This week’s “Business Question of the Week” takes me back to the days when I wrote and performed poetry. Kimberly Tyler from Maryland asks:
I can see that you are now heading in a business direction with your career and everything, but I was just wondering if you were still able to write and perform poetry. I saw you perform poetry nearly a decade ago at Del State, and I was wondering if you had abandoned your poetry skills for everything else that you’re doing?
Omar Tyree Answers:
Wow! Talk about more perfect timing. I was up in Philadelphia last week, and a group of several friends informed me that this new downtown poetry spot was hot and piping. So they asked me to stop by and enjoy. Well, I dropped on in, became inspired by the energy in the room, and immediately wrote the poem below to perform as a “special guest” that evening. And I do hope that I still have the poetic goods (smile).
Truth Serum, 2009 by Omar Tyree . . .
It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to entertain the minds of like kinds and for the past 10 years I’ve been in a state of decline from poetry Nah, that’s cool. I’m cool. Poetry don’t make no money. Then I walk into an excited, loud, proud crowd like this one, and decide to press rewind, and fall back into the time when I used to do this (stuff), and do it well at the North Star Bar in North Philly Incognito in DC Back Words in Baltimore and the Neuyorican Cafe in the big city, I meant Apple. So take a bite of this with sticky candy on top and get your teeth stuck hundreds of thousands of Americans are out of luck now downsized, out-sourced, defaulted, kicked out, left out, walked out talked out, and stalked out on the streets like the Walking Dead and talking heads won’t fix it. We need a prescription of economic penicillin to eradicate the disease of addiction, but addiction is the American way where we’ll pay for ANYTHING that makes us feel good. (Shucks), that’s why I’m off to Hollywood now to become a dealer of American entertainment. Lights, camera, action, money, and poetry don’t make none unless you’re with the networks that pimp the poets for $50 a pop and a chance to make the next poetry inspired Mc Donald’s commercial where you push a s*xy box of Chicken McNuggets during the NBA Championship and brag to your family and friends about it. Nah, (forget) that! I wanna write the whole show and the jingle and keep getting paid Finger-lickin chicken with McNuggets, McNuggets Finger-lickin chicken with McNuggets Get some Finger-lickin chicken with McNuggets, McNuggets Finger-lickin chicken with McNuggets Get some . . . morrre Ching ching! Pay check please. And excuse my urgency but something needs to happen that pays the bills something needs to happen that accumulates greenbacks and gold. Can poetry be sold yet? (Shucks), looks like I dun crossed over to the other side the scorned capitalist, the bean counter, Mr. Bottom-Line who don’t talk loud no more, I just ask the question softly, “Where’s the money?” Show it to me, so I can swim in it, like an Indecent Proposal naked, dirty and s*xy money so I propose this to the poets, create poetry that makes some. I guess you can see where my head is at, I’m on some executive (stuff)! But at the end of the day, poetry still exists because human thoughts and emotions are still priceless and with simple pen and paper even a broke (joker) can become GENIUS and shine like the sun. That’s why we do it. That’s why we do it. That’s why . . . we do it.
