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August 5, 2019

Rica de la Luz 

Joseph Jason Santiago LaCour 

and Guest Artists 

Eat More Poems.  

Good (evening), I love you. 

May you have risen, stretched and hydrated. 

We are thankful you have made it. 

Get comfortable. Connecting. 

Yes, please. And thank you. 

I’d like some inspiration for breakfast. 

A tall glass of fresh-squeezed affirmation

Homegrown organic exchanges for lunch. 

For supper, we can dine both 

under & upon the stars 

Over a healthy helping of heaven 

Prepared with care. Share the light. 

Bless it. Eat More Poems.

If you’re going to have anything at all, 

Let it be nourishing. 

Family is a garden flourishing. 

From earth first let’s sow a seed. 

Give it all we know it needs to grow. 

Observe with patience. 

Then consciously harvest. 

Local. Let’s celebrate. 

Cultivate culture in each bite. 

And believe ourselves worthy 

Of what dreams may come. 

Come to the table and transcend. 

Let’s Eat. More poems. 

La comida es medicína. 

We feed our machines and make magic

To fuel trips to new tomorrows. 

Sweet smile...

February 13, 2019

Update: This trip was cancelled. But the intention was positive and preparing for this event was sobering. I truly hope to make it in the future.

Peace, fam. Amazing news! We're rollin' to New Orleans for the New Orleans Poetry Festival 2019. This April is National Poetry Month and it's going to be banger! Rica and I, alongside some of the dopest writers and reciters either side of the Mississippi will converge upon one of the grittiest, most beautiful cities in the world for three full days of Literature, Music and talkin' sh!t the way poets do. In addition to being our first major road trip, this event holds great significance for me as a southerner and a Creole. We'll also be stopping on the way to connect and reconnect with some fellow free spirits.

Please check out more details and join us on this amazing adventure either in person or by making a contribution.  

In the year of my 40th birthday, 

I would make my maiden voyage to The Philippines. 

To the place of my mother’s making. 

And her mothers fathers brothers and sisters. 

My first time leaving the country. 

Lola - not my Lola, my Lola’s sister, also my Lola - 

was heading home for 2 weeks and suggested I join her. 

Unemployed in the throes of divorce I’m like of course. 

And no greater way to pop the cherry on my passport 

than a trip back to the source.

So I prepared as per google: 

sunscreen, pepto, and bug repellent 

Then, I prepared as per Earl: 

fresh condoms & dollar bills. 

Tagalog phrases for gringos - Kumusta ka? 

Mabuti po. Saan ang banyo? Putang ina mo. 

Opting not to bring my Mac due to presumably 

wack wifi I said bye to mi corazón 

And alighted. 12-hour flight kid. 

Ancestral time travel. 

7000 miles. 

The distance is about the same between my name 

and the knowledge of where it came from. 

PAL plane from SFO nonstop. 

The bombest Flight Attendants I've ever seen 

2.5 meals and a real hot...

In no particular order. All love. 🙏🏽

— Started two websites...

— www.josephjasonsantiagolacour.com for all my Poetry & Hip-Hop works. 

— www.sacredpoets.com in partnership with my twin flame love, Rica de la Luz. 

— Officially released my first song, “Ride of Passage” Listen HERE!

— Self-published two (2) books of art and poetry. Available HERE!

— Published in Veterans Poetry Circle Anthology. Check out the Wordpress Blog!

— Published in Caesura: Online Edition. Thx, PCSJ!

— Featured in Content Magazine - Jan/Feb 2019 Discover 11.0 Issue 

— Accepted to The New Orleans Poetry Festival - April 19-21, 2019

— Awarded a grant by Arts Council Santa Cruz County to create and share works through Dope Poet Love. First time applying for a grant! 

— Accepted a volunteer position teaching Poetry at Rountree Medium Facility in Watsonville, CA - The Santa Cruz Poetry Project - William James Association. Shout out to all my cousins locked up and their families. 

— With The Legendary Collective, I hav...

To be taken by the natural beauty of this place 

Is to be accepted into a guild of gods. 

Philosophers. Stones rounded in the surf 

In service to our evolution. 

Thus is one of our favorite places to process. 

To just be still. Feel. Center. Self. 

Open mine eyes and behold what it is to be held. 

The earth swells reflexively with every vista. 

Her vanity is in our bones. 

Her terrain insane. Each curve a carving. 

The careful hand of an elemental sculptor.

She wears her scars like the sterling stars that made them. 

Humbled in submission to the force of her own gravity 

Blood boiling in the deep beneath. 

This is a good kind of stress. 

Her cracks exposed provide pathways for the faithful 

We forget to let go. When at last we have 

A moment to hold it 

Observe not in efforts to control or 

Fold it into a box

The trade winds do not fit in your phone 

She has known how lonely the throne is 

How evolution has rendered us desensitized. 

