Poetry: speaks, moves & inspires.
To be a poet, is to leave your mark on this world one letter at a time. It is the ability to freeze frame life and capture the moments with words. It is the ability to express an emotion with the flow of your syntax. To be a poet is to possess a gift that lies within and sharing it with the world.
I would like to share with all who may read this, those poets that have greatly inspired me. Their performances amazing. Their poems profound. Each one bringing forth a different emotion and I dare you to experience each piece and not be moved.
I wish my “list” of poets could reflect all those who I have had the pleasure of discovering this past year. Nonetheless, I leave you with these five outstanding pieces.
By Mayda De Valle
In Front Of The Class
By Bonafide Rojas
By Cesar Vargas
I will not succumb to your bigoted labels to your ignorant accusations
I will not crawl up in a ball and become complacent in spite of it all
Oh how we believe your lies how we join in the stoning of our own people
How our dress code is inappropriate how the music we listen to is rebellious
How our food and our culture are uncivilized how speaking our minds
equates to whine
Folks don’t give in.
Don’t believe those lies.
We are not stationary, we are not parasites
You say I am all about words and no action that
my excuses are my only weapon.
And I say I am here standing tall and undefeated
by your assumptions and condemnations.
I too once thought that my very own
were inferior only to realize
That that manifestation that that realization
was delirium attached with self-loathing.
For when you hate your own the very ones that gave you life
you hate yourself.
That is when you succumb
to their bigoted labels and ignorant accusations.
And so we begin spiraling down
that dopey slippery slope of denial.
speech alteration as well as articulation.
Denial of the music you very damn well love deep inside
but won’t let others know.
Because you are stuck in this “European” world of
hard and soft rock and fashion fiascos.
But did you know that the very same who you hate
are the ones they emulate.
Rock was stolen from blacks,
yes go on and gasp the very “race” you can’t stand.
I can mention a million things that are highly imitated, adapted and acted
Like dances, accents, ideas, inventions, books, behaviors and “ethnic” food
All absorbed, mixed up, then manifested and claimed as their own.
So before you go and proclaim that your people are savages,
uncivilized nomads cretins, lazy, crazy, infantile, destructive sojourners who thrive on the corner
For we are changing the world
and there is nothing you can do about it
Except maybe crawl up in a ball become complacent in spite of us all
How He Became A Ghost
By Noemi ‘Siren’ Soto
There is metal where his heart should be
cold and heavy, he carries it everywhere
deep within his hollowed out chest he made himself
He used to be warm blood pumping
but now he walks with the burden of the wounded
staggering with the stench of fickle love
He licks my lips trying to heal what he made bleed
but he is shrapnel tongued
and I still have the word “beautiful” embedded in my skin
Hand in hand, we put kisses in boxes that we hid under his bed
tucked away never to be found
Only we knew it’s hiding place
He broke himself down into small pieces so as not to overwhelm me
and with two fingers, he placed each jagged piece under my tongue
until he became a part of me
If I could, I would take his beating heart
and place it in my pocket
so that I may know what it is like to be truly close to him
He always kept his skin thick
so I couldn’t find my way underneath
and burrow myself within him
Arm’s length was never far enough
We shared secret moments tangled up in bed sheets like nooses
Told me how much he cared for me as he hiked up my skirt
That’s the only way to get a man to like you, you know
I tried to hold on to him
but he’d turn into a ghost to slip right through my fingers
just had to watch as he floated away from me
We were always a silent train ride home deep in thought
skin still sticky with sweat
mind swimming with regret and confusion
Trying to make sense of it all
Nowadays I watch him from a distance
careful not to step too close
He’s always knew how to make his way in
And as for me…
Well, I have become a closed fist
ready to unleash all of the bitterness he placed so sweetly inside the palm of my hand.
Advocate of Wordz
If you would like to hear more from these truly gifted people, here are a few links to get you connected.
Mayda De Valle
Noemi ‘Siren’ Soto
Advocate of Wordz (member of El Grito de Poetas)