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Bunions and blisters basically bombarding a balanced base

Anchored by hammer toes and ingrowns,

Yet I still stomp with the charisma of a Black Frat.

Achilles heel burnt by the passion of running the point.

For those that don’t know,

I can go like Arcidiacono; on and off the floor

Bending these creaky knees,

Clearly bringing fire from my core;

Don’t mean I’m gonna take the shot.

Not the shooter…

These hands of a stuntman hold up 2 V’s

Cause from beginning to end,

I’m a NOVA in this penitentiary sky,

Tightening my Big 5,

I beat on a chest far too familiar with heartache…

Boom! Boom! Boom! … Banging

With fist that’s been shootin jabs since the womb.

Basketball is a lifelong love, but life?

It ain’t no game.

Playing dead ain’t real and I feel,

Inadequate is my name…

It’s a damn shame

When memories gotta keep you in it to win it.

Seeing through the gloom and smelling the future

Produces the WORD that makes a dying existence infinite.

WORD… Official… The real… 100.

WORD? Is that so? For real? It can’t be.

WORD travels fast, can only be slow when stuttered.

WORD can cut ever-so-deep whether exclaimed or muttered.

WORD goes higher than any trip or high.

WORD leaves my soul and genuinely inseminates receptiveness…

From the bottom to the top – circulating throughout,

As I walk what I say.

The Underdog knows no surrender only knowing

The 1^st place of a Champ by initially being a contender.

There’s beauty in this struggle of rising to the occasion.

WORD!!

Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Til the End

A short love story by Leroy Elwood Mann

[She sat in the chair, her back against the wall, looking at him across the room.] The stress in his eyes made him look much older than his 35 years.  His gaze was centered on her presence, and it was evidently clear what he was feeling for her.

The last time they spoke, he revealed that he had been in love with her since they were kids.  She had no idea such an infatuation existed between them.  They were just kids.  How could he – or she for that matter – know the meaning of love at such a green stage in their lives?  She had always liked him, but never considered any relations other than a platonic friendship.

Daleah Freeman shuffled in her seat.  The discomforting thought of missing out on “Real Love” simply because she did not see herself as his type of girl, troubled her. She knew success in the highest occupational sense.  But the success of having a true love and growing with a soul mate was far beyond her grasp.  That is…until this very moment. 

Her soul mate was mere feet away, yet his current circumstance made him untouchable.  She felt a strong urge to stand up and proclaim the true love that had been hidden to her eyes.  After all these years of a love lying dormant, she wanted every person in that room to know that this man – her man – was indeed the best man.

As the urge to love out loud grew within her being, she looked around the room.  The looks of contempt, retribution, and hate on the faces surrounding her temporarily suppressed the urge to reveal what she could not admit to before this moment.  Her stomach twisted in knots, “How can they feel this way about someone they don’t even know?” Her thoughts were so loud she subconsciously covered her mouth.

The man she loved was strapped to a gurney, standing upright.  A microphone was pushed toward his mouth and without the least bit of hesitation; his heart spoke above the mutters of the execution witness room.  “I love you, Lee-Lee.”

His dying words released the floodgates of her tears ducts.  She felt a warm chill throughout her core as all eyes made the connection from his words to her seated presence.  She could clearly see the ancestry of lynch mobs, grand dragons, and cross-bearing arsonists in their vitriolic glares.  At this point, Lee-Lee was beyond being intimidated.

Before the man she loved was injected with the serum of inhumanity, she stood from her chair and spoke as if her words would kill the hate within the room, and shatter the transparent partition that separated her from the physicality of true love.

“An innocent man is about to die here!  And, I love him to death!”

Is this the end?

100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann

The Brink of a Dying Chill

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Sounds of a good day.

At a time when emotional funk stunk up my life,

A string attached to four bells spoke when I didn’t have much to say.

Jack and Jill Ice Cream,

A natural born hustler driving the truck to make C.R.E.A.M.

Plus a ride along but it wasn’t my dream

Although pulling that string released the chill within my pent up steam.

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Leaving the top of the city for the shallows of

“THE BOTTOM” could be a dangerous trail

So my sales window activity

Was sharper than a musketeer’s rapier

When all the while,

I pulled that string to ring

A song in a ghetto child’s ear.

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Ruminating a building bulldozed by bullies with badges

Boisterous about burning buildings where blacks live

Basically bonds two brothers bound for the bosom of breaking news bigger than butter pecan,

Restores my recollection of the rants relative to rationing relief to residents recovering from the reprehensible response to revolutionary Rastas,

I knew no imposters.

“Don’t try to eat up all the damn popsicles,

And don’t be asking a bunch of fucking questions.”

My only instructions from a peckish instructor

My driver, Big Brotha “D,” formerly know as “Pee-Wee” of the IMPERIALS OF SOUL.

Housing project gangbangers, my guidance from sun up to sundown every bit of 3 sixty 5.

34^th to 38^th, then 41^st for a block party stop.

A stationary ice cream store with the lure

Of a foreign language, my driver made me his interpreter.

Those bells, amidst the yells

Of an urban district inhabited by political animals.

Listless from vicious police attacks on the backs of blacks, no counter attacks

Just the peripatetic mentality to avoid a policeman’s strap.

