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Some readers find comfort in reading poetry, turning the pages and enjoying a rhythm as comforting as a cat's purring. But some poems rocket you out of your comfort zone. They have the audacity to get in your face and shake up your rump. Robert Frost said, "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." However, I believe words should also be the founders of thoughts.
Most of the poems in 3AM were birthed at that hour, or at some point in the witching hours between midnight and dawn. I hope these poems lift you from the pages or pixels on your screen and send your heart flying around the room. Excerpts: He Has the Most His body in summertime-- Sticky maple syrup Poured over smoked skin and bones Not a stitch on Except shorts the color of old motor oil. He wanders through parking lots And people, trying To catch up with his name Pacing a few steps ahead. Where is his bed, I wonder, Alone in mine to ponder? Someone feeds him, but his blood Burns it up quick Leaving only muscles, And stories matted in his hair. New York THOTs 4 corners of black women Madison Ave and 49th squared Black, blue, orange, and pink Blouses billowing. Cat eyes meet at the shoes Sandals, flats, heels, wedges Checking judging THOT-- “THOT, who she think she is?” The light turns green with envy A bus rumbles by-- Disintegration |
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