PAD Challenge Day 12: The Art of Becoming a Poet
PAD Challenge Day 12: take the phrase
“The Art of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new
phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
between the three phrases
and seventeen syllables of Haiku.
My cerebellum and my right hand
became best friends to
a sheet of wide rule
and a Lisa Frank pencil.
We frolicked to basic
mathematic arithmetic:
literature sequence.
Hungry for wisdom.
Thirsty for rhythm.
Still, I wanted more.
So, Mother breastfed
me Angelou,
bought me 2Pac Shakur
(though I wanted BIG's or Jay-z's flow).
She let me watch Love Jones
and Poetic Justice in Summer ‘98.
Every April 6, my brother
gifted me a journal.
English teachers and Mentors
fed me from poesy plates of Hughes,
Giovanni, Dickinson, Shakespeare,
Frost, Poe, Wheatley, Brooks, Dunbar,
Clifton, Lorde, and Shange,
Still, I wanted more.
No ringlets of other’s leftovers.
No sloppy seconds.
No biting. No plagiarism
Just my syllables joyriding
meters a long
similes and metaphors
with prose off my tongue;
Just clean-cut,
clear emotions and imaginations-
Filling up lines,
shaping and coloring
lives and times
by rhymes with
agony and bliss
love peace and happiness
hope truth and justice
inspiration and motivation
between a little repetition
and a little alliteration.
All authentically me--
considering my life’s
information and destiny.
All of my heart
in the heart of stanzas.
No scheming. No title to claim.
No burden. No pay.
Just my voice,
black, bold and classy,
taking a stand vastly
on what many
hesitate or refuse to say.
D'ElegantOne
The Art of Becoming a Poet
I
was seven when I first tasted poetry.
We
first met in September,between the three phrases
and seventeen syllables of Haiku.
My cerebellum and my right hand
became best friends to
a sheet of wide rule
and a Lisa Frank pencil.
We frolicked to basic
mathematic arithmetic:
One-two-three-four-five
One-two-three-four-five-six-seven
One-two-three-four-five
Short.
Sweet. Tangy
Oh,
what a delicious literature sequence.
Hungry for wisdom.
Thirsty for rhythm.
Still, I wanted more.
So, Mother breastfed
me Angelou,
bought me 2Pac Shakur
(though I wanted BIG's or Jay-z's flow).
She let me watch Love Jones
and Poetic Justice in Summer ‘98.
Every April 6, my brother
gifted me a journal.
English teachers and Mentors
fed me from poesy plates of Hughes,
Giovanni, Dickinson, Shakespeare,
Frost, Poe, Wheatley, Brooks, Dunbar,
Clifton, Lorde, and Shange,
Still, I wanted more.
My
own FREE space
to become free
in
Free and Blank Verse.No ringlets of other’s leftovers.
No sloppy seconds.
No biting. No plagiarism
Just my syllables joyriding
with prose off my tongue;
Just clean-cut,
clear emotions and imaginations-
Filling up lines,
shaping and coloring
lives and times
by rhymes with
agony and bliss
love peace and happiness
hope truth and justice
inspiration and motivation
between a little repetition
and a little alliteration.
All authentically me--
considering my life’s
information and destiny.
All of my heart
in the heart of stanzas.
No scheming. No title to claim.
No burden. No pay.
Just my voice,
black, bold and classy,
taking a stand vastly
on what many
hesitate or refuse to say.
D'ElegantOne
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| My Partial Poetry Collection :-) |
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