When life is beautiful…

Hunger exists. Chronic illness exists. Car accidents ( I was recently in one, but it wasn’t so bad. I thought I was fine, but one of my doctor friends checked me out, and actually said I needed some work, but that’s another story). The recession (that we are supposed to be exiting, but I don’t see the end yet in my world). Bad music. Bad film. Expensive gas.

The list goes on….

but not in this entry.

This entry is about when life is beautiful….when you can see life is beautiful. .

23 has been a good year for me. I am only about half way through it, but it is proving to be a beautiful year. Confusing. But beautiful. I’ve backspaced so many times trying to articulate exactly what it is I want to communicate here. *focus* I want to talk about how I’m growing and developing in my art. I want to talk about my professional career. I want to talk about how Shawnon is on her grind, and the Left Side Poets could be featured in a book fair. I want to talk about having dreams again. I want to talk about performing songs and poems and venturing into dance/acting. I want to talk about how I, unlike Sophia, liked Django but don’t like all of the blood that, as usual, comes with the director (Gag). But these are all just buffers and introductions because

 mainly, I just want to talk about what a beautiful thing it is for someone to one day appear and help set your world right.

I’m not talking about someone being your whole world (*ahem*idolatry*ahem*)….just someone who helps make it right. Imagine: you have this huge beautiful painting hanging on your wall, an original. Costly. Framed in quality, ornately carved wood.This painting is gorgeous, and it is your favorite style of art. But! It is hanging a tad crooked. No matter how you try to fix it, it just hangs slightly crooked. And then someone comes along and sets it right.

Maybe that analogy only works for people with OCD or who really care about interior design, but work with me here. Do you ever feel like you have more words than you know what to do with? Like, you need to resort to writing sonnets and maybe odes? Like butterflies are nothing, but glitter and confetti trail behind you with every text you send and receive? Like, life is a continuous playlist of India Arie, Eric Benet, Joss Stone, and the like?


Beautiful mutual affection between 2 people still exists, and that is so exciting. I write best when I know down in my joints and marrow that I’m deeply cared for. When The Left Side Poets were coming together in 2008, I was getting to truly know God and his love for the first time. I had so much to write about, and that was fortunate because there was no hanging around the LSP and not writing. We were always sharing what was new with us and our pens. Writing from the overflow of my heart, my peers pegged me the love poet….and it fits.

I believe with all my heart that my handsome gift from God and I would tear each other apart if we tried to make it work without implementing biblical principles, but because we do put those into practice I live every day of my life feeling like it’s valentine’s day. So this is where I’ve been: on cloud 9. I have so much more I could say, but it is all so jumbled in my head, I don’t want to subject you to any more, but don’t you just sometimes feel like you have to tell someone when your life feels so beautiful?

-key ❤

– key with confetti/glitter             

black, confetti, couple, fashion, girl

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Sonofa…. Django…


I am still speechless and in shock. I made the effort to see Django to make sure I am formulating my own opinion. However, I now find myself in a bit of a pickle. I have so many feelings (NONE OF THEM GOOD) but I don’t know how to put them together to clearly explain why I hate the movie and wouldn’t recommend it. But I guess money is money… Whatevs. Shame on you Jamie, Sam and Kerry. Shame.

My feeling during and after the movie. Another stain on our legacy.

All I am saying is this: If this movie were set with some form of the Holocaust as the backdrop… it most likely wouldn’t have been made. I feel ripped off, insulted and degraded. I’m going to give myself a week and maybe I will be able to put into words my heartache. 

My ancestors didn’t die for this. Eff you entire Django crew. From the people who green lighted that bullshit to the person feeding the crew. Eff all of you.


I’m chillen tho….


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‘The Good, The Bad and The Rest of Us’ EP: A Sample

Hi. I say it like that because I haven’t written on here in awhile. I hope all you fine folks are doing well, enjoying life and writing when it hits you. But um, S. Velvet Noose and T. Odis aren’t the only ones in the LSP who can put together an album. Yours truly will be dropping his first spoken word EP entitled, ‘The Good, The Bad and The Rest of Us’ on Dec. 13. I’m having an album release party in San Diego on the same night and it promises to be a momentous occasion with friends coming from as faraway as Boston to partake in the festivities. But since the anticipation has been a lowkey problem for both myself and others, I decided that I’d drop a joint early just so folks can have an idea of what they’ll be getting into once they cop the full EP. This one is called ‘An Ode To My Pen’ and no, it was not a poem in ‘Strange Fruit’ =) Take care, enjoy and keep scribin’.

