#NaPoWriMo – Day 28: the WHCA* dinner

I missed WHCA* again this year –
no poets or librarians were invited –
truth and information again
were in short supply.
And though you’d think reporters
would have taken up the slack –
They dropped the ball again.

No invitation reached my mailbox –
no poets or librarians were invited –
just frowning light-dazed reporters
and foul-mouthed comedians.

No poets or librarians were invited
to WHCA* this year. Again. Too bad.
Just glitziness (is that a word?),
fake body parts, and phony platitudes.

*white House Correspondents Association Dinner

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#NaPoWriMo – Day 27: Road trip to Pittsburgh

No longer bound by the necessities
of daily toil to make loose ends meet,
I want to spend this new age
learning to love and appreciate
all the fruits of our joint inheritance.

We made a road trip North and West to see
the wonders sought and wrought by kindred souls
of a shared diaspora who fled and
escaped by night the sting of the Jim Crow
lash they knew a century ago.

All part of our inheritance. We stand.
We march in triumph or remain at rest –
It’s pretty much the same. Our spirits merge
with kith and kin, soar wildly ‘cross the air.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 26: five senses

Many millenia elapsed between
the random grunt and coherent language.
Many more still between oralizing
and writing symbols, words as surrogates
for feelings and thoughts. Now that we are here –
and all the pieces have come together –
we can spend a moment in reflection.

The faculties of sight, smell, sound, taste, touch –
are channels for engagement with the world
that surrounds us. Not separate things, they merge
and blend in our deep imagination
and in dreams. If our impressions reflect
an impure sensory response, our words –
oral and written – mirror their shadows.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 25: warning label

Warning label (Blackjack Haiku)

If you arrive here with hate
you will leave with peace of mind
even though there are bullets

in your pistol still waiting
to be released. You’ll forget
why you even brought that gun.

The poems I read will disarm.
You’ll be slowly hypnotized
by an ancient melody

that you never saw coming
your way. So be warned. If hate
is in your heart, it won’t last.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 24: Event planning (9 of 15 heroic crown)

It had to be a total work of art.
A half, a third, a fourth of a movement
would not suffice. A huge splash was required
to capture Americans’ attention –
enslaved and free – to rock a boat steering
on a faulty course. He knew it would be
all or nothing, a tiny mustard seed
planted in a rocky soil – without hope
for immediate success. A symbol –
political, spiritual – for future
generations when freedom’s wind would blow
to every compass point across the land.
With no chance of victory he labored,
meticulously planning each detail.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 23: Sonnet

I subscribe to the obituary
page of my hometown daily newspaper.
Obviously black people do not die
in the city of my birth – I never
see their faces. I know it’s just not true.

I left my hometown many years ago,
but never stopped hoping for a return,
wishing her well. Every poet wishes
he could play guitar – the grass is always
greener on the other side of the road –

or whatever it is that divides us
from our origin, the root of our being.
Life continues, the struggle continues,
as long as a ray of hope lights the path.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 22: journey inside NaPoWriMo (blackjack haiku)

Ran completely out of gas
on the promised Nat Turner
hero sonnet crown project.

Dude just stopped talking to me.
Went total silent after
so much partying chit chat.

Spirits be like that sometime.
On and off like a light switch.
Digital, not analog.

Then my pen ran out of ink.
Talking ‘bout catastrophe.
Hope he comes back soon or late.

Don’t care that much about theme
and unity anymore.
Just want to complete it.