“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” – Anton Chekhov
Tag: poetry
Power of Words
Do you not know that your words declare to the world who you are?
I’m starting to understand more and more the power we have as individuals and how we so readily give this power away with the speed of thought. One of the reasons I happen to love words is for the power that they hold. When you speak your words begin to act upon what has been spoken, in other words they live. Poetry then becomes such an attractive art because it’s not just the reading and reciting of words, but it’s the emotion and exact senses that encompasses the words that are spoken. I sometimes find it hard to really judge poetry because it’s such a personal part of the poet and there are so many different kinds of styles and tones. But the kind of poetry I really fall for is the delicious kind, the tasty kind; the kind of poetry that speaks so personally to the reader / listener that we will believe that this poem was a gift specifically granted to us. When I read a poem about running I want to feel your heartbeat, I want your breath to brush upon my cheeks; I want my feet to ache from the unforgiving concrete of the ground. I want to feel you as if I invaded your body only to live in your existence for the remainder of the poem. I want to be one with you on that intimate level. If you possess power, when you speak then so should I. That’s the kind of poetry that inspires me, and I must say the kind of writing as well; the kind that possesses power. I always encourage new poets to make sure their delivery is superb. Writing is in many ways the easy part, but when you approach an audience make sure they can feel what you felt when you wrote that poem. Don’t tell me its poetry, just paint poetic justice against the backdrop of heavy keystrokes. Let me “bathe in the blank wake of your passion and be kissed by white paper” (Mark Strand). Far as general speech is concerned we have to learn to stop being so sensitive. Nothing others do or say is always about you. Whether that’s blogging, writing, posting, etc, when we stop worrying about how others see us we can then stop being the victims of needless suffering. The power of words always comes back to self and what self is willing and not willing to allow in his / her space. A lot of the negativity we walk around with is due our own making, it is simply made up of elements we allowed to come in. We are thus bearing the burden of self inflicted scars, but we should never let anyone dilute the power of our words. I’m realizing now that whenever we say that we “can’t” do something, we unconsciously weaken ourselves just a little bit more than we were just moments before. How much worse when we allow the words of others to do the same.
Too Much Truth
For some, truth is just too much…
its glare too distorted by the blurs in our eyes….
twisted memories that taste too strong to be anything but death
and faiths that fall stone cold by the wayside.
But know that it is always warmer closer to the sun.
Freedom: The Illusion
There’s a strange fruit
hanging from the trees
but not the kind of Billie Holidays days
with
blood all on the leaves
but these
are a different set of trees
and they bear a strange fruit
called ignorance
with an illusion up its sleeve
an illusion so thick
sometimes it’s hard to breathe
I feel like I am in the days
of Dr. Martin Luther King back when
black folks marched and sang songs
and Martin had a dream but,
what exactly was his dream?
I found myself
asking myself
over and over these things
what exactly was his dream?
I thought and so my thoughts led me
to February 1818,
here was born Fredrick Douglas
a man who also had this dream
To not have to work the cotton fields
courtesy of the curses
was his dream see to
not be so dark
so black
this too was his dream and in
1845 he found himself
on the “winning” team.
Tired of hearing screams of being slapped up
he slipped up into a secret society.
Wanting to be a part of this world so badly
he joined the American Anti–Slavery Society
mistakenly joining a secret society
determined
to tear him away
from his own
society
This was his conclusion
Mr. Douglas my friends
got caught up in the illusion.
So being women some of us and
enjoying the company of women the other half of us
our thoughts led us to some women tales
we thought
well most certainly
we can get our answers from Mrs. Ida B. Wells
But as I studied her story in search for this dream
my mind began to drift away
as I saw that she too had this dream
she too had this purpose
she too wanted to escape
the curses
Blinded by a fake reality
she too joined a secret society
also known as the NAACP
created by Jews
but led by intelligent fools
with black skins
who sought to escape the bodies they were in
So
like Douglas
Ida became confused in a world of turmoil
that led her to believe her own confusion
she too was caught up
in this Illusion
but we had to figure out some way
somehow our own existence
our own being
therefore we continued our search
for Martin’s dream
our thoughts destination
had to steer towards education
so take it
it’s yours
this led us to of course,
W.E.B. Dubois.
something about this man caused an excitement
that ran through you and me we
became amazed
and began to admire his level of maturity
when it came to intellectual ability so we thought sure
“Now this man can school me.”
