The Word forms the Sentence

We have overcome.

Except those of us now in Gaza. Except those of us whom police kill. Except those of us who are suspects. Except those of us whom the church hate. Except those of us damned to taste good. Except those of us held by fate. We are meeting in the capitol. Word is, freedom will not wait.

All that once was never shall be.
All they could do won’t be done.
All we sang of is now happening.

~Words by Saul Williams

I've been in New York this weekend. Taking a break from the city found me up in Hamilton (think Star's Hallow from Gilmore Girls) where Colgate University is located. My friend, Landon, is a professor there. He took me to a Def Poetry reading on MLK Day. Featured at the reading were Joe Hernandez-Kolski, Beau Sia, and Saul Williams. After the reading ended, all of us (including Landon's brother Geoffrey, and his roommate Ernest--and YES, it was lovely to be that outnumbered by amazing men) sat around the lobby of the tiny Colgate Inn and talked.

the passion,

the voices,

the drive,

the talent,

the intelligence,

the being,

the presence,

the awareness,

the fight,

the power

within each of the men I spent that evening with made it one of the most remarkable evenings of my life.

I hope you have time to give a look at some of what these men of words do with their voices.








Have you realized the power of your voice recently? How?

Hello July

Here's a little poem I composed while sitting by a fire escape in Harlem this week.



Sing the Sing-Song Silence of wind.
Bliss the crisp Willow Snap Sound of heat.
Suck the gushing juices of a Ripe Mango day.
Soak in the sultry, hazy fog of a Harlem Moon.

Peel the woven layers of a too much Cloud in Clothes.
Smack the Fleshy tones of a too Slick, Slip skin.
Dab the Droplets of an Hour in the indie sailed Ship.
Shhh the dragonfly winged thoughts and Kiss Them asleep.

I long to hold some Lady

I'm into poetry.


Yesterday in a literary conference at the Salt Palace there were several moments that could have been composed into poems about my life. I was sitting alone on a pea green bench during a break and a small, doe-eyed girl from India came up to me. She had a pink balloon tied to her wrist, and she looked at me with more boldness than I have seen in a child. There was no shyness there. We stared at each other for a long time. Longer than was probably proper for a stranger and child to stare. Her parents were about 20 feet away caught up in a conversation about medicine. She pointed at my hair and then she held up her wrist to show me her balloon. Before I was able to speak, her father whisked in and carried her away, the pink balloon bobbing like a bird on waves.

There were two other events, one involving a teenage boy and one involving a Hispanic woman...maybe I'll save those experiences for another post.


At the conference a world renown poet explained the interaction of the poet and the reader with a metaphor (dare he use anything else!) He said that when you read the poems of a poet, it is as personal as sharing a kiss. This quickened me and I was full of visions of kissing various poets. As poets faces flickered across the gray coils of my brain I shuttered a little when Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson flashed there, but the the images stopped and rested on Mr. Cohen. I pictured having a long, drawn out, soft French kiss with Leonard Cohen....and the metaphor came to life with piercing imagery.




I Long to Hold Some Lady from The Spice Box of Earth

I long to hold some lady
For my love is far away,
And will not come tomorrow
And was not here today.

There is no flesh so perfect
As on my lady's bone,
And yet it seems so distant
When I am all alone:

As though she were a masterpiece
In some castled town,
That pilgrims come to visit
And priests to copy down.

Alas, I cannot travel
To a love I have so deep
Or sleep too close beside
A love I want to keep.

But I long to hold some lady,
For flesh is warm and sweet.
Cold skeletons go marching
Each night beside my feet.

a pretty how town...

anyone lived in a pretty how town, with up so floating many bells down. i awoke in a haze of down comforters with this phrase buzzing in my head like a fly. have any of you ever reached out and grasped consciousness with e e cummings abuzz? in honor of e e, there will be no capitalization today!

i think it is because i have been "singing my didn't and dancing my did" lately. i get through the challenges happily and celebrate my victories emphatically.

i think it is also because i am moving to a pretty how town myself tonight, if sugarhouse can be called that...it's a long process because i have exactly or precisely 1,000 books and about 300 dvds....how did this happen to a simple girl like myself? is it shameful to have a home full of bookshelves and nothing else?

cummings is also speaking to me in my sleep because i have grown tired of sowing my isn't and reaping my same...sun moon stars rain. i don't want to sleep my dreams.


thanks for talking to me this morning cummings, i really appreciate it.


maybe he speaks to you too?

(this poem should be read aloud, it will blow your mind if it hasn't already)

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain