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Avotcja
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WHAT IS A POET???
( DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND PAT PARKER
TEXAS 1/20/1944 - CALIFORNIA 6/17/1989)
A Poet will never be allowed the luxury of blindness
A Poet is...
a receiver, an antenna & a transmitter,
all wrapped up in one
A Poet see's it all,
and hears it all,
& is obligated to tell everything
A Poet is
at best a storyteller,
a Griot, a historian,
the keeper of the flame
We're walking pin cushions, who can even feel
tomorrow breathing down our backs
We can tastes yesterday's laughter,
and see the tears you've yet to cry
A Poet goes to sleep
with words dancing all around their head
We're sound junkies,
who don't know how to be quiet
A Poet just can't stop it, we can't turn it off
It's like an avalanche of words
The beauty, the terror, the power of sound,
it's all around us, it's everywhere,
in everything, all the time in everything,
We don't have to go looking for a poem,
Poetry follows us like a shadow
It just keeps on coming & it won't go away
We're driven people
Call it a gift,
A healthy obsession
Call it a poem
everything & nothing,
a lover & a liar
a gossiper & a gift bringer
& the light
at the end of the tunnel
A Poet is as new as the morning & older than dirt
And a good Poet, just like good Poetry
is forever
& ever & ever & ever & ever & ever!!!!!!!!
Copyright © Avotcja
PORTRAIT OF A GHETTO FLOWER
As far back as I can remember...
there was so much dirt & filth on our block
That sometimes you could hardly see the pavement
The gutter was crawling with half eaten hot dogs
Old worn out tires, bottles and beer cans...
and so full of last months garbage,
That even the rats didn't want it known,
that they had ever walked our way
I mean, no matter how much Don Flavio, or
Mrs. Robinson would work out with their brooms
As soon as they'd sweep away one pile of junk,
3 others seemed to just start growing in it's place
And I was born in that gutter!!!
It wasn't like everybody was nasty!
I mean we were so clean...
We probably squeaked when we walked
But no matter how hard Mama tried
The Ghetto just seemed to attract the funk
We even played games with the stuff,
There was Summertime ecstasy in stickball heaven
We danced in New York's finest waterfalls...
Brought to us courtesy of irresistible fire hydrants
that were opened miraculously by invisible hands
And rode garbage cans like thoroughbred ponies
& the only air conditioners we'd ever need
Were turned on by Mother Nature & roof top picnics
on August nights too hot to sleep
Sure life was hard & times were tough, but
As long as we were together, it was enough
And I proudly grew up in that gutter
Old soiled newspapers flew through the air
Our playground was a pile of old sofas,
And thrown away chairs
Saunas & Hot Tubs we never imagined
And hand me down clothes were always in fashion
The garbage and funk never seemed to stop coming
& neither did we ... we kept playing & having fun
And I never knew or cared about poverty, cause
Papi's words were always there to remind me
"We may of been born in the gutter
We might have to grow up in the gutter
And even if we die in this gutter..."
I would always be his diamond
And the gutter would never grow up in me!!!
WIND DANCE
When the Wind dances
Time stops, and the Trees sway with her
And every blade of Grass bows down to her
And old papers spin and fly in the Air in her
The hats jump right off the heads of bald headed men
And follow her as far as they can follow
When the wind dances
Sh hhhhhh
Stand still, take a peek as she turns the comfort of
Your world inside out & aggressively wrecks the peace
Of an otherwise quiet destiny
Or let her pamper you ... spoil you rotten
Feel her dancing ... wildly
Enticing, teasing, warning, laughing
Gently swaying, or
Playing deliberately sassy disturbing games in your hair
And enjoying the unexpected chaos of every second
The strength in the power of each & every second
Of making you face the predictability of the unknown
Be still
Feel her dancing ... boldly
Sending chilly fingers right through your clothes, but
Dont tell anybody ... Don't say a word ... Don't move
Even I sing for her to move to ... I groove too
And fallen leaves run around in circles on the ground
And last Winter's kites laugh again in the heavens
While a million skirts climb the very healthy thighs
Of a million rhythmic goddesses
Who can move like the Wind does
If they stand real still
Just long enough to feel her
As she passes..
When the Wind dances ... Sh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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