What Are You Fighting For?
Def Poetry Jam with Mos Def presents an astounding poet, Gemini, dropping some knowledge on the stage.
Poems
Knuckles and Knees: Part Two
I fought a door once.
My hands bled for all of five minutes.
I fought a man that same day, and they didn’t feel a thing. The scabs were more interesting to look at. They made my knuckles bulge and harder than before.
Darker too.
Now my knuckles match my knees.
The Brooklyn Chronicles: Ch 2
The DMV,
Atlantic Avenue?
violent upheaval
don’t send me
The Department of Motor Vehicles
a black hole, loud and exploding
absence of life
that place makes me pray
for a quick, quiet death
Philly Story #63
Herbert Holmes is
homeless
he heaves heavy bags of trash for food everyday
hunger scrambling across his tongue
less homes than people
houses hollow of happiness he hollers
he mumbles then
humbled and homely
his Heavenly father is the only one to visit him on the streets
huddled against high-rises,
underneath society’s hazy gaze
Maybe he hates or waits for
a harbinger of humanity
Herbert Holmes is hopeless
but no less than a man
so why do I hesitate,
feeling helpless
Taste The Rainbow
I’ve always wanted to taste the rainbow
listen to the wind
know what men are thinking
cure my skin problem with those around me
drink a little bit
Learn to jump double dutch
to trust that first leap of a heartbeat when he speaks
hate deeply
truly master an art
to fold towels properly
to listen again
Wax something
Grow something
Write the word write, right, and rite in a sentence
Hold onto secrets and let go of others
Figure out why line breakers and punctuation should be important in poetry
and then blissfullynotcare
Find something I can’t live without
someone I can’t live without
Dance
I haven’t been embarrassed in a while so I’m probably due
In the meantime, that’s just some stuff I wanted to do.
Burnt Brown Sugar
I wondered if it tastes like brown sugar
the way you’d kiss my skin hungry You never told me that your lips like plump pockets knives were devised to devour my sanity These were visceral screams of pitiful self-esteem etched and bound into the seams of this epidermis because of the way you looked at it This is for the boy who paralyzed my sense of touch and any loving hands would just feel like his claws again I remember hickies on my breasts hating that you had bitten into my chest in an effort to get to my heart straight through my rib cage playful pokes of lust as you joked you’d choke the life out of me if I told I am tired from over exhausting battle but I remain a soldier forging on to inevitable victory, keep fighting until you get sick of me as fear fucks me alone in the dark tears stream as he thrusts harder and harder I scream but there is no sound now I lay me down to sleep I pray thee lord my soul to keep I pray, with my face buried in the sorrow filled pillow will he still be there tomorrow? I toss off covers and stumble through my black blanket looking for comfort the storm has blurred their vision and they can’t see that I have cried those raindrops look closely at my cheek, you can trace the salty path everyone’s distracted by the lightening’s wrath as it whips and cracks light across her back she lies on her back cracks her legs and submits to him again and again wondering when the storm will end She reaches out wanting to touch her ancestors feel the drums as they play in the background of sweltering heat as the sunrises off the coast of New Guinea bucking the land and tonguing the plains with fire She reaches out to the water pooled on the ceiling splashes her mouth and thighs inside is a river as deep and wide as the Mississippi She reaches out but can only feel fear sweating next to her Measured my worth by my hips
so I changed my walk, trying to not exist in a place that reflected a face you were so eager to kiss This is for the boys who need to learn to touch without breaking
NY Streets
Hosts of lonely souls coast through the streets
feel like desperation when I breathe deep
just trying to keep up with fast feet
if I stop my mind will catch thoughts that creep around my sleep
I am the gaping hole after the tower’s destruction
nothing but blood and hollow exoskeleton
hot to the touch so I must still be alive
But how could anything have survived
buch a vicious blow was so unexpected
It took my hope, structure, foundation when it crash landed
the phoenix reborn among these swaying rooftops
shake off ash and debris
where my heart beat stops is the location of the excavation
Dig me a new soul that’s not half-empty
with repatriation, false devotion, love and harmony
rebuild me in your eyes as how I’m meant to be
In memory of those who continue to die all around me
in these streets, malleable like hot leaded fingers
that grab at son’s sneakers
pushing him to the edge
the city barely gets by on integrity
push him inside, it’s dark down here
Broken back and crumpled spirit
I am the hole in the chest of concrete that can’t be fixed
Sublime in its suckiness
Does that make me beautiful as I coast through the city’s mist
brushing off unhappiness as the sun peeks from behind stratus clouds
ashy smoke bags hazy in their existence
as they hang in the sky over us
the sounds of sirens unheeded
so we burn our city to the bone with our music
The absence of those well-acquainted with the night
leave holes in already unfulfilled souls
For Maya, Seven Ways To Look At a Black Notebook
1. Scribbled black ink drawings
forced knowledge
thrown to the ground
2. boyish hands
hold a black pen
jots down notes of legend
3. my black seam
never creased, his pages
never filled
4. poems spill from
line to line
juiced
with black sorrow
5. stranger to daylight
i, diary
to blackened deeds
6. white spaces mixed with black lines
unified on
one page
7. home to happy hands
and words
and black pupils
I Know You Rest In Peace
Maya Angelou, my hero, died at age 86 in her beautiful home in North Carolina today.
“She lived a life as a teacher, activist, artist and human being. She was a warrior for equality, tolerance and peace,” said her son, Guy B. Johnson.
Her poem “Still I Rise,” was the first I ever recited, ever memorized, ever performed, and ever loved. As a kid her words found me in a dark place when no one else’s did, and continue to inspire me to rise beyond who I was. My only hope is that she passed knowing that she moved countless generations to poetry, and that she fermented a love of language that could leap oceans.
Inaugural, outstanding poet, will never cover how much Maya Angelou meant to the literary community. Her life and works awe millions. So I challenge you this day, in honor of a woman who was always more than just a poet, to rise above and believe that words can make a difference. In truth, they are the only things that have ever infected and effected change.
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou, 1928
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
Are You There
Deep inside are you there
looking back at me
What are you thinking
Who the hell are you
Where’d you go
Do you know you
Yes or no
Do you want to know me
Does that make me special or convenient
What do you want with yourself
Who are you fighting
Are you lying
Why would you lie
Do you not know what special means
Deep inside I have no reason to hide
so why cry
Are you here with me
or are you there
The Poetry Corner 