national poetry month
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Dear Martin, Great God, what a morning, Martin! The sun is rolling in from faraway places. I watch it reaching out, circling these bare trees like some reverent lover. I have been standing still listening to the morning, and I hear your voice crouched near hills, rising from the mountain tops, breaking the circle of…
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the winged thang built her dream palace amid the fine green eyes of a sheltering bough she did not know it was urban turf disguised as serenely delusional rural nor did she know the neighborhood was rife with slant-mawed felines and those long-taloned swoopers of prey, she was ignorant of the acidity & oil that…
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He is not the one and yet I love him inordinately. His virginity was mine and so is his oldest child. He is America and I vacillate between love and a frustration that wants to lodge in hate but can’t because I grew up in him. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs…
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Poetically speaking, growing up is mediocrity – Ned Rorem Neither rosy nor prim not cousin to the cowslip nor the extravagant fuchsia- I doubt anyone has ever picked one for show, though the woods must be fringed with their lemony effusions. Sun blathers its baronial endorsement, but they refuse to join the ranks. Summer brings…
Tichaona Chinyelu 