I love poems. Not all poems but so many. I like the way the tumble from the soul of the writer as they take a picture of life with words. The sadness the joy the sassiness of life can be summed up in a poem. It can be a relief to write them. Below are three I have written and would like to share. I wrote this one day when I thought of why so many Black people do not enjoy swimming. Since I am not a big fan of swimming I began to think maybe it is more to this than not wanting to get my hair wet.
I am Not a Strong Swimmer I am not a strong swimmer I have no desire to cruise to the sun of some green island I feel in my soul the rebellion of a million Against the salted waves There is no strong stroke to part the waters No fight against the tide I am not a strong swimmer I do not wish to hunt the seas for some fillet prize Ghost cry out to me from beneath slippery ship planks I do not seek the ocean deep to view colors on the bottom I will not limbo on the decks of ships In my chest a rhythm beats down to my toes which stand firmly on the rockiest of soil.
This one below was written back in the day, when my choices did not bring any harvest of the peace I sought. Again Here I am once again Picking up what has been spent Piece by piece what has been broken That which can only be mended with time Time that waits for no one Its hours so kind to few Slow when waiting for devotion Swift when it pays due So then I must close another door to you Build the fortress away from common men like you Who spill wine, dispel myths, ruin prophecies, and steal my fantasies From you I run Ears deaf to your call, moans, sighs for me You crave me like spicy food The flavor delights but you can’t over indulge
This last one I think speaks for itself or at least I hope it does. Words as Weapons Words have bent my back, placed sweat upon my brow Turn me around like the force from a blow Swung madly to and fro like a weapon Wounded on the road Destruction to my soul Your words Spoke to my truth, sustained my reality Encouraging me Taught me that dreams do not go up in smoke They go up to heaven, answered and returned with abundance Said I would, I could, and that I should not lower the price of my life Like a lullaby, they healed me, rocked me, loved me My words Of woe, became gratitude thank you for understanding, not demanding of me the little power I had. Strength for travel along my journey Seeds quietly growing within me until they became food fit for another’s table Place before them for the joy of consumption laced with compassion Your words tumble from my lips like sweet wine for the weary Passed on like tradition.
I have no training in poetry, but I hope you found a line or two to enjoy. Here is what William Wordsworth said about poetry
"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity."
I think that's a definition I can live with :)