(Excerpt from "Instructions On Assembling A Poet" By Eric L. Spann)

Where I'm from 
Sirens sing lullabies to children whom the gunshots keep awake
But, rather the gun shots stop them from sleeping than stop them from breathing 
Because, unlike the people shooting them, bullets are not prejudice 
They know not of names, or of faces 
Gangs, or of races 
But only that destruction lies somewhere ahead 
That destruction, welcomes the sirens 
And the sirens are always accompanied by the lights 
And those lights that, as the sirens pass, dance across the ceilings 
Of inner-city children 
As if just to put a show on for them 
And as the lights dance, and then fade 
Sirens creep out of range 
Children peacefully fade 
Into dreamland 
Where little boys become men, and little girls become women 
They dream dreams of White House offices and courtroom gavels
Because they have yet to be tricked into believing that they have limits 
Where I'm from 
It rains 
And when it rains, it pours 
And when it pours, the grass grows 
And when it's cut, the snakes show 
Where I'm from 
People make it 
But when they do, they leave 
And when they leave, they always miss the sad song of the streets
They escape the sirens and the gun shots 
And whatever else they can't take 
But, the silence of the suburbs always keeps them awake 
Because where I'm from 
People judge me 
And where I'm from 
Mothers weep 
But where I'm from 
The city always sings me to sleep


Where I'm From

(Excerpt from "Instructions On Assembling A Poet" by Eric L. Spann)

Yo no hablo espanol
Pero, I once knew a chica
Who rolled her tongue like a godess
She had a smile to die for
And a heart
Maybe filled with butterflies
Because when they fluttered it must have tickled
And she giggled with her eyes
She had a head full of crazy string
Long
Dark
Beautiful crazy string
That framed her face 
Like a Mona Lisa portait
Her profile was flawless
Gorgeous
She talked how she walked
Confident yet careful
Gracefull with form
Speaking perfect english
With sprinkles of spanish
Convincing me 
That whom ever deemed French
The language of love
Had never heard a latina woman speak Spanglish
It was beautiful
Sometimes I would just stare and listen
Listen
And pretend not to listen
So she'd repeate her self 
And I could listen some more
It was sort of like a dance
We switched places
She led
And I was never sure
When she would dip me into her culture
This is not a love poem
Maybe a lust poem
Maybe a juvenile
Feels more like a crush poem
Maybe our little crush
Is the result of a historical cultural clash
That gave birth to the language
I imagine angels speak
Me, I don't speak Spanish
But I once knew a girl 
Who rolled her tongue like a godess
She kept to her self
And spoke the language of angels
I could barely understand it
But it might be
The most beautiful thing
I've ever heard


Spanglish- By: Eric L. Spann

"Ruined" written and read by Eric L. Spann

Ruined- By Eric L. Spann

Written and read by Eric L. Spann
Excerpt from "Instructions On Assembling A Poet" 

In Mississippi, when it rains
It monsoons
I have never seen weather so violent
So beautiful
Anywhere else in my life
There are days
When storm clouds eclipse entire cities
When the rain starts in the morning
And doesn’t stop until the morning
When hail storms knock
On country side windows at bedtime
And turn the lights out for you
In Mississippi, when it rains
It does so with conviction
In Mississippi, when it rains
It monsoons
 
There is an art to the southern drawl
My mouth will never massage words slow like molasses
Sticky
Like sun tea on a Sunday in the summertime
Sugarcane can’t come any closer
My tongue
Has never tasted sweet like tap dancing on the tip
Of a southern girl’s slang
Hips don’t move like they move
Anywhere else, but Mississippi
 
Home to the reddest dirt
My white shoes have ever seen
Stained
With the blood from my grandfather’s great-grandfather
Southern trees bare strange fruit
But harsh winds grow deep roots
Our family oaks have been hollowed to the bark
Earliest rings washed away by history
In Mississippi, when it rains
It monsoons
Eerie, how all of our veins drain into the Atlantic
Who says water isn’t thicker than blood?
 
Every Easter in Mississippi, I can remember
It has rained
 Just outside of church during service
I was told, by my great-grandmother
That God washes the south of their sins
At least once a year
You see, in Mississippi, when it rains
It does so with conviction
In Mississippi, when it rains
It monsoons

In Mississippi When It Rains- By Eric iRhyme Spann

Love Poems- By: Eric iRhyme Spann

The Mississippi Martini- By: Eric L. Spann

written by eric l spann
i do not own the rights to any other audio

Baltimore Oriole by Eric L. Spann

Poem: written, edited, and read by Eric L. Spann. An excerpt from "Instructions On Assembling A Poet"
All other audio: Coming To America (Film)(Fair Use)

She Is- By Eric Spann

Written and read by Eric L. Spann. Excerpt from "Instructions On Assembling A Poet"

Glory- By Eric L. Spann

Written and read by Eric Spann 
Poem from "Things I Can't Write About" by Eric L. Spann
http://www.thingsicantwriteabout.com/

With audio from interview with Tupac Shakur 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Byzpn2oo0Ec

iRhymeSpann