The Roof is On Fire
Microphone check
Mic check one two one two
Up there on the rim of the stadium
Can you hear me in row 522?
Oh, I must be dreaming
Everyone knows that poetry is just for the coffeehouse
Small
A hobby
In the building of life it’s just the lobby
Everyone knows that poetry is just for the coffeehouse
Bongos and an expresso machine
Express yourself, go ahead
Be romantic, political, sexy, or mean
Poetry is written to be read to other poets
And maybe a friend or two
So just give it your best
Get it off your chest
But five years from now no one will remember
Who you are or what you do
Don’t you know that poetry is small
And that it shrinks further over time?
Just be happy that you finally figured out
How to use words and maybe make a few lines rhyme
Now wait a minute!
Why should poetry exist tucked away in a box?
Poets should go platinum
Have fan clubs and such
Poets should be people
That everyone wants to touch
We should live inside the major,
Not the minor chord
Don’t settle for a podcast
Be about a broadcast
Not just Def Poetry Jam
But Oprah
Montel
Letterman and Leno too
The Super Bowl halftime show
Should feature poets just like you
Can’t you imagine yourself rockin’ the mic
At a jazz festival?
An arena?
A stadium?
But if you wanna blow up
You can’t just show up
You’ve got to think it through
Will chapbooks lead to scrapbooks?
How about a website?
Facebook?
A CD?
Do you need an agent?
A college hookup?
Do you need a manager?
A publicist or two?
Do you need a gang of friends
To cheer you on at every gig you do?
That stuff’s all good
But put it in the rearview
In the end its not about how you mack it
It’s about what’s in your head and in your heart and how you stack it
Do you have big ideas?
Big ideas about personal transformation?
Or changing the world so that it suits every nation?
We need big ideas to get big audiences
Ideas about extreme makeovers
And hostile takeovers
Everyone wishes their life was different
The life of their hearts
Their life in the streets
Give us those visions
And millions will listen to you
Small ideas are like water
Damp and moldy, they drip with rust
We don’t need no water
The roof is on fire
Let the motherfucker burn!
Let it burn!
Like when Erick Sermon said
“I was blazin’ to specify it”
Meaning
We don’t need no water
The roof is on fire
Let the motherfucker burn!
Let it burn!
Reach out and hold the sun
It was put in the sky to shine on you
Microphone check
Mic check one two one two
Up there on the rim of the stadium
Can you hear me in row 522?
Poem / 2008