Jelani Ince Spoken Word:
the charge for an artist is not to enable comfort,
it is to enlighten.
we are the caretakers of this garden of art,
this community of gifts and talents;
some have passed, some have become stagnant,
some have become impatient and have adopted artificial growth enhancers
instead of allowing nature to nurture their calling.
we must always remember that our duty is to ensure that these roots
are never uprooted,
because we are the last of a dying breed,
the few in a group of men that aren't bastardizing this garden,
we cannot forget it completely but we can guide its seed,
through word and deed.

so this isn't just a poem,
this is an ode to the ones who are here,
the ones who came and the ones who have yet to come;
the people whose lives we have touched and have yet to touch.
so grant, pat, charles, dale, ryan, kory, le'ron, keep cultivating.
please keep planting these seeds because if you don't,
no one else will.

may your lungs never get weary,
may your feet never falter,
may your heart continue to persevere,
may you continue to see the beauty and struggle,
may you continue to touch,
may you never stop loving this community,
even when reciprocation never happens.

we are gardeners,
we are caretakers,
we... are artists...

Grant Livesay Spoken Word:
... and as such must persist – a steadfast family – ours
a burgeoning orchard of sisters and brothers,
fathers and mothers, daughters and sons
not bound by blood but by aestheticism
so love remember when words become wind beneath the wingtips
of our outstretched fingers this:
that there would be no rustling of leaves if not for the roots of our trees
and no eyes to see them without feet to lead us
no tongue for the rant sans a language for the dance
and no scent for ascension with but bliss to be mentioned
yes, river reciprocity is a one way rip-tide our tribe may be forced to fjord
but for the life and light of you and yours by god fight the current
with all of your might and all of your burdens
and amidst the hefts and surges
the charge of an artist surfaces
to awaken creation from its soiled dreams
cry out: “rise,” -
and as for the kid pat-live
two shots fired in the sky.

Pat-Live Verse:
I'm a cool breeze
On that night of summers eve
You know, cool mint fresh
Like a swig a Listerine,
Niggas claim they making noise,
they be playing tambourines,
Just some puppet ass niggas,
Watch me pluck their tiny strings,
Then I breath,
Lubricate my dick
To slide with ease,
Fucking lady liberty,
'til she scream let freedom ring,
To the top of her lungs,
From now to kingdom come,
'til unbelievers glean
saying, "Pat Henry i believe,"
I can fly,
These are the days of our lives,
But the young is restless from these bold and beautiful lies,
As the world turns, the passions will all reside,
Inside ourselves but still miss the guided light,
What plight, what to do,
Fight or flight?
Hard to be the beacon,
When we can't obtain the light,
Like, shit,
Guarantee I won't submit,
See the greatness in my future may the world adhere to this:

THE COMPILATION.