One day I woke up and began writing a poem....
"This Poem" 47 pages in 3 months.
Here are a few of those pages.....
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This poem was born from another poem of the same name
It had no beginning and no ending
This poem recites itself to me
it didn't want me to sleep
it wants to eat apathy
This poem has something to say
This poem is not an angry woman
This poem needs your touch
This poem is not about sex
This poem needs affection
she needs to talk
she is hungry
inspired and inspiring
This poem dances with mystery
This poem lives in her own world
This poem is anti-hate and anti-violence
This poem wants to educate
This poem is a bird that flies in the night
and sings lullabies to strangers
This poem is a stranger
a rape survivor, a mountain climber,
a sign seeker and a good deed doer
This poem is not confused
This poem is in love
This is a love poem
This poem communes with angels
cries at injustice
This poem wants to end world hunger
Feed everyone first
this poem lives on poetry alone
This poem is a river
you can add to this poem
many rivers flowing
This poem is an ocean of love
the language of metaphor
This poem is a door
This poem is rich
and poor
This poem has no color
but it is a rainbow
This poem is my miracle today
because this poem gives me a voice
A voice in the noise of the world
This poem chokes on exhaust
Pollution
But it will never be exhausted
it is ubiquitous
You can taste this poem in your memory of all things good
I know this poem
it is my heart
This poem rubs my back
washes my feet and looks into the windows of my soul
and sings with the piercing light of love
This poem is all about love
This poem is full of promise
hope, faith, vitality,
strength, vulnerability, responsibility
This poem believes in the religion of kindness
that there are more good people on this earth than bad
This poem wants to comfort you
Make you get and do something
something courageous
help somebody
This poem is an angel that wants to help you
see the light of grace
in a child's face
in the mirror
in a panhandler
this poem doesn't ask for anything
This poem accepts itself as is
This poem is alphabet soup
that fell out of the sky
to a girl on acid
in Berkeley on 1973
It has been sitting in my pocket
for as long as I can remember
This poem has been trying to get out
This poem contains volumes of words left unsaid
This poem has the key
for the light to shine
in its dark places
This poem is my prayer
my mantra
my song
the song of my heart
this poem will teach me and release me
This poem came to me in a dream
on a flight over land and bodies of water
and snow covered mountains
This poem will live many lifetimes
it is not original
the hand that writes this poem only catches falling words
from the rainy sky today
it is a cold rain
there is still war
No one can be free when there are people suffering
This poem hopes to bring solace
this poem is my solace
my refuge
my place of worship
my body
This poem is my temple
This poem is my skin
it is a tattoo from the West Indies
This poem will go to the moon
and farther to the milky way
the stars will wrap her in an Indian blanket
with ancient stories written upon it
softer than the finest woven lambswool
down
this poem will reach down
into the depths of one's heart
to the divine knowing
the light that shines
expands and expands
across the universe
there is a poem that speaks to me of this
This poem has separate realities
magical mysteries
This poem is a hippie from the 60's
Make love not war
Make soup
This poem is soup
hot soup on a cold rainy day
make blankets, it's cold
This poem is from the kill your television generation
Kill Your Television
Destroy your guns
Go find some children and make them happy for a little while
write poetry, it can save your life
This poem carries me when my feet hurt
Strokes my hair when I sleep
it never tires
it will never finish
because I cannot write fast enough
This poem needs a secretary
a kelly girl
a temp
This poem is temporary
This poem has a life of its own
I have acquired respect for this poem
for the poet cries tears for the world
it is not a selfish act
it is not an act of vanity
This poem is sand running thru the hour glass
the sand on the beach of the south of France
This poem is a helpless romantic
under a Cheshire moon
its a black and white movie
of young love
real love
John and Yoko love
This poem is a sunrise that colors the sky till sunset
This poem is a handwritten letter
on fine silk paper in exquisite calligraphy
this poem is my soul
This poem is a belly dancer
mystery woman with dark eyes
and dark, soulful, rich enigma
This poem is melancholy, abstract music
crying out in the night for someone
This poem will never be the same
there is no going home
This poem hums low
chants low
sings
harmony with the buzz of the computer
trapped on paper
thin as my skin
I cannot stop a train by standing on the track
I can't look back
the road is gone
the train has passed
This poem is a map
