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by Denney

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Łabandzi Śpiew
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Łabandzi Śpiew "Denney's vocal doesn't sound really typically hip-hoppish. It's more spoken words with no fear of showing emotions. Also the backgrounds are far from what we know as hip-hop ones. They sound as if they were generated in a smoke-filled bar" ENGLISH: bit.ly/2E4uFbt Favorite track: home 11.23.2012.
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1.
There I was standing on the borderline, The borderland of mystery and promise, In a shack of shaky dreams, A house we didn’t build properly, Our heart was the roof and not the foundation. It caved in with the hail of surprises. Our emergency fund was our arms, but we couldn’t hold on any longer. Oh dear God, why couldn’t I have been stronger? A man with only his thoughts, forgets how to pray, Yet the man of prayer tends to stay… In a broken reality of loosely based finality, But I’m comfortable in unknown footsteps, They keep me from doubting, and force me to stop thinking. Sure I’m wandering, but I’m also solving… A solution that points to you. If I don’t find you, I will have at least known you. Maybe we did things improperly and out of order, But we were hoarders, who loved only partially. My sadness fuels my laughter, and it’s hard to say when I’ll run dry. Probably just in time to say bye for a second time. My throat’s sincere request: Give up on your journey, For as to mine, I can’t finish the rest. The wandering life never sounds appealing, For if it did, I might have a companion. I sharpen my soul for my body had grown dull. My hopes are balloons tied to my waist, The tune of the Wandering Man keeps me in flight. Its warm breeze beats on my skin, while my hair dances along. This journey is infinite, but it’s an excuse to utter this song. This next step is planted in fertile soil, I’m certain my direction can’t be calculated, Yet uncertainty has become my home. It might be hard to convince you I’m doing fine, Love outgrew my heart, now I’m building an addition. Wandering is the only place I want to be, Wondering about you is what my mind sees. Accept that I’m lost, but people get lost, They do it cuz they want to be found. Can’t decide if I’m trampling the ground, Or this dust and rocks are dragging me along, Either way, I found my stride, I struck down your fears in order to conquer mine. I found all the CD’s you ever made, The one we played in our getaway, Remember the movie we snuck into, The stranger we shared popcorn with. Track 6 I can’t recognize or even begin to… Understand why a dark song like that could fit us. But I know, it explains things: Like how we argued over ice cream flavours, The dream of becoming each other’s neighbor, The thought of proximity being fantasy. Your bike I fixed up to your specifications, How I taught you to beat box and rhyme, And the sewing machine you claimed as a ‘great garage sale’ find. I made you a sweater after I stole it, It was awful, but you still wore it. You loved the creator not the product. Now dear, please love the man I’ve become, Ignore all the wandering; I’m walking out my demons, I’ll never forgive myself if I brought even one of them home.
2.
I was born to a dying glacier. My mother melted on me, never could firmly embrace me. Said my daddy was a snow-capped mountain, and my sis a valley. They separated, relocated to different hemispheres. Turns out my pops had a head to clear. A life to rewrite, bout time some human come by and name him something great. Little does man know, they gave my father an undeserved fate. My mother sitting in a pool of her blood mixed with strangers’, Tells me to adventure, to view myself a little bit braver. Me being foolish and only viewing the abandoned vastness of the sea, The road to be, the vision of my mother’s future, her condition in which I would leave. Yet she pushed and sloshed what will I had, And the concurring thought was that I ought not make her sad. With my grand-pop Stone’s compass I sailed, It’s sand-filled lining was grainy but truthful, It had a way growing on you like my grand-pop’s moss did in his last days. He became confided to a cave filled with man’s origins, Feeling more at home with beginnings rather than endings, For he knew Granny Tree Limb was awaiting eternity with him. Along my journey of finding, I tended to lose more things than gained, My uncertainty and fear of sinking were slowly slipping their grasp on me. So now I flee a land of water, of vital blood that held my mother together, I’m searching for a less permanent home than death but a more study residence than bliss. I’m sure to miss the keys of life my grand-pop devised as he built this here compass on which I base not only my direction but existence in this ever-growing emptiness they call the sea. But the love crafted within this device still shines; it beams bright in the sunlight. Still, why not sink into desolation, especially when the only