national poetry month: 30 days 30 poems

April 30: Hood River 

On the edge of the river
resting between piano chords
I looked at you and knew
that my God's inspiration far outgrew
my prayers for love on this earth

April 29: Abundance Affirmation

I offer you (and me) a God 
that does not treat your life
​like capitalism.  

April 28: HEAL

Hurt
Elevated
Accepting
Love

April 27: TRAUMA

Terror
​Retroactively 
​Available
​Unexpectedly
Making 
Appearances 

April 26:  May 

I was born in Tornado season for a reason 
I too twirl and twist 
wear historical destruction like a dress 
and go dancing still
(Fear of Black Woman Strength is my favorite song to dance to)

I have no problem being a spectacle
unexpected but guaranteed 
composing the heat of my roots with 
the cool of my crown  forcing the horizon to change its tone

I rather go to bed in the core of a thunderstorm
sleep in the chaotic justice of an earth who knows all too well 
the balance and acceptance that comes with the
crackle and rumble
and fade to silence
My meditation 

April 25: It's Time

There is a time for waves to rest 
on the chest of earth 
breathe into her 
before she releases them 
and the time comes 
sankofa 

April 24: Unsure (Haiku) 

Not sure. Faith. Unknown. 
All composed delicately 
in my praying hands

April 23: Flatbush Asylum Music Festival

In some room
Painted like white supremacy
Smelling like stale memories
The R&B must’ve penetrated under the airtight doors
Barely recognizable at first
Then the beat begins to speak and overcome the silence
the constant shoes against linoleum
The walkie-talkie chatter and lack of choices
So close to the barred windows
Yet so far
Almost convinced that the concert was organized
(Not for the free, the clinically sane, the unburdened,
or those whose words don’t incarcerate)
just for you
The soulful voices take over the room
As it is intentionally devoured by the night
The jeers of the crowd transform into cheers for your recovery
And it almost feels like a possibility to remember again
What it was like to be outside, at a concert, choked by summer air
in Flatbush Brooklyn

April 22: Numb (Haiku)

I crave slow motion 
the chance to stop and embrace 
everything but fear 

April 21: ​
​Reflections on the Black Woman’s Role in the Community of Slaves

“It may not be entirely insignificant that while men were hanged,
she was heinously burned alive.”
- Angela Davis

​With what passion
To turn a body to ash–
The white man be so desperate for erasure
Like cleaning the trousers of the young boy
who urinates uncontrollably from fear before death–
Fear is all it is
While the spirits were flying in crackles of flesh meeting lumber
Another fearless Black woman was born
To poison master
To confuse master
To malnourished master
To behead master
To wait in the dark for master
To set fire to master
Not without scars that surpass skin and time
The white man failed when burning these women alive
If only, to release that resistance airborne
The little boy still stands
Soaked in his own waste
Shaking and cold
More desperate than ever before

April 20: His Eyes

April 19: Take Me to the Water

A tsunami, unsure of her existence
pondered it on God’s Edge before the Dawn
She questioned the notion of the distance.
A tsunami, unsure of her existence
enveloped the earth with starved insistence
until she was alone, too scared to push on.
A tsunami, unsure of her existence
pondered it on God’s Edge before the Dawn.

April 18: Multnomah

At the foot of her falls 
I place my palms in her chilling ballad
As it chases the ocean, I ask her 
to permit the release of what's not mine
I offer it to her ocean 
while allowing her glacier minerals and mountain specs to bless 
what I do have 
and what awaits me


Amen

April 17: In Memory of the Pioneer Cabin Sequoia 

crack hiss crick
relieving, isn’t it?
then shocking
like the holy ghost
submission and surrender
snow and rain
stitch pillows with wind as you begin your descent

snip snap snip
you take the limbs of your sisters in your collapse
to remind yourself that the womb and coffin are made from one in the same
you give a subtle smile
a thank you
as you finally get to let go
and accept

crack hiss crick
forgive them.
for carving out your root chakra for their carriages and caravans
craving to see
themselves through you–
a fascination with consumption masked as a worthwhile relationship