R. Preston Clark aka Ron Ton Soup

An Ode To My Pen by R. Preston Clark off ‘The Good, The Bad and The Rest of Us’ EP

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Screw You Glee for Making Me Cry… Again.

I am a Gleek. However, even if I weren’t… This is by far one of the best song covers ever done on the show. Sure, the story line helped to add to emotion (and my tears) but even if you have never seen the show you have to love this:

When Teenage Dream first hit the scene it was a fun and exciting song about that special love that we all hope to have.  I loved the song! Then Glee got its awesome little hands on the track. This cover by Blaine (Darren Criss) completely rips the rug from under your happy place. It’s gut wrenching and painful to watch. The tone of the song is changed and now all I can do is think about how hurt I was after losing the love of my life. Every emotion resurfaced such as that feeling of the wind being knocked out of me when I remembered that those happy moments are no more.

I remember watching this episode and reliving my first semester of college. The story line was my life! Sort of. Ok not really, but it was similar enough. I was fresh off of a bad break up with my first true love while being a freshman at Hampton University. We were working out the logistics of trying to be friends, living life without our other half attached to our hips, the death of his mother and realizing that life as we knew it was never going to be the same. I spent weeks being homesick, missing him and unknowingly mourning the loss of my childhood. A new life had begun and I had to find a way to cope with it all. Years passed, new loves happened, and I moved on. I no longer spend every moment of every day wondering if he thinks about me. Instead, I wish him well and hope that his current lady provides everything that he needs. I am in a better place….until certain songs come on. Then I have a momentary relapse. Ex-Factor is almost always the culprit. How Could You Call Her Baby by Shanna is a strong second and Glee’s version of Teenage Dream has officially rounded out the top three. Great.

Well now that I have successfully blogged my way into a full-blown momentary depression… I will end it here. Feel free to join me by letting me know which songs completely break you down.


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Constructive Creativity (right…..)

Tonight is monumental. Momentous. Tonight is a BIG DEAL for me in terms of my artistry (which includes poetry, skit-constructing, dabbling in song writing…mainly at the prodding of an outside party, becoming more dedicated to this blog, and various collaboration projects w friends) Tonight is the FIRST night of me carving out time to dedicate myself wholly to the arts, letting my being revel in creativity, imaginations, and lyricism.

Aside from studying the bible with people….no other task makes me feel so completely fulfilled and satisfied….invigorated. It is just fun. Come on artists and creative types. Don’t you agree?


I think I’ve put too much pressure on myself. Too much pressure on the night. So many projects I could have approached, and I have just spent the last hour being paralyzed. Skimming over an array of ideas. Flipping back and forth between my Musiq Soulchild and Elle Varner radio, nothing is really doing it. And the fact that I invited a few friends over for this artistic session….and they have no art= no bueno. They would not stop talking. So I went to my room. I love them dearly, but that wasn’t my brightest idea.

Maybe next Sunday will go better because my anxiety to make something of this will have subsided.. Or even Tuesday. I think I have a window of free time Tuesday, but I would rather use that time to build a friendship and invest in someone. -___- *spinning plates*

I need to write a plan for my carved time and not just assume artistry will ensue when 6pm Sunday rolls around, perfectly organized. This will be a fun, cathartic, and fruitful time for me in the weeks to come.

It must. I need it to be.

Anyway, I dug this up….it is a mental snapshot of a piece of perfection.

I’d like to lie down with you
in a field
where lavender
grows naturally and the birds sing songs
for you and me as we watch fat clouds
float by
and we label them as
different mundane objects


Until next time, Key

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42:1 (as in, the psalm)

I want to study you so deeply
that when I gaze at my reflection,
I only see your pupil.
Let’s hold hands so fiercely,
my lifeline detours
to fit the contour of yours.
And if I could,
I mean, if you could help me
to overcome this ADD
I inherited from society
so I could focus
to follow you so intently
the only place I could fall
is into your footstep
like Simba following Mufasa…
I would be greatly obliged.
There is nothing about you I don’t love.
And nothing about me I don’t love
when I’m with you.
Even my tears
because then I get to feel you touch my face
just to wipe them away,
and I love that part of me
could possibly
find a home
in the fingerprints
on your fingertips
on your hands.
The hands that create masterpieces
and grant a masterful peace in my heart.
My heart aches for you.