Atlantean fantasies of seas like sky’s

Rising tides changing the flow of riv...


And so it begins. 
Again, a grin scrapes its way 
Through the grimace on our prayers: 
For the fallen. The forgotten. 
The beautiful ones who speak 
With the twang of a god 
And twist of a timeline. 
Tequila-tarnished sun in your rise 
From the grave to grace. 
We are butterflies crossing freeways. 
Razor-witted obsidian simian scholars 
Calling each other culprit. 
Preachers rockin cock rings in the pulpit. 
Sulphur-souled vultures 
Picking our dreams clean 
Close your eyes, eclipse an illusion. 
Listen. Find truth in confusion. 
It is there. Like we are here. 
Survivors: the plural of phoenix. 

Her lines tell stories. 

Starvation and plenty balance 

Beauty beneath the bone. 

Radiant Reyna who has renounced 

Fashion trends and crash diets. 

Who has accepted the 

Responsibility of timelessness. 

Having held children and worked rightly 

Since the beginning and even rebounded 

After a life-long relationship with death, 

Respect is expected. 

With the breath of life in her breast 

And the light of acceptance in her heart, 

All she sows grows, la madre de maíz. 

Nuestro verdad. 

Muchas gracias for your caring. 

Your crying, your dying and resurrection 

Of the sun some sixty summers ago. 

The way you stare is a stairway to heaven. 

Having walked across celestial 

Jungles, oceans and deserts, 

You have shed more myths 

And made more magic 

Than we can possibly ever comprehend. 

Master of disguise. Keeper of lies. 

Pain and anguish that you will never show. 

To behold such beauty is to bear fruit. 

And said fruit shall feed roots 

As these roots keep us connected. 

Laughter almost undetected. 

Subtle sig...

Vrs I
Get right (light). Get write to writin.
First you gotta flex ya fist like ya fightin
Work out the joints and points of real pressure
Ya nails pretty? Them pressons is gone getcha.
Get you a lil lotion to lubricate the motion
But left to right this is a different type of strokin.
You think I'm jokin. This is serious bidniss.
Son I'm serious wit this I got experience in this.
I do it cuz I love it. Don't try to doubt it.
Baby I read the bible and write rhymes about it.
Now half of this process is preparation
Half of that preparation is separation
Places w/ ventilation preferably silence
Experiment w/ various writin enviroments
Prepare for retirement find alignment
Getcha mind set you ain't wrote a line yet

Vrs II
Listen up. Writers you been invited.
Meeting another writer I'm so delighted.
Writing's a good choice. I'm glad you decided.
But I don't wanna say the wrong thing so I'mma write it.
Mac/PC/Hi-def monitor.
The connoisseur wants that but I'm a dinosaur.
I write raps on napk...

Written to my younger daughter on 4 December, 2017. And I've yet the courage to send it.

Today is your birthday. 

It’s a special one. 

Special because 19 is the age at which 

My Mother decided to keep me. 

Special because we are apart 

And this marks a year since having seen you. 

It sounds not nearly as ridiculous as it is. 

Absolutely. Truth be told 

I sold my soul to hold you. 

Achoo. And you were born. 

Bless you, child. 

Sworn to secrecy invetro 

I smiled when you first cried 

Breaking the sound barrier 

Calling bullshit out the gate

I believed you. 

We naively deceived and said we'd never leave you. 

This is true to new love. 

Infinite for a minute 

Until timeless becomes fleeting 

Becomes numb to always needing 

Becomes treating parenthood like jury duty. 

Becomes work marriage 

becomes servitude. 

You used to sit in your playpen.

Confined for a time pissed off.  

Pacified gossamer blanket held

To your face as if trying to hush the Phoenix. 

Bouncin rockin at a pace dependent upon

The number of things you we...

October 7, 2017

I often liken myself to Hephaestus. 

The ugliest amongst the gods yet the freshest. 

Bless you with the heat. I am Vulcan like Spock. 

I live to swing the hammer. Got a bulge in my jock. 

Not really. Saying that sounded silly. 

I guess I'm just a product of my environment. Feel me? 

Apollogeez. I guess I’m sick and tired.  

Because being admired by haters ain't my desire. 

I was fired from the family. Hera just couldn't handle me. 

I was an accident. She and Zeus were a fantasy. 

This was before the wars, the magic and majesty. 

The gods are fucking comedy. I'm a victim of tragedy. 

Born dark, deformed and deprived of light. 

Bastard son of god. Deprived of rights. 

Tossed into the sea to be forever forgotten. 

But funny story: I lived. By the grace of Posiedon. 

Now here they go deciding to give me a new assignment. 

Some call it payback. I call it alignment. 

But I ain’t mad atcha. 

...to be continued...

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