(Saint) Jonathan MacLean's Page
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- What type of NWO artist are you
- writer, performer
- Who refered you to join The NWO
- Speakeasy Cafe
- Tell us about yourself
- I've been writing since the age of six, and have always tried to put my whole essence into a work - I started out trying to be a musician; was good with lyrics and had the music in me, but, grew up not having any place to channel it.
At the age of 24 I hit my first open mic, and when I can, still hit them. Life has given me some odd cards in the deck played out the past few years, but - I still dance with whatever life gives as best as I can. I try to put something kinetic in every work, and hopefully, in every word. If I don't. If it doesn't do something for at least 1 person, I'm not doing it right. Started out as a semi-classical poet, incorporated some slam (though I've yet to ever not read from a page), still dance between the two. Anything else you want to know, just ask.
- Your primary Website:
- http://Myspace.com/JKeyoteMacLean
(Saint) Jonathan MacLean's Blog
Silence As An Answer
And silence, tells me everything
I ever needed to know.
After the shout and the scream
And waking from the dream
Drenched in sweat, or blood,
It was finally, finally - quiet.
Heart, not an option. Pulsing, beating
Rhythm. Breath by breath of what I have left;
I stood naked - my soul, awash in every truth
I had ever known. To the razors of time; to the
Tragedies, replaying - and the doors opening
One at a time, with your hand clenched
Upon the handle...and I still wonder....w… Continue
Posted on March 27, 2008 at 3:11am —
Is He Out, Or Is He In? (Recorded: Spoken. Circa 06)
Posted on March 26, 2008 at 10:14pm —
Things Of Legend
Things of legends,
Water slides down the back
And releases
With a sigh:
Transformation.
See what everyone
Really is, beneath this flesh?
Beast beneath the skin,
Dig within,
And find
The animal, clawing,
Digging, grinding,
Pleading
To get out.
Beat
To the drum
To drown out
The sounds
Beneath the pulse
Riding through the veins,
Stripping down the blood
To show you
To yourself
As you really are.
(I embrace
Every face
I've ever known,
And am
Continously
Slamming any mask
I touch
Again… Continue
Posted on March 20, 2008 at 9:46pm —
Power Isn't Love
Drained away, by the
Business as usual - old rooms are wounds
Wrapped in infected cloths; and the propulsion
Of Matchstick fingertips; makes me wonder
What lights souls on a tuesday night?
I see vacant beasts of connection, and wonder
How many plugs can reach the outlet
Before the lights go out? Machinations grind their fence posts
As I talk to ravens. Seems everyone sees too much of the inside/outside; and I just see where I still stand.
As bullets of words or silence are loaded… Continue
Posted on March 20, 2008 at 9:44pm —
Cardboard Faces
Oscar Wilde, De Profundis, 1905
Irish dramatist, novelist, & poet (1854 - 1900)
These are the days, moments
I can still verge on the dispassionate; not
That the fire within does not burn, yet
All I hear are the same old statements;
Eyes - milky white and translucent
Show a fear beneath of being anybody;
In the depths of the halls of originality,
What I sometimes se… Continue
Posted on March 20, 2008 at 9:42pm —
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Peace, poetry, and Prysmatic Dreams
Geovannimarcel
Catch ya soon!
Max