“As the deer pants for streams of water,
    so my soul pants for you, my God”

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T. Odis does Indy!!!!!

So it’s been about 45 years since i’ve posted. And that sucks. But i been busybusybusy, which is good. Black men being legally busy is always good for the economy, and society in general. I don’t feel that bad anymore. Anyways, one of the last things i did and actually finished was complete a mini road trip from Dallas, TX to Indianapolis, IN to do a show. I wasn’t alone; I had my lil bro Sleepy (who is also a killer poet) and my homeboy Rob D (who is a BEAST with the Canon AND a beast poet). Rob shot a good portion of the trip and VOILA, MAGIC (i’ve always wanted to say that) we got video, son!!!

So watch it below! The video talks about Sleepy and I’s ties to Indy, our poetic origins, and also delves into my experiences as an aspiring poet and architect (my day career). Feedback is always appreiciated, and thank you for watching via The Left Side!

Still Spitting Forever,

T. Odis

Blow Up Before the World Do

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15 Minutes of Fame

– a poem by Mr. R Preston Clark


Turned on the TV
only to see a parade of black women
that looked nothing like the ones I knew.
They wore their starvation on their sleeves
salivating at the thought of 15 minutes of fame
they tore their roots out of the ground
placed them on the graves of their great-grandmothers
to turn centuries of dignity into 30-minute rendezvous of shame.
Reality shows, ironic indeed
the only reality shown is the insecurities of talent-less hacks
taking advantage of an audience willing to engage them in
their public destruction of a foundation built by women
with last names like
Truth, Bethune, Parks, Tubman, King
Tyson, Rashad, Ross, Kitt, Dandridge & Dee.
The fowl scent of trees dyed in greed engulfs their nostrils
breathing out the only remaining pieces of their history
inner thighs used as a means to rise up business models
their sex proving to be the true Bank of America.
Sleeping with routing numbers
tell her she needs to sit down
with her legs crossed
across from a collage of the young women you’ve influenced
misconstruing their precious gift within their hips
truth flipped
as the location of life
turns into scenes of lives torn to pieces ‘on location’.
Sleeping your way to fame is not a vocation
it is an embarrassment of riches
disrespectful to the women who spent their time
developing crafts that could be respected by the masses.
That ringing sound you hear is not the growth of your back account
but the laughter of those of us in your audience that will not give you ratings
we will follow Twitter and Facebook statuses
accidentally learning the details of your faulty existences
all the while questioning
why in God’s name do we know who you are in the first place…

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Wordless Wednesday (take 2)















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I’ve seen Pinocchio as a real boy,
and he was carved from mahogany.
Eskimo kisses
breathed existence
into this infant of a masterpiece,
brand new to life that’s true
but standing a little shy of 6 feet.

He is not the result
of folklore
passed from European descent
but from somewhere
the sun beats against
the papyrus
on which his life’s story was written.

You can tell his father loves him.
His face is angular in definition.
chisels on his cheeks and chin
but his skin is
smoothe like coffee from the harvest
of his heritage,
from where is father held and
caressed his face
again and again.
Reminding him that the world
“manhood lies in the force of will”
but a true man loves
and treats his enemies as friends.
Don’t forget.
Your strings aren’t so the people make you dance.
They are for reminding you
you can’t do this alone.

The day is coming that the strings will be gone,
but remember where they led.
You can always return home.

Don’t let the people make you dance!
You do not belong to them.
You can show them
how a father and son
can walk in a partnership of love
in an age
where humility has ceased to exist
and every man is a private island.

Remember how to walk,
that it should always be in love.

I saw this perfectly crafted creation
and knew the popular animation
had done him no justice.
Wishing on blue fairies
is just not as enduring
as chiseled strength
covered in love

…..for my new brother, Ron G. May your heart of steel always be soft enough to feel 🙂


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