Two days ago I had a conversation with the love of my life Jamaica Osorio ... in my head. I have been asking myself recently about overused words (and structures) in my poetry. All to challenge my language, my craft, my heart. One such overused word is "God" an other religious rhetoric. Reminding myself that words are symbols, I am selling mine so short of what they represent. I want my words to be less symbolic more merging, more transcendent.
Nevertheless, this resulted in,in my head, my love challenging me. Asking, as if in response to reading a piece I have written, since i mention "god" so much in my poetry...what is it that god looks like to me.
My response was the following...
A fiery night turned scorched evening in Brooklyn
A homeless person stands over
a hallowed turbine canister for heat
A man, wall street all three piece suits
And shoe sole covered
with other peoples dreams
walks over freezing
The homeless man shifts over
Never even looking up
They stand over the fire
Both shivering
Neither of them saying a thing
That is what God looks like to me
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
10 Things That Remind Me of A Thunderstorm (freewrite)
Got this via my beloved soulmate Anwar Jabari Johnson
10 things that remind me of a thunderstorm
1.
Ancestors falling
from their avalanche of wander woes
gripping to the roof of her mouth for heaven
afterlife
My mother's voice
the lioness she taught me to fear
...being.
Mane slipped into its aftermath,
the depth of her transmutable story
causing unknowing listeners to call her
"MR" Yussuf
like they know how shes been my father
2.
Our lips meeting for the 1st time
the passion that made everything messy
Have you ever clutched a storm in your arms before?
Tamed it?
Are you sure
Minilik?
3.
An unnumbered summer
2008
Where some girls began shedding their skin together,
learned to stop being ashamed
of how they had shared it together.
No one told you you looked this good naked
4.
A bag of Italian leather shoes and suits
that always seemed better buys than
formula, or juice, or school fees
or marriage counseling.
My older sister at 15
rolling his belongings down the stairs
right after calling the police
5.
the night when it began to become clear
that little girls do not grow into 18 year olds
that hate men for no reason.
That there had been clouds beneath her eyes breaking
not high enough to forget what happened
That the fogs and opaque bottles full
of blackouts and drowning
the nights when alcohol found prescriptions
readable, understanding,...friendly
Had all
never been for no reason
6.
The day they realize
they did not welcome a daughter back properly
When a whole country
will rise above itself
into the frame of what
its dislocated daughter
has always viewed it to be...
My the cheering
7.
Dec 2009
A doctor saying something
about a lung collapsing
A prayer in a hospital bed
that means nothing
In a room she is sharing with a woman who is 90
A 19 yo realizing, again, she is dying
8.
A quiet night in Chicago
at the most recent BNV
When something is happening
that shouldn't be
Pathetic attempts to regain agency
Have you no idea what type of woman
you want to be anymore?
Are you looking for her
by finding
everything you don't want to be
9.
"that night" "that summer"
I had a vision of my deceased sister walking towards me
10.
"finishing"
the sound of breaking to begin again
pretending you've lived already
10 things that remind me of a thunderstorm
1.
Ancestors falling
from their avalanche of wander woes
gripping to the roof of her mouth for heaven
afterlife
My mother's voice
the lioness she taught me to fear
...being.
Mane slipped into its aftermath,
the depth of her transmutable story
causing unknowing listeners to call her
"MR" Yussuf
like they know how shes been my father
2.
Our lips meeting for the 1st time
the passion that made everything messy
Have you ever clutched a storm in your arms before?
Tamed it?
Are you sure
Minilik?
3.
An unnumbered summer
2008
Where some girls began shedding their skin together,
learned to stop being ashamed
of how they had shared it together.
No one told you you looked this good naked
4.
A bag of Italian leather shoes and suits
that always seemed better buys than
formula, or juice, or school fees
or marriage counseling.
My older sister at 15
rolling his belongings down the stairs
right after calling the police
5.
the night when it began to become clear
that little girls do not grow into 18 year olds
that hate men for no reason.
That there had been clouds beneath her eyes breaking
not high enough to forget what happened
That the fogs and opaque bottles full
of blackouts and drowning
the nights when alcohol found prescriptions
readable, understanding,...friendly
Had all
never been for no reason
6.
The day they realize
they did not welcome a daughter back properly
When a whole country
will rise above itself
into the frame of what
its dislocated daughter
has always viewed it to be...
My the cheering
7.
Dec 2009
A doctor saying something
about a lung collapsing
A prayer in a hospital bed
that means nothing
In a room she is sharing with a woman who is 90
A 19 yo realizing, again, she is dying
8.
A quiet night in Chicago
at the most recent BNV
When something is happening
that shouldn't be
Pathetic attempts to regain agency
Have you no idea what type of woman
you want to be anymore?
Are you looking for her
by finding
everything you don't want to be
9.
"that night" "that summer"
I had a vision of my deceased sister walking towards me
10.
"finishing"
the sound of breaking to begin again
pretending you've lived already
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
TO do List (freewrite)
Bismillah
Start everything with God in mind,
be open about the horrible if existent
nature of your Arabic.
Do not be ashamed of how you carry your religion
its compass, guiding light you follow when you so choose
relinquish the idea of it shinning a single hue
Level your head
try to wear that rolling scab with pride
Remember the times when your hijab
made you feel beautiful but never be afraid to expose your wounds
bear no fear of exposure physical or otherwise
Lose yourself when your write
find a forgetfulness for not being good enough
You are larger than your fears wont let you be
Run away from complacency
even when it looks like God standing still,
Know that God never stands still unless you are running at a divine speed
Check your feet, their harshness, how quickly they are moving
Kick the stagnancy when it comes
Catch up to yourself
Ponder the making of your first love into your last
not for admonishing, just for pondering
On nights when your chest is cold with wondering if you lived too quickly
warm it with the kinetic heat of a clock moving
Time
Feel its abundance, flow in it
there is so much, too much to exist
Forget finite, know it never
Live now
Let yourself wonder why this poem is filled with “Don’ts”
Don’t stop being hard on yourself out of guilt
knead yourself against the scabs on your heart
rub your chest often, especially when your insides hurt
make it prolific
Keep writing poems to your broken body
there are no doctors, no cure that can heal
your inherited illness like these poems
The unveiling of sickled cells
do not make you less strong
Cherish your withering hands for what they are
do not regret how dark your palm
its lines, the depth of the bark, the tell tale rings
Stop trying to hide that you’ve been here before
Kiss boys,…Kiss girls
Kiss first,
and only places screaming of beauty
Look for nothing in return
Be thankful that you will let none of this make you ugly
Forgive yourself for not letting them kiss you
For surrenders reserved for the love you won't let go
Do not let go if you do not want to
Know that its okay if you do decide to
Let yourself build a shrine to your tears
reread the poems he wrote
they are a portal into eternity
Be okay with not wanting to leave it at just that
Reminisce on when you got the wanting washed out of you
how ugly you looked clean
Bask in the residue the stains
the foreshadow in smiling at being called “filthy”
by an Abyssinian son with Seattle tongue
Burn hot inside for him whenever you want to
Fuck outsiders' feelings procreate with patience
Carry the novelty of that love obnoxiously as you want to
other claims will only be as threatening as you allow them to
Listen to those declarations with open ears and a sure heart
Use your heart
as a key
the places you belong will never
accuse you of breaking and entry
If and when you decide to kiss girls
Do not check boxes
But do not not check boxes because you are afraid to
Believe in Hasani
(the hypothetical human being)
love yourself for giving him a name
and appreciate that God gave him a face
Find a way to settle with the idea that he may have many
That “he” may be a “she” or that he
may make his way into your mirror one day
No one is more worthy of your love than you
Make love to your insecurities
be open about the dance you two do
How you are thinking to yourself
you must make this poem pretty,
adequate, less longwinded
Forgetting that you are a stretched breeze
that you encompass everything
Focus, and re-read
every word before these
they prove
Here there is much love
and many vital things to do
Start everything with God in mind,
be open about the horrible if existent
nature of your Arabic.
Do not be ashamed of how you carry your religion
its compass, guiding light you follow when you so choose
relinquish the idea of it shinning a single hue
Level your head
try to wear that rolling scab with pride
Remember the times when your hijab
made you feel beautiful but never be afraid to expose your wounds
bear no fear of exposure physical or otherwise
Lose yourself when your write
find a forgetfulness for not being good enough
You are larger than your fears wont let you be
Run away from complacency
even when it looks like God standing still,
Know that God never stands still unless you are running at a divine speed
Check your feet, their harshness, how quickly they are moving
Kick the stagnancy when it comes
Catch up to yourself
Ponder the making of your first love into your last
not for admonishing, just for pondering
On nights when your chest is cold with wondering if you lived too quickly
warm it with the kinetic heat of a clock moving
Time
Feel its abundance, flow in it
there is so much, too much to exist
Forget finite, know it never
Live now
Let yourself wonder why this poem is filled with “Don’ts”
Don’t stop being hard on yourself out of guilt
knead yourself against the scabs on your heart
rub your chest often, especially when your insides hurt
make it prolific
Keep writing poems to your broken body
there are no doctors, no cure that can heal
your inherited illness like these poems
The unveiling of sickled cells
do not make you less strong
Cherish your withering hands for what they are
do not regret how dark your palm
its lines, the depth of the bark, the tell tale rings
Stop trying to hide that you’ve been here before
Kiss boys,…Kiss girls
Kiss first,
and only places screaming of beauty
Look for nothing in return
Be thankful that you will let none of this make you ugly
Forgive yourself for not letting them kiss you
For surrenders reserved for the love you won't let go
Do not let go if you do not want to
Know that its okay if you do decide to
Let yourself build a shrine to your tears
reread the poems he wrote
they are a portal into eternity
Be okay with not wanting to leave it at just that
Reminisce on when you got the wanting washed out of you
how ugly you looked clean
Bask in the residue the stains
the foreshadow in smiling at being called “filthy”
by an Abyssinian son with Seattle tongue
Burn hot inside for him whenever you want to
Fuck outsiders' feelings procreate with patience
Carry the novelty of that love obnoxiously as you want to
other claims will only be as threatening as you allow them to
Listen to those declarations with open ears and a sure heart
Use your heart
as a key
the places you belong will never
accuse you of breaking and entry
If and when you decide to kiss girls
Do not check boxes
But do not not check boxes because you are afraid to
Believe in Hasani
(the hypothetical human being)
love yourself for giving him a name
and appreciate that God gave him a face
Find a way to settle with the idea that he may have many
That “he” may be a “she” or that he
may make his way into your mirror one day
No one is more worthy of your love than you
Make love to your insecurities
be open about the dance you two do
How you are thinking to yourself
you must make this poem pretty,
adequate, less longwinded
Forgetting that you are a stretched breeze
that you encompass everything
Focus, and re-read
every word before these
they prove
Here there is much love
and many vital things to do
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Egbe Omo Yoruba National Conference
Baton Rouge
August 5-8
SHITTIN on deez hoes....
haha.
I'm so excited.
August 5-8
SHITTIN on deez hoes....
haha.
I'm so excited.
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