Monday afterschool you can jump on the uptown A. Get off at West 4th and transfer to the F train to 2nd ave. Exit the train station , walk down first ave , and make a right on . . . Well i dont remember the street but if you make the correct turn then walk down 2 blocks you'll find a spot called the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.
On monday nights the mic becomes a blank page in an open book. Your free to come and express whatever is on your mind. Whatever captivates you, or pisses you off. You rap ? Cool. You write stories ? Cool. You a comedian ? I hope your funny. Nonetheless Cool. The spot is well lit , the stage is the hotspot , if you on it you got 5 minutes. 5 minutes to be you without censure. Theres one time I witnessed a woman get on the mic just to rampage about her neighborhood being taken over by white people.She screamed "I dont know where you came from , but you need to get the F**k back over there" It was quite overwhelming, deserving of a standing ovation.I never seen that woman again after that night.
You can find a long line on the outside of the cafe. It stretches nearly the whole block. Listeners , performers , possible talent scouts disguised as civilians. Poets in their most natural form , the mind in its most relaxed state , the body responsive to what the mind intakes. That just ryhmed , but i aint no poet or nothing dont get me confused.
But the cafe is not the thing that gravitates me every monday night. Theres something about that side of town. The graffiti murals , the history forever embedded into the pavement. It seems as if the spirits of the past take trips down memory lane during the night, and rest their heads during the day. I can imagine them, young like us , running through the blocks of the lower east side. True City Kids. That what they take pride in. Being true city kids.
Well , God Bless Em ! God Bless The Good Lower East Side of Manhattan. One Love
On monday nights the mic becomes a blank page in an open book. Your free to come and express whatever is on your mind. Whatever captivates you, or pisses you off. You rap ? Cool. You write stories ? Cool. You a comedian ? I hope your funny. Nonetheless Cool. The spot is well lit , the stage is the hotspot , if you on it you got 5 minutes. 5 minutes to be you without censure. Theres one time I witnessed a woman get on the mic just to rampage about her neighborhood being taken over by white people.She screamed "I dont know where you came from , but you need to get the F**k back over there" It was quite overwhelming, deserving of a standing ovation.I never seen that woman again after that night.
You can find a long line on the outside of the cafe. It stretches nearly the whole block. Listeners , performers , possible talent scouts disguised as civilians. Poets in their most natural form , the mind in its most relaxed state , the body responsive to what the mind intakes. That just ryhmed , but i aint no poet or nothing dont get me confused.
But the cafe is not the thing that gravitates me every monday night. Theres something about that side of town. The graffiti murals , the history forever embedded into the pavement. It seems as if the spirits of the past take trips down memory lane during the night, and rest their heads during the day. I can imagine them, young like us , running through the blocks of the lower east side. True City Kids. That what they take pride in. Being true city kids.
Well , God Bless Em ! God Bless The Good Lower East Side of Manhattan. One Love