There is adversity in the poem life. Nothing dangerous, just annoying. In New York it is the hip hop acrobats. There is a troop at every tourist sight in the city, from Battery Park, up to Bethesda fountain. They all do the same routine, including the same jokes. Anyway, this past summer, in the early evening, I was having a conversation with someone regarding their poem request and behind me someone starts pumping some Michael Jackson…LOUD. In the back of my mind Im thinking, I cant believe someone is going to thumped it that loud behind me. ASSHOLES And just as I get to typing out a poem a crowd of people gathers around me. I mean surrounding me, inches form my table. As it turns out the music was one of these macho hip hop troupes. This is typical of what I experience of their style, no respect or common courtesy. Instead of communicating with me, they just start their lame ass show in an effort to overcome my efforts and drown me out. Apparently communication is a threat to their fabricated sense of manhood. RUDE I didnt even turn my head; not once. I composed that poem with my back to their dance circle, surrounded by their audience. What is funny is that most of those folks pretended not to see me. So I sort of made my own bubble and stayed on point. I finished the poem, AND read it to the man, packed my shit up, and before I could walk through the crowd, the man, who walked away with his poem, came back, after having reread it himself, to tell me it was a great poem. Ive no photos of the scene, the poem, or the guy. *** About a week, or so, later, I was writing a poem for a little girl visiting the city with her mama. As I started typing, a Hands Up, Dont Shoot protest began its march. I was suddenly like a rock jutting out of a river, as they proceeded around me. This time I had the presence of mind to ask the mama to take these photos, see below. The gorgeous young black women in the photo is the women I wrote this dad poem for. Hadnt seen her since then (November 2013). When she requested this poem, she simply gave it to me to write what ever I wanted to write about. When I read this poem to her, she burst out in tears. It made me weep as I hugged her. One of the sweet moments of poem living Happiest of New Years everyone!!! .. DAD They will dig a hole over your grave and I will touch you your earth for the first time and pour my mother’s ashes over you and you will touch her for the first time in 47 years and I don’t know if I will cry or sing or if I will be thinking of other things But I know that the man who gave me birth and died before I could utter a word is in the halo of every poem I’ve typed every heart touched every loneliness alleviated has your quiet flame Somehow Dad after not knowing you for my whole life you’ve given my words their light it is you and I everyday you and I my intimate stranger that sing and cry and laugh because to be alive is so beautiful
Posted on: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 20:03:17 +0000