Original rap/poetry by Larry Montague. Copyright © 2012 Larry Montague. Permission required for reproduction.

"the bright side"

i heard the voice seven years ago now
and it told me to disseminate this unique sound
turned the radio off and haven’t tuned in since
compass dial pointed north and steadfastly retreating on a warming globe
used to care about footwear but always rapped for kicks
not a way to get rich or some slick wardrobe
simply medicating my mind and motivating the mass
with melodies from earlier times
and a myriad of smeary pads whorled into patterns like painted trillium
put me In my element like Indium
i’m so thankful to be young in the era of the sun-lit putsch
remember me as the one who woke up
remember us as the ones who won’t budge
the generation of the grit and the grunge
grandchildren of Gaia, too grounded to hold a grudge
toward our greed-stricken godfathers
too great to ever give up

what is borne in the dark must be tender and deep
i find the light, be it late, heavy or night
there’s a thin line between demented and inventive
if i ever told you anything i meant it
that moment of truth stirs up before it settles
i puncuate the paper, my clothes all disheveled
aimed high behind the blinds where i try to hide
awakened on the bright side

now I'm twenty-four, million words
still not about a buck—just trying to get myself heard
Dear Mr. John Muir,
in a life of peaks and valleys why’s the flow so dam impure?
i never told you this but i’m a little unsure
this passion that i put forth is not behind my every step
i wish my mind would let me rest
i wish the concept of healthy Earth wasn’t second best
i wish i’d never digress for this faulty sake of interest
like dig this and get into the groove of your carbon footprint
anything that could blow should vent
and my paper isn’t green so i’m hardly spent
here i go again
but this is why the story has an open end
why i chew my nails and pens instead of the butt end of a cigarette
i never told you this either—
i’m scared of all the chemicals i ate for twenty years
of all the things that go inside my ears and where that weight goes
what breaks down, and the mouth is the exit hole
no waste and no control
without a face whereabouts unknown, emotion unshown
future written over one-of-a-kind lines of a palm
and read of the screen of a phone
never alone, a pre-grown tree in a mulched bed for a bleak home
so i roam where nerves are intense
‘cause i’d rather know my enemy outright than have to suspect 300 friends