In lieu of National Poetry Month, I’m taking the challenge of writing a poem a day.
running into doors
i don’t have a
clue on what to write
today has been
filled with so many
encounters of the
human spirit:
anger, sadness,
confusion, and joy
how does one poem
contain it?
it cannot. hence,
why the constant
writing. the over-drawn
debates on the meaning
of Goblin Market,
we’re not looking for
meaning
we’re looking
for answers
Untitled: Random Lines Throughout the Day
praying in closets
tucked away from
applauding eyes
in response to my best friend’s bag
Me: “Why don’t you ever wear that bag?” It’s beautiful.
R: “Because it’s falling apart…”
sometimes the most beautiful things
are things that are falling apart
i miss childhood…
everything seemed bigger,
and yet smaller
at the same time
Untitled
Sometimes I play limbo with my limbs…
everyday issues
this is why
technology
is dangerous
she creeps up
into your skin,
burrows a nest
underneath your fingertips
calls it home:
a place to lay
regrets
why do we talk about flowers when we talk about life?
nature has a way
of unapologetic
blooming
never ceasing to grow
even when pedestrians
confine them under
concrete coffins
they bloom…
enough
take these bones
and make them
holy, pictures
to hang in museums
worthy to appreciate
make body something
beautiful enough
to stand boldly
before mirrors
From My Work Space (Things I Take For Granted)
bird nests, soft
cool breeze, the
sound of acorns
falling…
drumming cadence on
round iron tables
black annoying ants
doors, opening and closing
doors, opening and closing
reading is sometimes like swimming
cramped underneath the
weight of books
their spines,
jostling about me
shouting all the while, “Read me!”
“Read me!”
most times I relent
and dive, mouth first
into the deep,
wide spaces
between words
i recall moving my arms
in swift motions, feet
violently kicking
most days it happens
like this
i’m still learning
how to swim…
enjoy the small things
where are you going little duck?
wobbly legs and humble feet
making the earth
your home
The Grace to Teach
You have given me the grace
to teach
how to love the test
and the test takers
each question sitting
patiently on the tip
of tongues, waiting
to be answered
every swift extension
of arms, a symbol
of surrender
thank you for giving me the grace
to teach
I understand now
the love of the Teacher
to push his students beyond
what they think they can do
so as to rely fully
on the One
who’s in control
This Pen Is My Passport. 