This Poem


This poem has a will of its own
Finds a way
Rides a crest of waves across the mid Atlantic
And translates into the language of dolphins
This poem smiles often, but also frowns
Speaks to the secret life of plants as it tunnels underground
Felt right down in the marrow of your bones
And is interpreted by trumpets and trombones
This poem makes its home
Even within the ice and snow block walls of igloos
And is enjoyed equally by Jews, Moslems, and Hindus

This poem dances on the edge of lightning flashes
And crashes in sync with toddlers’ jams on pots and pans
This poem rises from the ashes
And glides in the graceful motions of dancers
Plus it jumps up and prances
This poem is for funerals, celebrations, even romances

This poem leaps off the page into cyberspace
Along cellular waves that bounce off satellites into outer space
This poem is overstood as vibrations, through chants and hums
Telecommunicates like djembés and talking drums
Goes beyond the millennium
But was inscribed on scrolls since Day 1, of civilization

This poem is fertile, ripples along banks of rivers like the Nile
Heard in the gurgle of an infant child
This poem circulates like the equator
Reaches out from the tropics to populate, procreate
This poem is a melody begun by the creator, seeking harmonies
Carries on despite wars, despots, destroyers, and dictators

This poem relieves like a cool breeze
That inspires leaves to pirouette and whisper rhythmically
From the tops of trees
And this poem, when no one’s looking, is the paintspray from a can
That takes grey walls and creates displays that some call grafitti
This poem is a grumble in the belly of the needy

Dis poem is woven into patterns and tales detailed in plaid and kente
This poem is the force that sculpts bronze in Benin at Ife
This poem is dreamed in a deep sleep on the seventh day
Holds chaos at bay
Swivels and swirls like a carnival mas band at play
This poem has a will
So it will find
A way.



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