BOOM
an echo
then memory.
the midnight gives you all she has
so that you can rest a little longer
before sighing from beneath your bark creases
allowing the fog settle

April 16: Her Death Lingers

Sneaking up the stairs for an appearance,
Seeping into the corners of your familiarity
It lies on top of you with the gentlest reminder,
–its persistence eventually will move you
to get up and see…

April 15: Grateful 

The silence
that lives between the onset of a smile 
before it settles 
then ripples throughout the body
​like stars

April 14: Untitled Dad

​The way he looked over his reading glasses
Gazed up at the world
Righted his newspaper
His eyes fell back down
Train stopped
His eyes were resurrected
Over the spectacles
Over the paper
Train begins again
As if just checking in
Surveying his world
Left right

Then back to his paper
He never saw me looking
Reminds me of my father
The ghost surveyor
rather an observer in theory
Never to check in or
Glance at his daughter over his glasses
That He might not even wear

April 13: ​
Being broke(n) in capitalism
Part 1:MIND PLAY

Only capitalism can convince you that your existence
is at a deficit
like mantra or prayer
showing up when needed to remind you
you are broke
It reveals itself as reality (seemingly)
hunts you in the bank accounts you have no key to
and pounces you in bills and red lettering that you have no choice
but to hold on to
because you have to
it’s your civic duty
to this country
(be broke)
It becomes identity
willingly claimed and certified
Tayllor (broke)
Poet (broke)
Artist (broke)
Educator (broke)

April 12: Waterfalls (Haiku)

A persistent hush 
that crushes rocks and tree trunks 
​meets me at God's feet

April 11: I Sing 

Today, my inner child sings
She dances
Hugging my knee
She skips
She laughs directly at the sun
Asking me when
When
When
When
Will we be able to do this again?

April 10: Khalil

I remember when you stood guard in the hallway
You ruled with silence 
and kept your eyes on me
No one was home.
Just you and I
and  the lemongrass
Protecting me 
from your resting place 

April 9: Meditating on the A Train​

God likes to watch me dance
Twirling at her tippy toes
The sun petrified at a resistant sunset
I kick at the top of her ocean floor
Smiling dizzy, I fall at her feet
Flailing my arms; making my own wind
Dipping my toes in our altar
As she chases me on shore
And back again
And back again-always back again

April 8:
​White Supremacists Make for the Best Ghost Stories​

The perfect personification of lost.
A manifestation of destined unfinished business
of self-inflicted wounds–
it’s just like them to fly.
Float and glide over nature’s reason
over natural right

Like all good tales
there is blood
black in the face of oxygen
gut riddled in earth, still churning year-round–
they continue to slip through historic walls and cracks
telling the same story
possessing present en
mass (confusion)

They still homeless
(after stealing so many homes)
can’t hold onto anything
(like ghosts)
(it’s not theirs)

April 7: Acrylic Alchemy

Big cats of the pride
Walking on sprinkles of diamond-dusted claws
Multi-colored dream extenders
Elongating our reach
Enunciating our narrative
When you rock this magic
You are sure
That if nothing else
You are here for what you claim

It’s not just nails
It’s manifestations materialized from fingertips
For it’s the women of the pride who hunt the feed for the rest who need it

April 6: His Hands

The moment
a wave collides with bedrock
spreads to all four corners
Pressed against the sun

April 5 Trigger

April 4: Sun Peaking

We passed laughs like whiskey 
round after round 
unforgivable and contagious 
the sun got to us 
after waiting all this time 
she finally revealed herself
and we became bright without warning
asking for nothing 
but the sun to not stop now 
and the laughs to finally put winter's silence 
​to rest

April 3: Alcoholism

Alcoholism from Visible Poetry Project on Vimeo.

April 2: Home Hymn @ 9pm

April 1: Empath Probs (Haiku)