For Poets and Poetry Lovers...
 

What is your favorite poem?

And why?

If you write poetry, post one up.

I adore the poetry of Nikki Giovanni. Resignation and Nikki Rosa are my favorite poems.

ETA: Nikki Rosa

childhood rememberances are always a drag
if you're Black
you always remember things like living in Woodlawn
with no inside toilet
and if you become famous or something
they never talk about how happy you were to have
your mother
all to yourself and
how good the water felt when you got your bath
from one of those
big tubs that folk in chicago barbeque in
and somehow when you talk about home
it never gets across how much you
understood their feelings
as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale
and even though you remember
your biographers never understand
your father's pain as he sells his stock
and another dream goes
And though your're poor it isn't poverty that
concerns you
and though they fought a lot
it isn't your father's drinking that makes any difference
but only that everybody is together and you
and your sister have happy birthdays and very good
Christmasses
and I really hope no white person ever has cause
to write about me
because they never understand
Black love is Black wealth and they'll
probably talk about my hard childhood
and never understand that
all the while I was quite happy

Yeah I enjoy Nikki as well and some of Langston Hughes stuff...I haven't read any poetry in a while.

Anything by Saul Williams, but especially "Sha Clack Clack."

Here is a poem I wrote:





i’m not that type of poet



i don’t know much about coltrane
and i wasn’t reared on mingus
my belongings were put in storage
and sold
mom’s vinyl became a myth
and then
i suddenly understood that we were poor
so no
i don’t know much about billie holiday
i’m not that type of poet

i was born at the ass end of the seventies
all i remember is reagan and bush
no rainbow/push
all i knew was gimme
my mommy wasn’t a reformed hippie
just a low-rung buppie
a guppy trying to evolve in a pool of sharks
and here i was, a skinny good-haired
young buck
i didn’t give a fuck
until nineteen eighty six
when i was seven
and jesse was ten and in heaven
so i don’t know oppression;
i make that confession because
i’m not that type of poet

my father was not my daddy, but a bother
and my mother dated a parade of brothers
for me to aspire beyond, because they’re gone
and she is still dateless, but not desperate
still, if you’d like a talented and bright
Georgetown educated stepson
i can hook you up with mom’s cell after i’m done
no matter, i am a child of the eighties
victim of nothing but reaganomical circumstance
i did not live in harlem through the renaissance
i did not live in harlem through the black arts movement
i do not live in harlem;
i’m not that type of poet

i am not the harbinger of the new wave
but i ride on it
i am the atavistic son of soul
not quite embittered by poverty
not having to struggle as much as my forefathers
but fighting different battles
the media powers that be have named it
“America’s New War”
and i thought hey, they’re talking about me
but i tuned in and saw bombs over kabul
dan rather wasn’t crying because he thought
it was mad cool that i was doing that poetry thing

i’m just trying to keep my head above water
reaching for the top, standing on other people’s shoulders
trying to move love jones boulders
and slam America into a new consciousness
so am i that type of poet?
the type that say what he wanna and
do what he wanna
and write all day long about whatever he wanna
not trying to be nobody but me
and striving to be the best one of those
trying to break the mold
welcome to the next generation of soul
because i’m that type of poet

That's was awesome. Thanks for sharing.

I like Nikki Giovanni. And Tupac (yes, he would count as a poet)

Here's one of my favorites that I wrote recently:

"The Essence of a Black Man"

My Harry Belafonte
Simply
...Delicious...
With a seductive walk
Taunting me behind your shirt and tie
Making me quiver with anticipation
Elation
Of your speech
Prompts me to
Shut my emotions up
In the back cervices of my naughty mind
To only stop my loins
From jumping
And boning
Kissing and sucking
All the temptations that would be
Trapping me in your web
Of sexuality
That's purely raw and hot
Spicey enough to leave me of thirst
Your educated tongue slices into me like a knife
Contrives my soul in legal
And illegal emotions
Which lies in the outward bounds of our social contact
Your eyes makes me feel like I am alive
A woman of substance and meaning
Just waiting to drink in
The essence of you, my black man
As it pours out of your pores
Like a river through my delta
So please my Harry Belafonte
Speak to me one more time

~Kaisha, 02/25/05

I'm not a poetry gal...
 

I'm not really "into" poetry (not civilized enough, I think) but this poem really got me through a tough patch back in 2001, and it's still very encouraging to me to this day. A copy of it on on my office wall. This poem in a slightly different version is also attributed to Veronica Shoffall, After a While.


"Comes the Dawn"

"After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company isn't security.
(Kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises.)

After awhile you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes open,
with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain
and the inevitable has a way of crumbling in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns
if you stand too long in one place.

So, you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone else to bring you flowers.
And you learn you really can endure,
that you really do have worth.
You learn that with every good-bye comes the dawn."

This version, supposedly the original version, by:
Judith Evans

Nikki Giovanni-My House



i only want to
be there to kiss you
as you want to be kissed
when you need to be kissed
where i want to kiss you
cause its my house and i plan to live in it

i really need to hug you
when i want to hug you
as you like to hug me
does this sound like a silly poem

i mean its my house
and i want to fry pork chops
and bake sweet potatoes
and call them yams
cause i run the kitchen
and i can stand the heat

i spent all winter in
carpet stores gathering
patches so i could make
a quilt
does this really sound
like a silly poem

i mean i want to keep you
warm

and my windows might be dirty
but its my house
and if i can't see out sometimes
they can't see in either

english isn't a good language
to express emotion through
mostly i imagine because people
try to speak english instead
of trying to speak through it
i don't know maybe it is
a silly poem

i'm saying it's my house
and i'll make fudge and call
it love and touch my lips
to the chocolate warmth
and smile at old men and call
it revolution cause what's real
is really real
and i still like men in tight
pants cause everybody has some
thing to give and more
important need something to take

and this is my house and you make me
happy
so this is your poem

My house is one of my favorites!

Ahem....fanning myself...girl you make me see Mr Belafonte in a whole NEW light LOL...my mom has been claiming him for years but you make him sound so sexy I may have to knock her down for myself! :p Great poem!

Thanks. I enjoy writing it. In his younger days, he was the hottest man alive! In my opinion anyways.