PO' Poets


Haiku for the Environment

Thornton Kimes/An Alleged Po'Poet/

 

warm up the car! we
have to massage concrete for
a nano-second

 

 

 

what the system did

what the system did

to me now a grown man treated as a kid

pulling me inside steady trying to get rid

forcing me in court to pay to see my kid

burnt my history soup, forgot about the lid

what the system's doing

Don't lose your music: worker scholar whose power comes from within

Tony Robles
Friday, November 14, 2008;

Time Warp

He wears a white
T shirt with a
Gold chain dangling
From his neck

Calls everybody
Homey, even the
White guys

Carries a mini
Boom box
Radio

He’s 44 years old
And has never
Held a job

He had a bad
Car accident that
Left him disabled

He now works in a
Warehouse heat sealing
Cellophane packages

Mama said Knock YOU Out: A Mixed-Race Indigenous (Pacific Islander) woman chasing the lie of the "American" Dream

sadya maalam
Friday, March 12, 2010;

You know growing up I always wanted a white mom
White mothers knew how to drive cars
They would pick you up from school & have chocolate chip cookies waiting for you when you got home
They were calm, collected, and didn’t yell
They spoke slowly yet surely
They didn’t hit you
Shit, everybody knew white American parents didn’t beat your ass and I was sick of getting my ass beat.
They would help you with your homework
Talk to you about puberty
They would tell your friends to call her by her first name

Felicita Pedroza - Poverty Scholar and Boriqua Poet: A Poem

Felicita Pedroza
Saturday, March 13, 2010

LET ME

I want to blast the resonance of your voice to dance on your lips
I want to jump on your breast and glide down to your hips
Let me unwind on your cheeks and leap over your pores
Let me dwell deep within your heart’s core

I want to bathe in the flush of your cheeks
I want to be your valor when you feel weak
Let me roll around on your tongue
Let me breathe my passion into your lungs

I want to climb up your spine
I want to leave traces of kisses behind
Let me taste your neck and collarbone

It was a warm night...A poem in honor of a young brother, Idriss Stelley, shot down by police

 

It was a warm night
the kind that drips
with pain

It was a warm night
filled with whispers
and screams

you can peel that
kind of night away
with your fingernails -
you can cry into
that kind of night
and no-one will hear you

it was a warm night
filled with you ...

PNN RADIO

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