spoke word poetry

“We spoke completely different
        languages with different
           pronunciations and letters.
I could tell him how much I want
         to hold him under the stars.
I could tell him how much I love the 
       universe in his eyes and the
                  constellations in his
                              veins,
                   but I put it in terms
                        he could understand
                      as he got in the car to
                       pick up his lover;
       “Be safe.”. “

- NF // 08/10/2017

youtube

so good!

PRESENT ARMS

my father likes to tell a story 
from his military school days: 
something about a dozen guns 
atop outstretched arms 
and the hot, hot sun. 

this is not a proud story.
it is not a story full of moxie, or spunk, 
or the next new chin-buck-up. 
because after half an hour 
in the hot, hot sun and his hot, hot uniform, 
my father swoons to the concrete 
all the softness they tried to muscle out of him.

my father laughs when he tells this story.
it ends in slapstick, icy water and relief
bucketed across his face,
a gruff pat on the back.

i am trying not to be soft. 
i am fighting to keep my eyes open
until the story ends. 
i am not my father,
but i am tired.

our hearts are hoarse with the same honey-fire
and we’re certain no one can hear the screaming 
under all the skin and skeleton. 

how do you make them listen?

They crucified Jesus Christ, sold Marcus Garvey for rights, shot Malcolm X in the chest, gave Nelson Mandela life. Pac died at 25, Biggie died a year younger, all my life been broke, I’m motivated by my hunger. Told my mama bury me with a 3-57, just in case God trippin’ and I don’t get into heaven.
—  Innocent Criminal - Pat’s Justice
After Words
Kaye Spivey

After words

You write to the boy with broken wings.
You write about the hero he was
before he was anything,
you write him love poems
true, with the divine light
that is affection.
He crumples, four sheets later
your words line the desk with his rejection.

All birds have wings.
Counter—not all birds can fly.

You write about a warrior,
but soldiers slop through retched fogs,
prisons of narrow light, static noise.
Six verses of I Love You
six verses of I’m Yours
light the vigil of soft eyes in corridors
light the hum and the night-time desk,
the words you keep scribbling
as he draws away.

The hero he was—
who you want to be.

Floors washed through and bitter,
you check the turning of the page,
light as dim as stars and brittle
among murky rows of sick cell shades,
he flutters to the ground,
lies in crumpled sheets,
you change your tone—
I Missed You.
Soft lettering, sincere as life
and caught deftly in the undertones.
What is dripping
is the lamplight outside the window bars.
He doesn’t write back.

Do you think he remembers?
Counter—he remembers all the time.

by Kaye Spivey


I kind of really enjoy doing these occasionally because even though I’m not very good at reading my poems aloud, it gives me a better sense of their rhythm and music and I think it gives people a bit of an insight to how I interpret the poem, so I decided to read this one for you! 

After Words has not been published yet, but is currently part of my full-length book of poetry which I am in the process of finishing for publishing which is currently titled “Museum.” 

Watch on equidem.tumblr.com

This poem is called “I Named Her Ophelia” and it’s one of my best poems to date, it is very personal at some points, but it’s well worth it. Please like/reblog this and send me messages if you want to make suggestions to my poetry or just tell me you liked it! (:

Week 11

Book: “Pansy”

Author: Andrea Gibson

Genre: Poetry

About: Gender, Sexuality, Politics, Chronic Illness. These are just a few of the themes that you can find in all of Gibson’s works. This book covers topics such as “Checking Your Privilege” and “Black Lives Matter”. Although, this is not my favorite of Gibson’s books, there were several poems that knocked it out of the park.

Publisher: Write Bloody Publishing

Notable Quote: 

All the wars we’ve fought
have turned our shine into rust;
Now we can’t touch each other’s trust
without a tetanus shot.

Link: http://www.amazon.com/Pansy-Andrea-Gibson/dp/1938912985