Tag: caribbean poets

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Pride is an Inferno

trace me,
follow the nicks and scars deep down to my roots.
tilled in poor soil with not nearly enough sunlight,
yet still I grew undeterred, unwavering.
branches outstretched far and wide like my mother arms,
there to either cradle or shade you (take your pick).
no tolerance left for inaction,
devoid of patience for justice.

trace me,
the same fire raging you see before you
has always burned hot beneath the surface,
always been a card carrying member of the “others” –
the weirdos/punks/queers/misfits.
call us what you will, but we’re leading the charge now.
buying homes and settling in your quaint little areas of town,
and that raging fire is never going out.

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Ode to New Orleans

Strolling down Bourbon Street, centuries of pain and beauty beneath our feet,
Dancing on the heels of the greats to a rhythm the city seems to make from out of nothing,
en Louisiane,
à La Nouvelle-Orléans,
We’re alive, like the jazz, and smoke, and black magic floating through the air,
we’re wild, we’re free.
I love you, I love you, je t’aime, je t’aime,
Down by the Bayou, drunk on Rue Dauphine, on St. Charles Street,
Tracing the footsteps of Degas,
of Hemingway, Capote, Williams,
Sweet city beneath the sea,
Hold steady, hold on tight.

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Couronne Moi

Les jours se transforment en nuits,

Nous travaillons dur, enveloppés de civilité.

Pas de répit face à cette faim,

Imbibe ma peau comme les derniers jours de l’été.

Coiffé et prêt pour une prise de contrôle totale,

Obstacles, lentement mais sûrement dévorés.

Le pouvoir dans ma ligne de mire,

Lisez dans mes yeux.

Continue reading “Couronne Moi”

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Solstice

i.
spring has come and gone
like two birds fluttering through the sky
we danced love-drunk passed midnight, kissing, laughing, stumbling through the dark on our way to the car

ii.
lost in the darkness of hair/eyes/mouths, endlessly
holding onto each other while the world shakes and shutters beneath us,
holding onto others, hungry, yearning, subversive

iii.
will I be broken in the morning?
no, the revolution still pulsing through my body, my blood, my mind
as I curl up with a copy of Giovanni’s Room and welcome summer

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Charlottesville

blood in the streets,
still I’m not surprised,
hateful hooded men who carry torches breeze past me everyday,
in the supermarket, on the subway –
cloaks and masks removed.

blood in the streets,
and somehow the opposition is to blame,
how dare we fight back against an armed, racist, mob,
don’t you know who gets to carry the pitchforks around here?
(hint: it’s not you and I)

blood in the streets,
and broken bodies out on sidewalks all summer long,
when’s it going to finally sink in?
more incendiary threats and half-baked wars,
this nation will be its own ruin.