I want to write a poem that moves with the cadence and crescendo of an old Negro spiritual; I want to write a poem that reaches into the bowel of humanity in a vise like grip milking out compassion and tolerance; I want to write a poem that shares the test of walking through fire…
Tag: poetry
clear and present
which a more poignant memory that he threw me or that i fell into his arms full of glee laughing willing to go again until his limbs grown weary from tossing turned rubber and the fear of missing shown real in his eyes at 3 i could not imagine a world where he would not catch me so i screamed out ‘again’ demanding […]
#goals
when i am an old lady i will walk the streets in layers of gold yell sweet nothings into the wind mime for catholicism and speak secrets to children while ladling double fudge brownies into pie tins for parties i haven’t been invited to when i am an old lady i will stare out at passersby and…
clear and present
which a more poignant memory that he threw me or that i fell into his arms full of glee laughing willing to go again until his limbs grown weary from tossing turned rubber and the fear of missing shown real in his eyes at 3 i could not imagine a world where he would not catch me so i screamed out ‘again’ demanding…
deliver us from evil: an epigram for modern times
raw reality, a fist slamming into my temple forces me awake. sleep, a drug of solace pulls me out of the nightmare into the fortress of my mind. stable condition. stable. condition. a massacre’s sole survivor; on the battle front of her basement. her children slaughtered before bloodshot eyes. what greater torture is this? prostrate a preference over…
a memory: untitled
are you sisters dancers, an innocent enough inquiry and had we the decency of dancers we may have left him his dignity in response indecency, however, is the occupation of poets so we in synchronized sonnet pounced dripping iambic pentameter across his abdomen like a procession of candle wax our minds weapons of mass destruction…
for my sistren, a poem
we were magnificence woman warriors armed with words piercing souls healing our own babes in tow men in awe imperfect with our flaws spewing necessary vulnerabilities a revolution in our bosom nectar sipping goddesses shat stereotypes spake stories over rip whiskey and dangling cigars sisters in arms poets, we are.
how poetry saved me from being just another ‘angry black woman’ or why i write
there was a time in my life when i was a hothead. and we’re talking the whole screaming profanities, fist drawn, feet shoulder distance apart, knees slightly bent, shoulders squared, ready to pounce and destroy rage filled angry. my primary trigger: someone i cared about was threatened or harmed. if you threatened to touch a…
a tritina lullaby for mama
wide eyes take up doorways, begging me not to leave it’s not forever i chime but only goodnight near forgiveness, he is unconvinced but for his mother’s kiss this chair a portal and sleep’s sweet lingering kiss rest upon my eyes now panhandlers taking their leave a sleepless slumber my true reprieve on this goodnight…
favor in five courses
i. appetizer body of a child grown ripe from the lasciviousness of men past their prime judgement echoes of lies told millennia ago when the bristlecone pine was seedling language symbolic yet still a female could be taken against her will for the deceitful pleasure of males, justification lies in the fabrication of detail ii. soup how…
fearfree living 