My adrenaline was high, as kick came to our truck in droves.

I served push-up popsicles, twin popsicles, the fudge filled chocolate crunch popsicles, and Mickey Mouse popsicles with the chocolate ears, eyes and nose

Those didn’t last long at all

The overhead change distributor spoke when coins would fall…

Chk… Chk… Chk. Chk. Chk.

Quarters. Nickels. To dimes.

Dimes. Quarters to nickels.

Chk. Chk… Chk.

20 sales in, my bells sounded exhaustion

Jing. Jing… Jing. Jing

The driver took my place, accelerating the pace.

The change fell heavily, but steadily

Into big bruh’s diligent palm.

The daylight star moved east to west and our popsicle freezers held nothing but calm.

My heavy eyes took in the ice cream smeared faces of “The Bottom” left in out wake

Jing… Jing.

Then black cops made us stop.  Cause we didn’t STOP!!!

At an intersection,

The connection from our old hood to our new home

Boom! Bang! Run Lump!!

Pee-Wee’s body was no longer his own.

A Richard Allen mob, 2 chrome-plated senders.

And black trigger fingers at the ready

A day of progression impeded by oppression leaves the impression,

In a blink Life can turn deadly.

Jing…

MannofStat

Copyright © 2016  by Leroy Elwood Mann

Show and Tell

As a fourth grader, Fridays after lunch would be the highlight of my week.  The fact that I was two hours closer to the weekend school bell ringing played a minimal role in my midday enthusiasm.  

You see, this was the designated hour for Show & Tell.  A frozen moment where Ms. Warner (our teacher) would put down the chalk, place the text books to the side, and allow her pupils to step into the proverbial spotlight of public speaking.

I would relish in this opportunity to share the particulars of an autographed photo of New York Jets’ running back, Bruce Harper; the relevance of my latest Hot Wheels carrying case; or my last kite flying session with Pops in Fairmount Park.  I believe this is the reason being on stage has never felt foreign to me.

It was not evident then, but my teacher provided a platform for her students to get to know one another outside of the raised hands and test scores.  This was an occasion where an individual could freeze time despite the clocks ticking closer to the finale of a school week.  It was the moment to show people the real person standing before them.  A time when there was no right or wrong answer; just me.

All of the Hollywood buzz surrounded the latest installment of George Lucas’ STAR WARS saga, on December 18, 2015.  However, this was also a day that saw history being made in the most non-fictional way.  Six death row prisoners (myself included) captivated a standing room only audience (70 or better) within the walls of Raleigh’s Central Prison.  We gave them a story for the ages entitled: SERVING LIFE.

In some circles we are men remembered as no more than walking relics of much simpler times.  But, in this space that provides no access to rehabilitation for men of our kind, this cast of MAINE, DIEGO, PHILLY, BROOKLYN, WINSTON, and RALEIGH made the most of the 90 minutes bringing the how to the people and unveiling the realness often eclipsed by the daily attire of the red jumpsuit.  Staying in the moments of our lives-before and during the capital ploy of justice being served-proved to be an emotional roller coaster for anyone within the space.

When the scripts were issued last June, I was a bit daunted by its entirety.  I mean, I was prepared to orate a couple of monologues, but SERVING LIFE required far more responsibility than reciting a spoken word piece, then returning to my seat until the rotation came back to me.  This handpicked ensemble of six literary expressionists were groomed by Mrs. Lynden Harris (executive producer) to become a unified body for the purpose of sharing the plight of being human, while the judicial sands of time assures cruel and unusual punishment.

Initially, I thought the portrayal of multiple characters would detract from the energy of my role as PHILLY.  The tutelage of our stage Director, Ms. Kathy Williams, helped me to understand that SERIVING LIFE is the embodiment of art, that is our lives.  So every word spoken every gesture made, and every tear shed is simply who we are.  There is nothing to add or subtract from that.  Once this was understood my script was no longer a tangible object.  I can honestly say that I remain “in character” as this goes to press.

By taking on the roles of a racist school principal from DIEGO’s past; the no nonsense persona of BROOKLYN’s grandmother; an overly aggressive C.O. that stained the memory of MAINE; and a lackluster bus driver who dodged the responsibility of being anything more to WINSTON than a means of transportation to and from school.  I have grown closer to the traumas of their past, as they have mine.

Our cast opened the play walking in the manner of ankles restrained by the state’s shackles.  We left the stage, walking upright to the harmonious tune of a standing ovation.  It’s funny; prior to this experience Christmas was not official until I heard the classic Donny Hathaway joint, THIS CHRISTMAS. In SERVING LIFE I get to sing the opening verse,

“Hang all the mistletoe

I’m going to get to know you better…

This Christmas!”

Feel me?

My classmates from the Duke Divinity School sat in as the audience for our December 8^th dress rehearsal.  The hugs and tears that follow the performance was a strong indication that this would be a special Christmas season, where the ears and eyes outside of Unit 3’s walls would get to know the “people” within these red jumpsuits better.

Much like Show and Tell many years ago, I am looking forward to the next installment of freezing time – helping people get to know me through a show that will tell them everything this red jumpsuit cannot.  SERVING LIFE is death to capital punishment.

Still Livin,’

MannofStat

Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann