Tag Archives: poem

Glorious (3.24.2013/Poem 13)


I don’t want a lifetime—
that’s too long
I don’t need a decade
for your love
But you’ve caught me at my peak
And this I’d like to keep
in mind
For as long as remembrance will allow

Push me to my Precipice
Help me to my Zenith
Bring me to my Crowning Moment
And Kiss my Feet

Make this one sticky memory last
The rest of my Glorious days
And please make it Good



The Angry Poem (3.22.13/Poem 12)

Stories and Poems were trying to destroy me during my block. I went mad. They became angry. Poems sent me this:

The Angry Poem

This poem is an angry poem
You don’t want to read this
This poem hates you

This poem will slit your throat—
if you fuck with it
Don’t insult this poem

This poem will punch your gut—
switch up your strut
This poem doesn’t play games
This poem is sick
A disease—
One that has no mercy:

This poem will infect you,
It’s airborne
Tuberculosis at its height

You will not outlive this poem
This poem shoots to kill—
two in the heart and one in the head

It’s not asking why
not longing for your love
not second-guessing itself

This poem blames you,
your parents, lovers, neighbors, children—
everyone that has ever tried to destroy it
This poem will dismember them slowly
Shoot an arrow through one ear and out the other
Yank their tongues out with tongs,
Use an ice cream scoop to serve
A feast of their eyes

This poem will watch them bleed slowly
As you watch this poem

You can’t stop this poem

This poem is stronger than you
smarter than you
better than you

This poem is a murderer
Insane sociopath

This poem doesn’t care what you think

You can try to Talk to this poem
Reason with this poem
Love this poem
Rise above this poem

Burn this poem
Stone this poem
Stab it, shoot it, Abuse it,
Ban it, Neglect it,
Nail it to a Cross,
Hang it—
leave it for Dead.

But this poem was born to kill
And you—
were born to die


Dante – Cheerleader Chant (3.21.2013/Poem 11)

Having a little fun ;)

Dante (Cheerleader Chant)

No more
I’m done
Baby it was fun
but I am gone
hope you crash
your car and Die
You and that girl
you Fucked,
you’re shit out of luck
I hate your guts
live loooong
long After you die
in a stony pit of fire
where constant Pleasure turns to Pain
the women always Scream your name
and are forever Playing games
with all you
hope you love the titillation
more than constant stimulation
the attention you receive
from every type you can conceive
and the feeling that it brings
to have the bitches of your dreams
My King

I love you

His Will (9.17.12/Poem 10)

His Will

If you let him walk all over you,
He Will
If you let him disrespect you,
He Will
If you want him to break your heart
Consider it Broken
Don’t ask why

If you revolve your life around his
He Will Let You
If you abandon your thoughts for his
He Will Let You
If you want him to complete you
Consider Yourself Deficient
Don’t ask why

If you trade in your family for his
He Will Embrace You
If you give up your dreams for his
He Will Embrace You
If you want to disappear
Consider Yourself Consumed
Don’t ask why

If he is all you need
He Will Never Let You Go
If you do not wish for more
He Will Never Let You Go
If you want to feel alone
You Are Deserted
Don’t ask why

If you praise him as a God
He Will Love You
If you worship at his feet
He Will Love You

If you wish to feel lost
You Will Never Be Found


Sweetness (9.12.12/Poem 9)



So sweet:

Newborn kitten sweet

Baby’s first word sweet

Bows on a little girl’s pigtails sweet

First day of summer sweet

Puppy love sweet

Breakfast in bed sweet

Honey sweet

Brown sugar sweet

Maple syrup sweet

Chocolate covered strawberry sweet,

Marshmallow sweet

Salted caramel sweet

Maraschino cherry sweet

Strawberry blow-pop sweet

Sugared mango sweet

Double chocolate ice cream sweet

Sugar cookie sweet

Too sweet kool-aid sweet

And he makes me sick.


Whenever You Are Ready (8.21.12/Poem 8)

Whenever You Are Ready

Whenever you are ready
Come and find me
All good things in time
but I have to go right now

You love me at my worst
I love you in my gut
still that’s not enough
and I have to go
right now

Use the time we will not share
Waste my missing love
just catch me before I burst
into a flaming ball of dust
drenched in moonlight

Beckon when you’ve chosen
to just love me only
Do not fear pursuit
When you think you’re ready
you will find me

Immobilized by angst
I do not wish to waste
words I cannot say
flesh I cannot touch
lips I cannot kiss
a soul I cannot reach
a heart I cannot seize
a bond I cannot break
On a Love I cannot love

I won’t say I’m waiting
but I am waiting
All good things in time
Come and find me
whenever you are ready
but I have to go right now

Run and don’t look back
I’m already on my way
still I will be waiting
Underneath the sun,
on the dark side of the moon,
in the brightest star

I belong to you
all good things in time
but not right now


Curiosity Killed the Cat, So They Say… (8.14.12/Poem 7)

Curiosity Killed the Cat, So They Say…

Curiosity Killed the Cat—

      What does this really mean?

Did Curiosity seep into his mind

And poison his sweetest dreams?

Did Curiosity tie him up

And make him scream his name?

Did Curiosity ease him along

And watch him burn in flames?

Or did Curiosity take the wheel

And drive the cat insane?

What if the cat was a martyr

And made sound judgment calls?

Should we be blaming Curiosity

For giving the cat some balls?

Consider that the Cat

Had a mission at his paws!?

You know, I think I like the cat.

A kitty for the cause.

I know!

 I think I’ll praise the cat.

For you – THE CAT – Applause!


How Fiction Works (7.31.12/Poem 6)

Reason2Rhyme Poetry Prompt – “Book Spine Poem”

Prompt can be found at: Karen B Nelson

Rules: Create a Book Spine Poem by layering titles to make a meaningful statement.  These can be books you own, or notice at your local bookstore or online.  (Photo is optional, but it’s nice to at least give credit to the authors’ works and their contribution to your poem.)

I found this idea so inspiring, interesting, & fun! Here’s my photo & poem:

How fiction works:

Invisible man playing in the dark

Kicking tongues just above my head–

The art of the story!

Book List:

How Fiction Works by James Wood

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Playing in the Dark by Toni Morrison

Kicking Tongues by Karen King-Aribisala

Just Above My Head by James Baldwin

The Art of the Story by Daniel Halpern

Enjoyed this mini project/poem!


*My poem was the featured poem of the week, very cool! Click here to read the post*


Tribute to The Black Arts Movement (BAM)

Clean out the world for virtue and love,

Let there be no love poems written

until love can exist freely and


-Amiri Baraka

I’m unsure how well known the Black Arts Movement is, because it is so controversial, but it is a movement I have learned to truly respect!

I DO NOT agree with all of their views, but I believe this group of artists has produced some of the most powerful poetry I have ever read. A lot of BAM works come from an extremely angry place, and anger is a fierce emotion. Some would say it’s an emotion that does not have a place in poetry, simply because it’s harsh, based on fear, and often considered base, but that doesn’t make BAM poetry any less beautiful to me. It is very honest, and most like confessional poetry.

You can find a decent amount of info about the movement on Wikipedia and much more if you do a little research, but the Black Arts Movement is the artistic side of the Black Power Movement. It came to existence in the 1960’s in the wake of the Malcolm X’s assassination. Amidst a tumultuous atmosphere of political and social unrest,  Amiri Baraka began BAM in Harlem, with his seminal poem “Black Art.” It’s an ars poetica  that lays the foundation for his ideas and the Black Arts Movement, in general. “Black Art” easily lends itself to being the authoritative text of the movement and serves as a manifesto, as it is undoubtedly, the Black poem—and the blueprint for all Black Art of the movement. It is militant, boisterous, angry, proud, demanding, and no holds-barred. There is cursing, violence, blasphemy against God, poetry, and poet, pure unadulterated hate, and also love. Needless to say, his writing receives a significant amount of negative attention as it is typical of his works to express hateful, racist, classist, sexist, anti-Semitic, anti-establishment, anti-African American, anti-peace until we can all have peace ideas, making his work exclusionary to almost all, except those who agree with his ideas of what it means to be Black.

Yet, when reading this poem, I do believe it’s important to question what it truly means to be Black and what it means to be White. I don’t think he is referring to races at all, but using Black and White as concepts, modes of thinking, and ways of being. BAM may appear as a counter culture, but I do think BAM writers were intent on establishing a new culture with new meanings for the terms Black and White.

Black is typically associated with negativity: darkness, danger, evil, and death. White is typically associated with positivity: goodness, clarity, safety, and life. Baraka completely reverses these meanings in his work and associates White (not the white man), with negativity, and Black to be the innate being of man, a man who fights openly and aggressively for the rights of the marginalized and does not turn a cowardice blind eye to universal struggle. Baraka insists that people should be willing, not to die, but to kill for the independence of all. He takes a “you’re either with us or against us” approach and that extends to all races of people.

The Black Arts Movement was innovative and emerged during a frightening time in American history. While, the violence that is promoted can be quite graphic and overbearing, I think it is representative of what was happening in the 1960s, and I understand Baraka’s intention to rile people up and ready them for battle. Yet, violence is a difficult thing to promote, especially in a culture where violence is associated with being a brute. If one can reach past the violence and see the movement and the material of the movement through a broader lens, it has the capacity and possibility of establishing itself as a national and international movement of the oppressed who are ready to fight and kill for their rights and no longer willing to wait to die or accept someone else’s definition of how they should live.

Also, I think it’s important to note that the violence that is present is rhetorical violence and we see worse on TV nowadays. I think the simple fact that his poems are so difficult to digest is testament to the power of the written word, and that means a lot to me.

And a complete positive of the Black Arts Movement is the widespread change in academic literature that arose after the movement waned in the mid-seventies. American literature was no longer to be dominated by white authors. Not only did African-Americans gain a voice, but Latinos, Native Americans, Asian-Americans, members of the LGBT community and other minority groups who were voiceless.

I don’t agree with violence in any way (except in my writing), or hating people based on race or any other stereotype,  but I think the whole movement is interesting. I don’t know what it was like to live during the time of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, I don’t have first-hand experience of blatant racism and constant disrespect, so I cannot judge the reactions of people living during those times, and I won’t. I will say that being a product of your time and representing your life experience in your work is something I admire because it represents a very honest truth.

I grew up (am growing up) in the era of rap & spoken word and both of these art forms remind me of the Black Arts Movement. When you are surrounded by negativity and violence, you shouldn’t have to shut off your experiences to make art, but infuse all of it into your writing in order to tell your story, that deserves to be told. Yes, sometimes it is gratuitous and sometimes it is glorified, but good rappers and good poets paint pictures and tell stories, and I definitely respect that.

BAM writers I enjoy:  Amiri Baraka, Mya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez, Etheridge Knight, Gwendolyn Brooks…

A poem by Etheridge Knight that I Love:

Cop-Out Session

I done shot dope, been to jail, swilled

wine, ripped off sisters, passed bad checks,

changed my name, howled at the moon,

wrote poems, turned

backover flips, flipped over backwards

(in other words)

I been confused, fucked up, scared, phony

and jive

to a whole / lot of people…

Haven’t you?

In one way or another?

Enybody else wanna cop-out?