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I am a dragon
I am the flames inside the mouth
I am the beating heart inside of the beast
I am the fiery soul of the beast
I am the victim of the dragon’s wrath
I am the hiker who finds his lair
I am the steam exiting the cave
I am the sharpest tooth in the mouth
I am the blood coursing through its veins.
A poem is a shell
singing like the ocean
and singing back a poem
when someone wants
to express feelings: happy,
mad, or sad. Some people
have the power to stay happy
hr become happy. A poem is
when people become mad,
poems turn it upside down.
That is what a poem is!
He misses the bird who sang
the rain away for him.
And yet…
my eyes are his night owl beauty.
What I like about him is me.
How through his forgiving mind,
I am an elephant who will never forget a thing.
I am dancing lilac skies.
I am,
through his eyes,
more than a price can convey.
I like how I am stolen away
and I still remain.
My dreams are a plant’s photosynthesis
that continue over and over again.
But my photosynthesis is de’ja’ vu.
My memories are mermaids, magical,
powerful, beautiful, and full of joy.
But my memories can often be sirens.
The earth is sad
A flying ball of fire
Or a horizon of heat
We are racing to nothing and everything in between
I took a bath
Then watered the Pinidaes in the garden path
The birds chirp a song that is tired:
being underappreciated can sting
to be recognized is their soul's true fantasy
I went to my office and played some jazz
Lunch was oranges, dinner just yams
Mind was an anxious wire
Rear end goes numb in this prison of a seat
Why am I afraid of cicadas, and swans, and Cherry Blossom trees
I went outside and felt the grass
I touched and touched and it wasn't so bad
All of this will soon expire
The human condiiton can be beautiful and damaging
We are racing to nothing and everything in between
Love is Kool-Aid with no sugar.
Love is smile with no teeth.
Love is girl with no hair.
Love is cookie with no milk.
Love is sky with no stars.
Love is a bear that follows the honey.
Love is a night with cold feet.
People are loudest in the day and quiet at night,
this sort of change makes me uneasy.
In the dead of night when not even the
birds are chirping I hear their hushed whispers.
Telling me secrets.
Whispering of a new life, a better one.
A healthy mind that doesn’t ache at night.
A heart that doesn’t beat black blood from too much
gin in small bottles.
I press my ear tight against the wall, greedy to hear more.
Their spirits are restless. They have so many secret stories to tell.
We used to grasp
thousands of stars
in our hands
and feel them like seeds.
We were tentative
when wiping the tears
of galaxies
and delicate when speaking about them.
Orion slept in between our creases
Leading us to imagine
the dimension and glow
we held.
Sometimes,
We peeked in just
to reinspire
our canvases
Sometimes,
I could even smell the sun
brew, reaching my fingertips
It all ended when
we
felt the nova
burning in our palms.
My name is Linda
but could easily be Unyielding Thorn.
I started off as a harmless flower
and instead of being a coward,
I decided to poke back.
I was part of endless vines
trying to mask myself and stay behind.
But now I'm a part of a task to stick out.
From a distance I look welcoming
but trust me, up close, you're in
for a rude awakening.
As blood drips from your prickly fingers,
scarlet red. I am currently in the act
of playing offense-- not defense-- now,
and more than anything,
I don't want to be cut loose.
Your love is like a soft cloud
that catches me whenever
I fall. And the wind that moves
me whenever I’m stuck.
Your love is like the sunlight
that brings me out of the
darkness.
Water pouring down
a storm is approaching now
in my eyes tonight
Dark clouds fill the sky
I'm the last person on earth
This dream feels so real
I am from sunflowers
that my grandmother planted
I am from the sun beaming on me
I am from the big blue sky
I am from the sunflower seeds
falling into my mouth
I am from airtime
I am from the green trees and lakes
I am from the taste of strawberries
and a chocolate fall
Our life is a tree
that is not growing any shorter
and every day we’re a day older.
It’s like we’re sitting
on the edge of a cliff
waiting to get pushed over.
We humans try to preoccupy ourselves
with love and materialistic things
to fill our voids, just to avoid
the loneliness and pain
and that is fine until an asteroid
comes crashing down.
Everything around you seems familiar
and safe until out of nowhere
something hits you in your face.
I am a blue flame
that writes your name inside
of smoke clouds.
And I keep burning
even after my eyes well
into that lonely body of water;
a floating,
rippling kind of the color
blue.
You left me
full of life,
but not breathing,
much like the oceans.
And I am on fire,
Still.
The secret of the universe is the
smell of coffee.
The universe is really
a blue cloud in the sky.
The universe is like
a gorilla shouting at me in the zoo.
