The Pursuit Of
we real cool
we beat slow
mellow flow hold
the fluidity at a
decibel of a syllable
go
vent
we street meat
in the belly
we brew steady heavy
live accents &
accidents
Author: A. Long
Do You Like Her?
–Bill Watterson, Calvin & Hobbes
No Dash Needed
I am not African-American
there’s no dash needed
if anything
I am
a native spook who sat by the door
listening for opportunity,
devout in my non
ever
shifting
identity
making lemonade.
Oh To Be Married
–Lynn Johnston, For Better Or Worse
from “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!”
You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
By Dr. Seuss
I am
I am mine & mine only
I am mine & mine only
I am mine & mine only
I am mine & mine only
I am mine & mine only
I am mines & mines only
I am mine & mine only
I am mine & mine only
I am mines & mines only
I am mine & mine only
It’s okay, I won’t let you
fall again.
She held her close
this little piece of herself.
Self Evident
It’s not so much the truth that bothers
Truths like lies
can sometimes shift
so whether they’re spat or whispered
they’ll always unfold
It’s the lying that kicks up the brick dust
The you can lie to them, we all do it
We’re all a them to someone
Where honesty hung off the tongue ready to dive
there’s only omission
a clean unwillingness
to break down and be an outright liar
Cowardly, feverish, but ready
my truth will lay in wait in trenches of jowls
Let the world have it
when necessary
when commanded
until then
Fuck’em my shit is self evident
The Secret Explanation Of Where Poems Come From
If ever you are in the room with those
Lost in the reverie of poetry
And struggling to guide their thoughts, they close
Their seeking eyes to help them better see;
If ever you have watched a poet’s face
Composing line within a world inside
No other soul can witness nor divide;
Then you are not alone in wond’ring, “Where,
While all their flesh and blood on Earth remains,
Do poets take their thoughts before they bare
Them back transformed? Where is a poem’s domain?”
This verse will not reveal from whence it came,
And poets–they write poems to explain.
–Allan Wolf
The Hughes
Do men dream in the same way that women do?
Do they cradle a dream to their chest, minding its head as if it’s fragile neck would snap?
Do black men dream big?
Do brown?
Men hold fast to so many things,
But dreams?
Or at least I can’t imagine many of them knowing what it feels like to have a dream
Hold you back
To say,
I will never leave you
No matter how hard the future gets
That we will make it through and survive this thing called life,
Together.
So, deferred, what is it that becomes of them? They build or preach or teach. Men may accept a lesser reality, a shallow dream that isn’t sweet enough to satisfy anyone. A sliver at a time they accept the life they have come to live, and, every once in awhile, learn to silence the hope that builds up in their chest
-excerpt poem from my book in progress called ‘A Man Deferred’. Let us know what you think!
Never Waste A Trip
–Jim Davis, Garfield
The Poetry Corner 