Monday, April 4, 2011

Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde poem

For this semester, I've been taking this course Advanced Study in Literature and the topic is "remixes." We read classics in literature then read some of the re-makes. I read Jane Eyre for the first time and loved it, then we read Jane Slayre. It was cool because we did a video chat with the author and got to ask her about her motivations for a Jane Eyre remix, etc. Anyway, we just finished with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and as part of a class activity, we were to find certain words or passages within the text and create a "found poem." Here is mine:

Story of the door: cold, scanty, embarrassed;
sometimes wondering
what these two could see in each other.
Time ran on,
he had his death warrant written
legibly upon his face;
I made sure my colleague was insane:
If he be Mr. Hyde...I shall be Mr. Seek.

Friday, April 23, 2010

napowrimo #23 - haiku

You, conservative,
my one source for black wisdom,
read my poetry.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

napowrimo #22

Dizzy like tomorrow's plan,
this life is nothing but fierce;
you must hold a door open
for some fresh air to push its way
through the crow of your heart:
the black open ditch
where you place sins
stack them like grocery store cartons,
sins spicy as peppers on death row.
Before you fear the rust of time,
before you flinch at red lights and panic,
plan for tomorrow.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Imperfection - napowrimo #21

You gave me my hands,
that snag easily like sensitive silk;
you gave me my mind,
its moods are hard to tame, like mother gorillas;
you gave me my lips,
they pump out heavy words, like a bag of peaches;
you gave me my heart,
it carries memories like blood on the loose.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Hero of Mothers, napowrimo #20

She drove me to auditions, to high school,
to play practice; she drove me into fights
that lasted as long as the years it takes
to get into the college she prepared me for.

She is beautiful still with short, wild hair
that exists like bamboo, a thick survivor
on the curb of her moods, our moods
mixed together like butter and salt

We're zipped into each other; both of us
studying in college like concentrated chefs,
both of us worrying about the inside
and what it looks like from the outside.

With infected blood, she still kisses me
goodnight, still drives me home from school,
gives me what I need: new glasses,
a can opener. She is the hero of mothers.

Monday, April 19, 2010

napowrimo #19

With a moment as bright as a southern
California morning in June, I sip
icy water and breathe in like I'm starved,
starved for an answer:
why such angry nightmares
and sad dreams?
I suck in the fog from sleepless images,
count to three, and believe in three
divorce, adoption, death,
and then jaw-locked anger
bit down.

napowrimo #18

Like the lionness, I crave a good fight,
one with family stamped into each blade
of grass, sharper than my white as milk teeth.
The pain to protect is fierce like feminism,
climbing up any tree planted by man,
claws digging into the bark like jackhammers.
The children, my precious cubs, roll in my paws,
I watch them show teeth I don't want them to use.
A good fight is always prey over the cubs.
Like a good lionness, I rule like a king.