Drabbles of Poetry: Personal Interests

Afropunk

Creative power

punches through in

blues

funk

rock

disco

‘n’ hip-hop

Passion bleeds through the lyrics

Jazz and gospel blues singing through the rain

uplifted voices, beats soar above the canopy and waving arms

Afro.punK

Book burnings

sheets of music and worlds poured out

silently like unrestrained tears

wood burned

with paper

knowledge was stripped away, leaving pale empty marks behind

the world didn’t take notice of its loss

Dancing

light woved in and out between the clear glassy ocean

Fish dipped in-and-out, speaking in floaty, warbly bubbles

A tiny clownfish darted behind the waving arms of a anemone

as a baby porpoise struggled against a blanket of cheap plastic

Doctors

Cold empty halls,

protective equipment

can it protect

the never ending hurt?

Besides teachers,

doctors are saviors

Life is a fragile thing to toy with

but not too fragile

that it can’t be fixed

Ink drops

I read during the

rainy nights, watching the

drops of letters,

ink,

that

can’t

be

controlled

Inside the globe

was a mixture of blue and green

Everything in it was frozen.

As I watched in fascination,

the clouds moved

the seas raged

the earth shook.

But the tiny sticks,

in shades of rich sunlight, dirt, chocolate, and raven

were still as stone.

Language

Open your mouth,

let a chorus of words fly.

Is it Navajo? Korean?

Italian? Or Spanish?

Armenian? Or Swahili?

Amharic? Or Bengali?

We need to open our eyes

Spheres of cultures dance around us

Reach up and pluck one

from the sky,

search within,

for a expansion

of your mind.

Light shines

The light I see

isn’t the sun’s kisses

or the dancing artificial lights

strung from post to post

on your back yard

It’s the smile of a young one,

it’s the bashfulness of a teen

The wise grin of a senior

and the dancing of the willow trees.

It’s in your bright, dark eyes.

Your soot-covered white shoes.

The fresh power of the season

and the heart that you unfold.

It’s in everyday mysteries

riddles, histories.

The excited puppy from the shelter,

the sweat of a medical worker.

The dying but strong gleaming eyes

of a 22 year old sick in bed

no one in his family can be there

but the nurse, 5 times his senior

next to him, shining hope

In the drops of dew on the shards of green

the broken but perfect pottery on the swinging chair.

A fluttering butterfly perched

on the edge of a plastic cup

in the field.

Light is “light”

depends on what we say

Microscope

One eye held up to a leaf

where I see the same creases on my hand

a drop of dew collects at the tip

the green is almost blinding

Skin color

Underneath that coat of color

is that same blank canvas

Teachers change the world

instruments of education

Too low pay

They are the backdrop in the world

They propel leaders, CEOs, valuable doctors, engineers and scientists

with ground-breaking works

They teach

They guide

They love

They are kind

Their teachings are the ones

that help us survive.

We grow

We heal

We are illiterate and blind

to the ways of the world.

But,

we can learn

we can read

we can climb

fight, to change the world