However, with him too my mind became stumped
as I ran across this myth
and
found that my admirer was in favor
of the talented tenth?
To my astonishment
he too had this dream
He too wanted to be on what he thought
was the winning team
(even if it meant only 10% of the winning team)
see because Dubois didn’t understand the curses
he created the crisis
magazine
so as we caught up to Dr. Martin Luther King and we
heard his many speeches singing “I had a dream!”
we too began to lust for this very dream
even if it was not real
all we had to do was feel
feel like we had this dream
even after our depression still lingers
and our arthritis can still be felt in the fingers
and our AIDS rate keeps growing
and our blood stops flowing
even in the midst of the curses
and the confusion
we’d still rather give ear to this Freedom
the illusion.
I am
I am rotten lettuces on tasteless teeth
twisted letters
filthy rags
spoiled meat
I am hands shaking chills of cold winds seeping a cold soul
in a cold world,
I am a braggadocios body bobbing back and forth, carving bones of a sick skeletal make-up
I am he who has yet to have woken up
I am dry bones
I am the one to whom you’ve thrown stones, and chuckles judged my attempt simply to exist
You bypassed me,
laughing, you joked at my life,
you did not consider I may have been Abraham’s wife
or Rachel’s daughter
may have been your foundation
you did not consider I could have planted in the bowels of a broken being rooted seeds,
you didn’t believe your saliva could have been running down the face of Jacob’s seed
I am proof of your past
I am not first, I am last
But I am not last, I am first
I am broken waters to quench your thirst
I am shattered glass
Chanted songs and free at last
Beautiful earthquakes, hour glass
The materialized substance of your disobedience
I am the gift to your present
I am crumbled potato chip bags curling in the agonizing pain of empty contents
I am dirty walls and street gangs, schools without common sense
spiritual non-sense
I am slavery folded within the pages of ignorance
I am pregnant mothers at 16,
I am dope dealers
Crack fiends
I am cold rods against soft bones
Dripping water stains like ice cream cones, I am your portion
I am Planned Parenthood, I am abortion.
I am poverty, sickness, I am disease
I am the consideration of obedience to reverse this
I am the judgment of sins,
I am The Curses
I am history
I am present, I am future and I am youth
I am both what you desire and what you despise
I am
The truth
Princess
Didn’t know the whole world was mine…my princess self….
didn’t know bout this crown on my head,
just death and pain till the winds got tired of blowing on me….
said it was time for the branch to be lifting my chin from the ground so lest I could see what the sky looks like…
held me in his arms like orange autumns in September…
fresh air, cool and breezy like.
Diamond in The Ruff
I decided to seek strength when pain took it upon herself to become the choir director of humanity
in an anxious quest to play doubt on the strings of our faith she laughs…
coughing up the twisted humor of her bowels you see she knows
that our minds have been twisted by the craftiness of sin still falling from the fingerprints of Eve and Hiding behind the shame of Adam she knows
The ease to which we are apt to scream we’re not able like the blood of Abel, that at times
our lowliest moments give us in to unbelief like virgins vulnerable to the sensitivity of fleshly skin
Faith giving it up like cracking levees… overflowing with trial & struggle she laughs while you drown in sins pain made you promise to go back to
but you tell pain that we are not bed sheets fitted to the corners of her pride
We are not fools, babbling vain words in her congregation
We are not faithless because of her existence
Tell pain that we wait for her
like crouching tigers with gritted teeth
you tell sorrow that with much wisdom comes much grief
tell her, that we are not children
borne about by every sickness breathed from the viruses she plants in our immune systems 4 we are strong
you tell pain that from her humility is born
like truth when it touched its hands on the insides of Miriam’s womb, the Salvation brought forth from pain
a stake of stabbing wounds
You tell pain that the almighty made sure that everything had its companion
You tell pain…
that Endurance was made for her
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