love you’ve encounter is from the deceased? Well, Because of the sister bedded between two tall towers of rock I’ve never seen. Because of the wife I know will accept me even though I haven’t. Because of the children that will inherit the best of us along with our bad habits. Because I can’t let go until my mother passes, until my father slaps his forehead in self disgust for he did not do what he had must: … stay with the only love south of this atmosphere. And now I’m here, wrecked by bullies inhabiting the shape of waves. They crash into me because they care, care for one thing: to cease my journey, But they’re just demons and they’re pleading to their master to release them on good behavior. I’m not walking on water no longer, and I’ve found swimming to be thicker, These levels of ocean on my body, no one will find me, I’m about to be sucked under. In this a dire time of struggle, the fire blazing my worn heart alerts my sister. Yeah, my sister, the landmark who only knew the land, took a trip to sea, and wouldn’t you believe: found my hand. I had let go of my life after the demons’ strike, my will sunk to the bottom. But the baggage my mind sought to look after turned out to signal my sister, and today I live by the grace of my old, old man’s compass. Now you could dislike fairytales, and never believe in bedtime stories, But promise me that one day my mother will go down in history. That her tear-wrapped commands to me will live in infamy, “Dear Son, life hasn’t been too kind to you, it hasn’t yet revealed its truth, But there’s a world of love donors, and they don’t run dry, They like to find, find lovely doves like you. So now go out and show the fearful lovers that this flood is almost over. This is not the last you’ll hear of me, for I’ll send a banner not of letters but of colors picked out just for you.”
3.
Blue and red fill the room, No sirens just invasive light, No warning just a silent night. Oh how I made this house my home, Oh how a man can disown… His wife and children, Wanted his head beaten in. Knock once, twice, no need for a third, The man they were looking for heard… Long before a uniform encroached on our steps, Heard the denial in his recruited murderer’s breathes. “I’ve been looking at your wife immodestly, and whistling as she walks, I’ve called her honey, and baby, yet she refuses to talk. But even if she doesn’t want me; I will always want her, So go ahead, here’s the bat and here’s my skull, give it a whirl.” “Sir, Xenia PD, instruct your children to remain inside” Murder could not substitute suicide. Off went our father, innocent then, but now I know why. Mother came onto the stage calmer than I, Yet we both were starving from lack of answers, Our patriarch in the hospital, yet no reason given, We had to investigate for our own penance. The neighbor, a state trooper, our first stop, I saw him collide onto the scene along with my father’s captors. In civilian garb, and off duty, he made a risky decision and gave us near full disclosure. A veteran of our nation’s recent battles, he recalled my father as more worrisome in demeanor than any post-traumatic soldier. Father came to him shaking in visible fear, bleeding out sweat of danger, The civil servant had no choice but to search him. Patting him down and instructing him to lay his front porch, My father poured out his sins to a perfect stranger. “A man of God” the trooper identified him correctly enough, Concluding that a man done with living still could not take his life when his Book condones it. Either a coward or a good Christian, Now I don’t want to be either. Recounting the whole plan to this trooper, my father admitted to premediated murder, Not the type that sends you to jail or even gives you an excuse to find a lawyer. This was the dirty scheme to rope another woman’s husband into a lustful fit of vengeance. Not lacking diligence, he increased his compliments and errant looks on every evening walk towards a woman not his, Soon the woman sacrificed her evening gardening for unnecessary housework; her plants then withered much like my father’s attempts a faux-seduction. He banked on her spreading vile rumors to her husband, He hoped his winks signaled danger, He knew that she wasn’t biting, yet she wasn’t the one swinging… His son’s first little league bat that took months to choose, For his son was just as indecisive as he, Yet he decided this was as good of a murder weapon as any. The molested wife’s husband in the drive, hands clutched to his tools, a steaming engine beneath him, The suicidal, former baseball coach and father approaches, his own tool in hand, Only there are no grounders to be distributed today, only one “Swing Away.”

about

poems from high school with a face lift.

credits

released December 17, 2017

produced and composed by: adam norris
words by: denney

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about

Denney Knoxville, Tennessee

I'm too young to be a poet, yet too old to have an imagination.

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