Poems by Sean Ginyard (a.k.a. Davey-Mansion

SPIRIT

I’m Philly, Boston, and Jersey. Now I’m New York, the equation of nonconventional thought. From all walks of life I’ve often walked. I’m educated talk combined with street-life dreams I never sell. I was up South when most cats were locked up North. I knew in ’92. I can see farther. I’m the jeweled goblet in the cup of the Godfather, I’m a modern book of philosophy. I’m a newer age author. I’m the lost soul in the gutter, the kid who gets nervous around a fly dame and stutters. I’m that smooth guy who owns the world in my brain even when my pocket suffers. I’m the most and less, the worst and best. I’m an entity with the ability 2 stretch. I’m Trayvon’s hoodie. I’m a break-dancer’s pop-luck boogie. I’m a machine gun with no bullets. I’m a spliff with no green pull it. I’m spirit. My own—me, no other duplicate, society can stereotype me. It’s reality being subjected to some stupid shit. My spirit absorbs planetary data. I’m a man who matters. I’m broken glass that was once shattered. I’m Obama’s speech. I’m the Mafia’s code of loyalty. I’m nearby and still hard to reach. I’m brown and walk coolly. I’m rock-and-roll and Hendrix groovy. I’m an indie movie that has many plot twists. I’m serious business. I’m an organized future plan. I’m spirit realized FLY

Poems by Sean Ginyard (a.k.a. Davey-Mansion)

TWO-THOUSAND CLEAN I woke up 2 strong shots and ignored my alarm clock. My young gut twisted in massively critical knots. I heard the door rattle from the hardest knock. It was My Potential. She said, “Sean, I can’t understand what you go through. Still, I know you. Get dressed. We have some work to do.” I reacted numbly. Body smelled funky. I refused to budge. My Potential walked towards me and gave me a firm nudge. At life I held a longstanding grudge. I sat up and stared at the pristine floor. My Potential walked out the room slowly and slammed the door. It was 1995 and I didn’t feel very alive. I lost all intelligence and the will 2 strive. I reached for what no one but myself could ever correct: heard another knock. It was My Self-Respect. I would try to reason with the part of myself often neglected. My Self-Respect glared at me. I put on an Al Green record, closed my eyes and lit some green. My Self-Respect started to cry regretful tears at the whole scene. I was drifting in outer space with a burden that left me, eventually. I went back to sleep and woke up in New York. 2003. The Beginning of two-thousand clean. “I will never get high again” is more than a self-affirmed declaration. It’s a true statement. Recovery’s an exercise in truth and patience. This will be a 2 be continued… Two-thousand clean is a movie that will play at many theatres, the play I’ll orchestrate at a later venue. Two-thousand clean will speak 2 the whole world, not just all of you. I have to leave out the brutal elements that it represents. It’s a film about the struggle I’ve lived and the ending is real intense. Ever since I was a child, I’d see the world and all its inhabitants as a drama I took serious. I’ve paid a precise price that knifed my whole life. I’ve bled all over many notebooks and shivered and shook at what I’ve put on paper. Like walking outside in winter with no shirt on. My imagination is strong. Two-thousand clean is a true story that I’m no longer afraid to tell. It’s about a man who found his niche in life after walking through a violent hell lots of folks know so well. The Beginning. Two-thousand clean.