I’m breaking-in to tomorrow
with the complete resolve to rob that new person blind
whoever she is
imprisons what I have always wanted
I’m busting in to the dawn of a year
and dragging her riches
back to the past
so she can remember
that I was here.
–Ariama Long
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.
Make your mistakes, next year and forever.
― Neil Gaiman
-Scott and Borgman
no no no
all I hear is screams
the knife, bat, and gun
then the screaming comes
thrusts to the stomach
tearing
swung to the torso
crushing
shots ring out
bloodied finger tips
touching the wounds
he leans
slowly to the side
sighing his last
the nightmares God
make them stop
I want to see heaven
not the things
I’ve done
Poetry crept in one night
wrapping me up in his arms
wordlessly
I said you are my inspiration
there’s no greater gathering
of you and me
than my notebook
I don’t think he believed me
He compared us to a summer’s day
Blake’s tiger
Wheatley’s forever
Sylvia Plath’s deathless nights
Hughes’ huesbluessoul
Baraka’s beat
Morrison’s ghosts
he compared me to the ones who had long since died
or the greats who had given his name over to fame
and yelled we are all alike
the users
musers
ponderers
penners
and thinkers
misunderstanding stung his eyes
so he yelled some more
until he was tired
until he hadn’t noticed that I had turned away to hide
foolishly I had always thought him mine
a secret the world couldn’t access
a feeling without present or past
the ethereal
only I could capture with my pen
thirteen years of unwavering devotion
and he’d leave
on a whim
I grated my heart on pride and lied
telling him to go if me wasn’t enough
that there was nothing more to give
not knowing if I’d live through the night
that poetry
didn’t love me right
All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies have always drawn flies
–Ernest Hemingway, Paris 1922
The time has gone somewhere
yesterday was five years ago
before i knew of you
have you ever seen the silhouette of a skeleton dancing in the moonlight he said
weighted words fluttering
over the shuffling
of broken desks at the rec
Hey, old me
pay attention
this morning the warning bell rang
clanging its announcement that 1st period began
Mrs. Gathers teaches us about Egypt
instead of Shakespeare
& i have the sneaking suspicion
that in a building
of 22 white teachers and a euro-centric curriculum
that she won’t last here
she was gone the next year
Ey, me, youngin
i see you daydreaming about pushing metaphors
around on stage late night
but fight through the heavy laid accent
and listen to the wisdom
Yesterday i thought yesterday was all i had
caught up in wishing for the world to end
so i don’t have to reflect on
who i could’ve been
until i told myself stop bitchin
took a good look within
and said its time to woman up
Little girl
i got our dream on my back
manifest destiny ahead
& I’m not prepared to stop
I woke up ready, pissed
at what i have yet to accomplish
grabbed old me by the hand
& hugged her
told her i loved her
but go back to sleep daydreams pepe jeans white tees
I got this
Time’s fast
but I’m faster
I will not rest until my dreams
of tomorrow come crashing
down with waves
of success
Check out Edwin Bodney as he recites his stellar poem “When A Boy Tells You He Loves You” courtesy of Button Poetry!
The Poetry Corner 