Bare shaven camera heads
like a film exposed. Green nails
on small hands. From the deep
crevices of cold sparkly purses,
wasted bits of paper full
of words too powerful to fit
their allotted space kiss
tiny books (moleskins)
that cost more
than the expensive cup
of coffee needed to fill them.
Discarded gloves left
by the tableside to make
room for anxious fingers
that grip pens like oars
in a boat rushing to shore.
This is poetry’s womb.
i.
Breathe in and out, think
of what's on your mind
you dip and dig and
dig
ii.
Once you dig really deep
you think about it
really, really hard
then you go crazy, then
you go stupid.
iii.
But calm back down
breathe and write
everything on your
mind because your
mind is a poem.
My freckles are like raindrops
falling from the sky onto the road.
My hair is like a red panda
trying to find bamboo.
My heart is like a dog sitting
in a field having fun
The jewels on my sweater
are like stars in the middle
of the universe.
Marvelous, oh marvelous moon,
how do you float, oh marvelous moon?
You are an orb, a marvelous moon.
I bet God is holding you, oh marvelous moon.
You shine like a flashlight, marvelous moon.
Oh marvelous moon, you shine like a nightlight.
Oh marvelous moon, I’ll land on you.
Shining at night, like a floating gray moon.
Once I land on you,
bumpy and round,
an orb, big round marvelous moon.
Tastes like cheese, oh marvelous moon,
I love you.
I can't believe the green veins
in my arms, they spool outward,
breaking off into smaller streams
I can't believe they are always
working to keep my body alive
this reminds me, I too am always
working to keep my body
alive, maybe not as fervent as
the veins & arteries, but I too
work & shuffle along to a thrum
a soft beat, full of wild hands & blood
& sometimes joy, the joy is always small,
though not smaller than my
heart so that it fits comfortably inside
the hollow metal thing,
the joy nestles there, creating
a kind of bereaved light that shines
through & looks as though a flashlight
was stuck inside my chest
The moon is like a globe shining above the world,
spinning around and around like the earth
with the stars and the blue moon.
It feels like a red dog’s fur,
tastes like bananas in a tree.
I love spinning with the moon.
I love the moon, even when I can’t see it.
The yellow shell sun
cracked open.
The sun was rising and it looked
kind of like a yolk.
One person saw it and said,
“how beautiful!”
Then, the egg fell.
The Quilt of Africa’s made for my brothers and sisters.
It stretches out vibrant and colorful
all shades of brown, yellow, black
stitched together with gold
the strength of my people.
Keeping us warm and safe.
A quilt to keep you close to your heart
Grandma’s warmth like our soil
deep and rich
calm and sweet like Mother’s voice
soothing. The quilt is vibrant and healthy
like our resilience, peaceful yet strong.
It lulls us to sleep to the land of dreams
where we are truly free.
I’m not a poet,
I just have bows for lips,
Spitting to get my point across
With this pencil. Period.
I’m not a poet,
I’m the mind’s vocalist focusing
On the world. A cosmology
Locking in my voice box.
I’m not a poet, no,
I am a nuisance kicking metaphors
That hang off your optic nerve like nooses,
Your feeling my words is like a new sense.
I’m not a poet,
I’m a theory. A time Machine
Dotting my eyes with black holes,
Every stanza marking new timelines.
I am not a poet,
I am a blacksmith with language,
Crafting swords from each syllable,
Forged from will power.
I’m not a poet, no.
I ignite stanzas that burn through canvas,
Matchsticks shaped like metaphors
I am nothing but a penciled wick.
I am not a poet,
No one could carry my burden,
Carving my life on loose leaf
Like sunlight on new leaves.
I’m not a poet,
I am the poem.
Living between the lines
Like spiders on silk.
Wearing Moon Boots two sizes too big
I hike across a field of snow.
I dodge ice bullets
thrown by my older brothers
to reach my hideaway
where ice crystals hang from
a leafless tree.
The ground looks like frozen sky
and a mile-long field
stretches behind me.
I know Mama said not to play
on the ice on the pond
behind the train tracks --
And don’t get your hair wet.
And don’t talk back.
And don’t wear your good shoes outside.
Mama said a lot of stuff.
But as I step on the ice
with the largest icicle
as my wand,
I am the ice princess, Quiana
ruler of the pond behind the tracks.
A cat is quick
to stalk its prey
I’m quick too but
In my own sorta way.
A cat is quick and
fast on its feet.
Me not so much, but
With my mind I
Guarantee.
A cat is small and
Fragile too but behind
Their paws they have
Claws.
Me and a cat have
That in common.