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
Hello God, it’s me
its going on day three and
still my baby won’t sleep
I cradle him close to my chest
steadily tap
rhythm on his back
like that of a rocking ship
the downbeat of the bass
we syncopate with the slow motion of gravity’s pull
back and forth
until
his angry flailing lulls
still restless I feed him my dreams
since circumstance has taken my breasts
I hold him closer to my now flattened chest
and smoothly sing this prayer
let my voice be the milk
that fills his little belly
let it be like honey
so that he may never go hungry
loud enough to mask
the dissonance of gunshots
down by the deli
please help him sleep quietly
and I will sing
nina simone, etta james, and ella
into the unholy hours of the morning
before the daily grind of the laborer begins
I will sing
until the day he walks upright
kingly
no longer needs me
to get through the night
I will sing calmly to let the devils know
that God blesses the child
of the mother
who works hard to give him his own
nineteen pounds, dark brown
after snaking his small fist into the fold under my arm
and pinching my fat lightly
on night three
of wrestling
finally
Finally, we sleep
There are times when I can’t move.
I feel roots of mine everywhere,
as though all things were born of me,
or as though I were born of all things.
All I can do then is to stay still
with eyes open like two faces at the moment of birth,
with a small amount of love in one hand
and something cold in the other.
And all I can give someone passing by me
is that motionless absence
that has roots in him too.
–Roberto Juarroz, Argentina
hectic street
scandalous
dollar vans
gypsy cabs
jovial juve
thugs slink
ripple of looks
watch the horde
march by
white castle
the parkway
bobby’s
jerk chicken
expendable
please
with the excuses
they’re just misunderstood youths
unlimited stop
two fare zones
from home
defenseless to the ghetto
spit out a diss
be different
pioneer
something new
ice grill if you have to
but be yourself
and nothing else
I have ruled
for forty years,
seven in hebron
thirty-three in Jerusalem
I have lain under the stars
and dreamed of foreign women.
I have dreamed my legs around them,
dancing.
some nights,
holding them in the dream,
I would feel us
swallowed by the sky.
lately I have begun to bed
with virgins,
their round breasts warm
to an old man.
I hold my seed
still plentiful as stars.
it is not my time.
somewhere something is choosing.
I can feel it dancing in me,
something to do with
virgins and with stars.
I am grown old and full of days.
my thighs are trembling.
what will the world remember,
what matters to time,
I wonder,
the dancer or the dance?
–Lucille Clifton
I am the coming development
envelopment of progress, oh yes
that vacant lot you park your rental benz
in front of is embarking
I’ve been called on from city government high
to cut down the weeds sprouted into trees
clear the land, so to speak
trash, discarded shopping carts, and birthday cards
to be tucked deep
into your memory
Make way for the gentrified mortar and bricks of an
Aid-Rite… “Your Get Right In A Hurry”
don’t take offense this is just business
a much bigger family than your province
Look we care for the urban community
creating all these jobs, revenue, and unity
breaking down this ugly eye sore of a vacant lot
for crisp
clean
profit
Stop it
we don’t have time
for your repine
you can’t fight the new world order
with your skewed cognizance
You could’ve built a playground or a garden
a community hub to grow-in
instead
you have chosen
to languish
weaken
on a stoop with $5 Chinese food when
Lucky Garden
sells their colorful candy packs
next to the fruity cigar wraps
and condoms
because those are the
products your people perpetuate
the children your people germinate
the fat, fucked, and lazy
spitting them out like vending machines with hood dreams
you think you can lay claim to those blocks you don’t own
no assets no appreciation
a mortgage not even a rent note
little do you know
I can flood these streets with police
trumped up charges and property leans
un-subsidized loans
unpaid taxes
I can take your home
I am what’s next
I am revitalization
there will be no more dead lots and drug spots
the path of my destruction will enter
it will either leave you in jail
or in the system swallowing repetition until you’re too old to function
in the meantime
we’ve secretly siphoned social security and that bullshit retirement fund
so please
lose focus
it won’t make a difference
I am
still coming
The Poetry Corner 