jul/aug 2020 in poetry
May. 1st, 2021 11:52 amPart three of this. Who knows, maybe I'll even get this done before 2022.
By Inch-Meal a Disease by Nabila Lovelace
I could say that colonialism was a disease,
but that would suggest a cure.
Black Credit by Natasha Oladokun
You, Lord, as you have
with your other minor prophets,
have dragged—or is it called us
up the mountain, where in the thin air
there are those who got here
long before I ever dreamed of it,
still waiting on you
to finally cash this check.
sample collected from a superfund site by makalani bandele
Legacy by Rhonda M. Ward
ALL Y’ALL REALLY FROM ALABAMA by Ashley M. Jones
Menace to by Taylor Johnson
For my Brother(s) by Lauren K. Alleyne
Solitude by Irvin W. Underhill
When Puffy says, and we won’ t stop, 'cause we can’ t stop. by Rasheed Copeland
I’d love peace but the moon is pulling me by my water
I know this is no way to live but I was born here
a mobile of vultures orbiting above my crib
the noise you speak bragging
about the luxury of your stillness
reminds me that some children are told to pick flowers
while others are told to pick a tree switch
fleeing by Kara Jackson
everything i do comes down to the fact that i’ve been here before.
in some arrangement of my atoms i was allowed to be free
so don’t ask me when freedom is coming
when a certain eye of mine has seen it,
a cornea in a convoluted future recalls my freedom.
Selah by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers
Assume the Position by Jive Poetic
This Little Light of Mine Speaks by Crystal Valentine
a brief meditation on breath by Yesenia Montilla
i have diver’s lungs from holding my
breath for so long. i promise you
i am not trying to break a record
sometimes i just forget to
exhale.
Underground King by Derrick Harriell
sonnet for the long second act by Evie Shockley
My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes
The Plains of Peace by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks
By Inch-Meal a Disease by Nabila Lovelace
I could say that colonialism was a disease,
but that would suggest a cure.
Black Credit by Natasha Oladokun
You, Lord, as you have
with your other minor prophets,
have dragged—or is it called us
up the mountain, where in the thin air
there are those who got here
long before I ever dreamed of it,
still waiting on you
to finally cash this check.
sample collected from a superfund site by makalani bandele
Legacy by Rhonda M. Ward
ALL Y’ALL REALLY FROM ALABAMA by Ashley M. Jones
Menace to by Taylor Johnson
For my Brother(s) by Lauren K. Alleyne
Solitude by Irvin W. Underhill
When Puffy says, and we won’ t stop, 'cause we can’ t stop. by Rasheed Copeland
I’d love peace but the moon is pulling me by my water
I know this is no way to live but I was born here
a mobile of vultures orbiting above my crib
the noise you speak bragging
about the luxury of your stillness
reminds me that some children are told to pick flowers
while others are told to pick a tree switch
fleeing by Kara Jackson
everything i do comes down to the fact that i’ve been here before.
in some arrangement of my atoms i was allowed to be free
so don’t ask me when freedom is coming
when a certain eye of mine has seen it,
a cornea in a convoluted future recalls my freedom.
Selah by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers
Assume the Position by Jive Poetic
This Little Light of Mine Speaks by Crystal Valentine
a brief meditation on breath by Yesenia Montilla
i have diver’s lungs from holding my
breath for so long. i promise you
i am not trying to break a record
sometimes i just forget to
exhale.
Underground King by Derrick Harriell
sonnet for the long second act by Evie Shockley
My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes
The Plains of Peace by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks