PAD Challenge Day 1 (Two-for-Tuesday): Write a "Best of Times" poem, and/or write a “Worst of Times”. Best of times Growing up Saturdays were golden times Teena Marie was square biz And mom’s hotcakes were the hottest to melt Country Crock butter Confirmation of my adolescence transformation Something smaller can make something large and fluffy a delight Simple enhancements without too much alteration I, too, can be butter To a good ole fashioned world A good source of energy Smooth enough to activate the brilliance off the top of my head Rich enough to add more flavor to history Be essential to the vision my ancestors left for me to see That a little drizzle added to the best of both worlds never really could hurt anybody Worst of Times Could it be found at the Door of No Return? A forced, freedom-less ride along one of the 36,000 voyages, To create the greatest Americas’ horror film? Could it be the system it...
PAD Challenge Day 30: Take one of your poems (or several of your poems) from earlier this month and remix it. Write a remix poem. Sticky Notes 2 Self ft. Loose-leaf Paper (This is the Remix) ๐๐ Sometimes-at-times a 3x3 sticky note is too tiny. Loose-leaf Paper can tell it all and rule on college rule. Break it down. I can go in depth, line by line, about the things I tell myself: "Dear Black Girl, remember why you rock and settle for nothing less." I have no choice but to be the catalyst in this generation . Because there are people like Queen momma told me that don't want me to have nothing at all. Be nothing at all. They rather see me stumble and fall between crevices they didn't survive or build blocks to block me into being a flunkie. So, every time I win, achieve, prosper, I must do what what my ancestors didn't get a chance to do . That's my legacy. Be EXTRA good in a negative world so when people talk about me...
PAD Challenge Day 30 (Two-for-Tuesday: Write a "The End" poem, and/or write a beginning poem. Alpha I was seven when I first tasted poetry. A bubbly, Southern girl with pigtails and a smile. From the tip to the back of my strawberry tongue, it became lemonade. Water to my minor soul; A major sweet crystalline to my heart. Stirred me through boiling points to refreshing seconds. Taught me how to roll with the yellows and tarts times of life. Omega Don't tell me to end. That's like telling me to break up with my bestfriends, Paper and Pen. And I don't know when my last poem will be. I may die writing between the stanzas of one just for you to say "Rest in Poem", poet. ๐D'ElegantOne
Comments
Post a Comment