Russel Simmons
presents Def Poetry.

Ladies and gentleman, your
host from the planet of Brooklyn,

Mos Def.

What up, what up, what up?

(applause)

What's up, New York?

I say what's up, New York?

Where Queens at?

Where the Boogie Down at?

Where Uptown at?
Where Jersey at?

Where Brooklyn at?

That was just three
mother fu..ers.

Thank you all for coming out to
the first Def Poets.

Tonight you're going to hear
from a lot of different people

from a lot of different places.

People tend to think that
there's only one type of

poet, only one type of
style,

but tonight you're going to hear from all different races,
genders,

perspectives, and they're all
united by one thing and that's

the power of the word.

So is you all ready?

Yeah!

Is you all ready for some
poetry mother fu..ers?

(applauses)

Our first poet is 1998 Slam
champion.

Please give it up
for Steve Colman.

(applauses)

I want to hear a poem.

I want to learn something I
didn't know.

I want to say yes at the end,
because I'm sick of saying so.

I want to hear a poem
about who you are and what

you think and why you slam, not
a poem about me and my poem,

because I know who
I am.

I want to hear a love poem, a
sad poem,

an I hate my dad poem, a dream
poem, an I'm not what I seem
poem,

an I need poem, and I also bleed
poem,

an I'm alone poem, an I can't
find my home poem.

I just want to hear a
poem.

I want to hear a poem about
revolution,

about fists raised high and hips twisting and a rumble like a rumba.

I want to follow the footsteps
of Che and hear the truth about

the day the CIA killed the
Mumbai.

I want to hear a poem about
struggle so that when I

open my mouth I can step outside
myself.

I want to listen to no less than
the sounds of protest in the

factories where workers sweat
and make Air Jordans and

PRO Keds because if you want

to take shots at people, target
Phil Knight and Bill Gates.

Contemplate how they own
the products and they got the goods,

how they act like they care,
but they're just Robin Hoods.

And because every second
matters, I want to hear

long poems and short poems
about time and its limits,

because it took less than three
minutes to attack Abner Louima,

to frame Assata Shakur and
destroy Hiroshima,

to kill Eleanor Bumpurs and
Anthony Baez,

to gun down Malcolm with bullets
they bought from the feds.

I want to hear a poem
where ideas kiss similes

so deeply that metaphors get
jealous.

Where the subject matters
so much that adjectives

start holding pronoun rallies at
city hall.

Because I want to hear a poem
that attacks the status quo,

that attracts the claps of the
cats with the fattest flows,

that makes the crowd pass their

hat and pack my cap with a stack
of dough.

I want to hear a poem that
makes this audience yell ho!

Because I want to guess
your favorite color then

craft rhyme schemes out of
thin air.

I want to hear a poem about why
the statute of

limitations for rape
is only five years.

I want to hear a poem.
I want to feel a poem.

I want to taste a poem.

Give me your spot on the
mic if you want to waste a poem.

I want to hear a poem.

(applause)