North American African Poet


i am a poet

language and ideas

are my meat & bread

the eye a tool

that captures the light spilling

on to the fully dressed fig tree

the flight of birds

the wind over the grass

the pain in a mothers eyes

the hunger in a childs

the anger in a mans

i listen for the meaning behind the words

waiting for the truth

like an off schedule bus

reflecting reflecting reflecting

like a mirror the

things that pass

through me living with the things

that will not pass away

but cling stubbornly to life

myths that crumble when examined

lies manifest to protect the guilty

the unevenly cut pie

the wolves selling merry-go-round tickets

law in the land of the lawless

the ugly secrets bandaged by

a flag and an anthem

living in the nation

buried deep within the nation

there is another rhythm

a steady rising wave

another drum beating

real reality lives here

not the story in books

funky non commercial real

realness is Africans dancing

in front of the white house

demanding freedom and the american

way come out to talk

its telling the truth no matter

what it sounds like

or what they want to hear

its not caring when they see

you point the zombie finger &

make that high-pitched squeak

that denotes they have noticed

you are awake traveling in stealth

with the sheep when wolves smell

lions and guerrillas  they panic

cause they are unruly they

refused to be ruled by wolves

won’t ape the story

on the news they are noisy

hard to control and known

for waking sheep i like lions

& apes

& sheep that are

awake so for them

i tell the truth

i write the songs

& the eulogies

explain the difference

between what is &

what needs to be

i am their poet

eating their pain

carrying it inside

trying to transform it into

food for the battle

bandaging the wounds

sucking out the poison

outing wolves

urging them to move forward fearlessly

i am the drum beating inviting the dance

i am the drum beating calling the dancer

i am the drum beating

i am the drum