to where I don't know until I get there
This poem wants a room full of people
to write this poem
Let's talk about everything under the sun
and beyond
of love and kindness
because the children of the world need this poem
Talk about the Dalai Lama
and remember Mother Theresa
The children need your poems
what do you have to say
to love each other
This poem wants us all to love each other
and stop fighting
This poem is stronger than the willow
and bends like the dancer
This poem is carried by the wind
to villages
over bridges
the smells of food and the sounds of children's laughter
young and old people having fun together
This poem has a big dream
it is an idealist
a best friend
naïve and sure
radical
This poem has a mind of her own
the soft place of mother
good mother
This poem quiets babies when sung
This poem is my mirror
its lines my lines
crow's feet
smiling
This poem is a smiling poem
This poem is my grace
it touches my skin so gently
butterfly kisses
child joy
a flower
This poem is the lotus in cow dung
it does not compare itself to the rose
but dances in the garden
and I am not alone
in my divine artistic melancholy
in my coffee world
of mice and men
and the rat race
and babes in arms
oh, my children
The poet is a mother, a sister
I am a woman
this time birthing this poem
It screams from me
“I am free”
The world looks bright
the future is bright
my eyes are wide
like the wide Missouri
This poem greets change with open arms
is unafraid
This poem celebrates the beauty of life
the sunrise
and the birth of a new day
This poem is a primal scream
it's therapy
meditation
This poem is my soul's communication
This poem is the Wichita linemen
singing to me thru the wires
he never tires
This poem wants to sing to him
a sweet ballad for love in the night
a rainy night in Spain
This poem has a flowing neck scarf
like Oscar Wilde
drop names, not bombs
This poem is spilled ink
spilling over the banks of the levy of my heart
spilling across the floor
This poem opens flood gates
it writes itself across the sky
will never die
will never cease
will not take its last breath
will not forget to tell me his last words
This poem was left in the lost and found
I found this poem on scrap of paper
blowing in the wind of my mind
as I sat in the coffee shop
drinking too much coffee
It cuts thru me like a knife
archaeological dig
the layer unfold like origami
a map of the world
tattooed on my skin
I am the painted lady at the circus
I ride a white horse
I believe in destiny
This poem is Little Red Riding Hood
lost in the woods
but
she's smarter than she looks
she's not afraid of wolves
she writes circles around them
she is not bound to them
they ride in big cars
This poem drives a truck
down a lonesome dirt road
a road she owns
This poem is written on thousands of little scraps of paper
hidden all over the place
in between stacks of books
in pockets of old jeans
it's everything I have ever read
it's everything I hope to write
it's love letters to people
This poem wants the chocolate filling
to read the finest print
my love lies between the lines of this poem
This poem strums my pain
it's like the San Francisco rain
raining down words
to soothe my deepest part
This poem is my heart
This poem wakes me up early with the sunrise
it beacons me to rise
with the sun
and say something positive
write something that will help me make sense
of my own tragedies
and how I fit in the world
This poem is all women
it is a tapestry
it is collective consciousness
it comes to me in my sleep
it's mother earth's song
the red clay
salt water
turquoise sky
This poem is like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting
I see it in my mind's eye
this poem is not afraid to cry
it was written with my tears
This poem abandons fear
Here as I write
I hear the distant murmur of the waltz of the wind
she blows change
things change
it's not the end
it's not so bad
it's an adventure
This poem will keep me company
when I get to feeling blue
it's painted itself on the walls of my being
chiseled from marble
pure and strong
made to last
long past the tall tales
and rumors
and typos
and mistakes
This poem is full of mistakes
it's everything I've got.....
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I began writing jazz music ,rock ballads and poetry
at age 15. I couldn't read a book till I was 17.
due to undiagnosed vision problems
but I could see ,feel, read and write
Poetry
Time passed and I continued to write music
I’ve been widowed and divorced
I’ve raised 3 strong daughters
One day I saw
Muta Baruka read his poem on Def Jam Poetry
From paper!!!!
I was estatic
I could read my poetry
His poem was called the
Dis Poem’
An amazing poem that ended with
Dis poem will disappoint you because it will
End in your mind
In your mind
In your mind…
I woke up at 4 am
with
This Poem
Telling me to get up
I wrote for 3 months
A 47 page poem
I am still writing This Poem……
thank you for reading my work!
copyright 2003/2009 DAVA
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