maintenance on this engine is always up-to-par, because my toolbox is never closed.

Still Livin,’

MannofStat

Copyright © 2014 by Leroy Elwood Man