Read a poem...It's National Poetry Month

Last Night

Last night I turned to you
like I do on most nights
drifting back and forth
between this world and my subconscious
I am unable to sleep
wanting a needed distraction
to drown the chaos down the hall
to calm my trembling hands
(I fear the shadows when the sun sets)
to kill the sensation to cry because
I miss my dead father and
despise the man in the room next door who
gleefully smacks my thighs and pinches my ass
while my mother watches
in angst, later cutting her eyes at me
Damn…what did I do?

Last night I turned to you
like I do on most nights
wanting a friend
needing an ear
I have so much to say
you’re the only one who will listen
when my soul cries out and
the pain is ready to detonate
you never say stop
so I keep going, almost obsessed
flooding your being with my dreams,
sacred secrets, desires, past hurts,
and present triumphs
while blasting Offspring’s “Self-Esteem”…
cathartic release.

23 years later and I never lost touch
How could I?
You were my first and only
guess that means there’s always a place
in my heart, mind, and soul…for you
that place I nurture and turn to when I’m ready
to peel back the layers,
wade through the memories,
heal the scars instead of picking them…
simply express.

Last night I turned to you
like I do on most nights
it was sweet…exciting
and after all these years
I am ready to introduce you to the world
my sun in the midst of darkness
my flower in a weeded desert
in a padded room with no windows,
I still have you…
my gift from God,
my love…
my poetry.

The Measure of Democracy

What’s left to say after this seemingly endless campaign? The Op-Ed editors asked five poets to answer that question in writing and on audio.

Check out the NY York Times...

My Poetic Emergence

When I was a child,
my mother equipped me
with a pen and paper
and instructed me to wrap my arms
around the rhythmic compressed language
freeing my mind and creating a memoir
of my journey to maturity.

From pubescence to womanhood
I soaked up the story prose
of spirit and feeling and I meditated.
Through this progression,
my mind has ripened, my lexis has richened, and
the words continue to travel through me
like the blood that flows through my veins.

Colorful prolific phrases,
words as concrete images,
painting pictures and decorating the pages,
inciting visual orgasms, propagating artistry,
breeding inner beauty, and
satisfying my thirst for an abundant life
filled with ingenuity, void of lackluster and mediocrity.

Walk with me
and witness my elevation…my catharsis,
as I continue to procreate life
through metaphors, allegories…literary illustration.
Interpret my self-expression,
sustain my connectedness to others,
embrace my sanguinity…
as I emphatically give birth to individuality and creativity.

Behold: my poetry.