Drink a huge glass of iced water.
Stretch.
No, really stretch.
Take your time.
Go outside.
Look up at the sky.
Smell a flower or seven.
Sneeze.
Smile at a stranger.
Hug a friend.
Say, “I love you” more than once.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Tell yourself that you are enough.
Watch the sunset.
Sleep well.
I invited Literacy to the table. She was delightful as can B. We drank T.
She seemed shy at first, as if she was trying to decode each word—sounding out her thoughts. Once she started, she began speaking rapidly, as if I were timing her. “Listen,” I said. “This is not a race. It isn’t about accuracy, and your pronunciation is just fine. I invited you because I want to know U. I want to C U. I want to understand. ¿Comprende? This is all about communication.” Literacy took a big deep breath . . . and started to cry. “U C,” she said, “Sometimes people get all phocused on phonics—It’s like they’re hooked. Yes, foundation, foundation, phoundation, but it doesn’t stop there. We need to play with words, slay with words, sing and be sung. U know?” And I did. So we did. We sang. And we shared stories—hers, mines, ours. We laughed, then cried some more, then sang a song of hope. “C, this is Y,” she said, “This is Y I live. This makes me feel whole.” We drank more T, made lists, recited poems, made declarations, asked questions, wrote our dreams, and shared our resilience through story. Y’all, Literacy is a beauty, and she is invited to my table any time!
Breathe.
Inhale
Through the nose,
Slow and steady.
Pause for a moment.
Get ready to exhale:
Really slowly through the mouth.
How are you feeling after this?
Are you ready to do it again?
Repeat until you are ready to shine.
#VerseLove Day 16: Write an etheree poem.
Evening sky, blazing across the azure canvas—
Amethyst and fuchsia twirling into each other—
Stretching into sleek silken strands
Highlighted by golden persimmon,
Flaming like DayGlo sherbet,
I will ride off into you.
so much depends
upon
the Wyndham
hotel
flooded with sprinkler
water
beside the BOS
center
(A nod to William Carlos Williams and “The Red Wheelbarrow” while looking away from The Wyndham Hotel)
Inside my shoes
are my feet
that have been running since I was 2.
At first I ran
hoping to be chased—
by my big brothers,
my big sister,
maybe even one of my parents.
Eventually I ran
to get away—
from my big brothers,
my big sister,
maybe even one of my parents.
Inside my shoes
are feet with scars—
hardship
fear
sadness
loss.
Inside my shoes
are feet with stories—
standing up
Strength
resilience
victory.
Inside my shoes
are feet that still run—
sometimes, when I don’t want to,
but I do it anyways because I know that it
makes
me
stronger.
Inside my shoes
are feet that run
around the block,
across the bridge,
toward a 3K
and maybe eventually a half marathon
Running toward myself
In promises of
progress and
healing.
#VerseLove prompt: Write about a scar, one that may be physical in nature or one that might be more emotional. To get started, think about these questions: Where did it come from? How did you get it? Who was with you at the time? What is the story that goes with the scar? What would the scar say about you? etc.
I was also inspired by poet-researcher Dr. Darius Phelps who prompted me to write “In My Shoes.”
The weekend’s upon us—the time to behold—
Time to recalibrate, connect, and just hang
Though this weekend might be rainy and cold,
When we look back, we will remember that we sang.
I intend to appreciate each second of the day,
As the sun moves east to west.
Believe it or not I will be home, not away,
So I might even get some rest.
Under myself I feel the need to start a fire—
Inspiration and more joy—because I’m telling no lie,
I’m seeing the approach of my eventual expire,
As we all know that life quickly goes by.
I hope to retire while I am still strong,
And do everything I love all day long.
#VerseLove—The prompt suggested to borrow the end rhymes from another poem or song, preferably a famous one, and create a new poem. I chose to use William Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold”
Daffodils—
Pushing through
Into Bloom—
You are the
Big sisters,
Singing spring.
Tulips, then
Irises,
Follow you.
(Reply to “Try That in a Small Town”)
Got a flat tire on the way to work;
Daughter’s mental health took a turn for worse;
Check’s coming next week, but there’s kids to feed.
You think you’re doomed, but your neighbor comes through.
We’ve got your back, come eat with us.
We will check in when times get rough.
We don’t have it all, but we have enough.
Well, you’re welcome here on our block.
See how much we care about y’all.
Around here, we take care of you.
You have a need, it won’t take long
For you to find out how much you matter!
You’re welcome here on our block.
Got a key that my neighbor gave me,
They say I am welcome any time.
Well, that’s what good folks looks like—good friends.
You’re welcome here on our block.
Love is up and down the road.
Around here, we take care of you.
You have a need, it won’t take long
For you to find out how much you matter!
You’re welcome here on our block,
Good neighbors up and down the place.
If you’re looking for some grace
You’re welcome here on our block.
You’re welcome here on our block.
You’re welcome here on our block.
See how much we care about y’all.
Around here, we take care of needs,
So come on, we want you to feel welcome.
For you to find out how much you matter!
You’re welcome here on our block.
You’re welcome here on our block.
Ooh-ooh
You’re welcome here on our block.
Thirteen-year-olds
Talk back sometimes,
Because they recognize their own
Humanity.
And they might want to speak up
For themselves
For their friend
For justice.
Thirteen-year-olds
Like Sprite sometimes,
Except when their
Best friend
Says that Orange Crush
Is better
So they try to like that
For a while.
Thirteen-year-olds
Want to be brilliant—
And they are—
But don’t always want
To do their homework
Because . . .
Video games,
Snapchat,
Texting,
YouTube
Bike rides,
Stories,
Daydreaming,
Music,
And
Sleep.
Thirteen-year-olds
Still have
Legos,
Action figures,
Stuffed animals,
Special blankets,
Favorite Pillows.
Thirteen-year-olds
Have
Big brothers,
Big sisters,
Baby brothers,
Baby sisters,
Baby sitters,
Hopes,
Dreams,
Fears.
Thirteen-year-olds
Have grown-ups
They look up to
And at least one
Who they want to
See smile.
Thirteen-year-olds are
Children,
Babies,
Minors,
Kids—
Just dipping into the teens years
Last week they were
TwelveElevenTenNineEightSevenSixFiveFourThreeTwoOne
Just born
Infants.
Thirteen-year-olds
Are afraid of ghosts
And get crabby
When they need sleep.
Thirteen-year-olds
Smile
When their favorite teacher
Greets them in the hallway,
When they get their first phone,
When their mom is happy,
When they see dog memes
And hear corny jokes.
Thirteen-year-olds
Need
Someone to
Remind them
To eat their veggies,
To turn off their devices,
To go to bed,
To say “Please” and “Thank you.”
Thirteen-year-olds
Need
Someone
To buy their clothes,
To tuck them in,
To drive them to school
To say “I love you.”
Thirteen-year-olds
Play
Hide-n-seek,
Heads-up-Seven-Up,
Simon Says,
“Don’t run.”
Put your hands up.
I didn’t say Simon says,
You’re out.
Thirteen-year-olds
Can
Dissect a frog.
Write an essay,
Make a friend,
Give a speech,
Break a bone,
Play a sport,
Reduce a fraction,
Get shot and killed for
running while Black.
The Read-e-ologist 