Black Poetry : lunch hour

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by romusthepoet, Jan 29, 2002.

  1. romusthepoet

    romusthepoet Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Nov 21, 2001
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    lunch hour
    by romus

    i am walking through downtown
    in a coolness laid on me like an
    affirmation from a cooler brotha
    like the beginning rhythms of a carnival
    tuning its colors for the merry crowds
    or a shout from a friend across the busy avenue
    i am kind today
    definite as the languid afternoon & the sudden yelping sounds
    i send a kind word to anyone at all
    who seems to be oblivious to hunger
    & smiles when they look my way
    i am walking in beautiful rhythm
    the city jumping all at once
    birds sifting air into sound
    an elastic ration of them pronounced against the buildings
    carrying the hour in my cheek
    i conduct the action
    make a manhole cover toll
    i stencil person to shadow
    kiss every woman i meet
    against the sunlight nothing iz out of place
    no event not illustrated somewhere in my swinging

    in the doorway
    of the YMCA where 3 poor children sit singing
    a brotha notices me
    i nod
    he is 40 something
    fresh from war & tenements
    i see heroin even though that may be assuming to much
    amazing , he is as tall as the doorway
    he shapes like pine imported from my mother’s memory
    who’s alabama son is he?
    & does he call home to hear the slow southern voices push
    the heavy night back into the atlantic & speak to the child in him
    then cry out against blue addiction & the tumult of the boisterous city?
    he nods
    the day moves ahead like a marching band
    riotous & strangely elegant & in full volume

    oh children!
    god is here
    a beautiful frenzied calamity of them falls onto
    the sidewalk like cascading peach cans
    they are in ecstasy & fascinated with their movement
    they think they will run all their lives
    the child in me runs with them
    they whirl in the doors & fly to meet the world
    will they remember me watching them begin to live?

    then women
    two of them with bags of things
    their hair in scarves
    one knuckles at her bra line & misses my smile
    the other catches my greeting
    & puts it away in her bag
    i have made a friend

    four brothas
    in a car careen the curb
    sending the old cadillac silly
    they are young i am sure
    immortal unfettered & unasked
    their summer is still rising in slow waves
    they speed off
    i hear laughter & profanity
    the calico cadilac whines
    they use no turn signals
    are arbitrary & tight as hip talk
    they are legend in these summer streets

    then men
    homeless & loud
    arguing about something
    one’s hand is out
    the other refusing compliance
    he looks like my uncle
    the one who stays away
    whose habits haunt him
    whose eyes never have met mine
    something in the way stands against the wall
    an easiness that could hand children candy
    but never does

    a market!
    a dollar market!
    a festival of little extraordinary things
    thieves practice here
    one cannot steal in a dollar market
    they can only pilfer & pinch

    then books!
    oh, a book store!
    cathedral book store
    a man is reading something
    it is not bell hooks or karenga
    nor is it angelou, brooks, shange or sanchez
    he looks up at me
    his face never changes
    the clocks on the wall click out silence
    time is short
    the hour here a metaphor yet to be finished

    i run for the train
    the blue line chimes in
    we populate the carriage with smiles
    floating on those tracks
    we pull from the station across the intersection
    the windows move down the avenue
    we forget the run & ranting
    the blueline is leaving downtown
    & i am one of the many faces you have seen today
    & will never remember
  2. wildflower7

    wildflower7 Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Apr 2, 2001
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    you always paint the city in classic colors
    that never fade away, yet are timeless
    in my mind's gallery.
    as always... riveting.
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

    United States
    Mar 21, 2001
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    BUSINESS owner
    what u did here

    wit dat brush .......painted a picture perfect
    to my mental and got me smiling wit grace:)
  4. amirah

    amirah Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Apr 16, 2001
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    i can almost "draw" each word bcz i've had similar thoughts when i look into faces of people and see things. And mostly i wonder if they're "seeing" my story. Enjoyed reading this.