I’m tired. Beat to my fucking socks. Once again hearing Zack de la Rocha’s lyric, like the only song this country will ever want to sing to me: “Don’t you know they’re counting backward to zero?” So damned tired.
The source text for this poem is Lucille Clifton’s “grief.”
Pause I am thinking of a number between naught and eternity. Many stories, many artful shadings of all colors. Pause -- as we listen for your revision, your retelling of the tale. It's your story, your myth. The reconfiguration of Black death in Amerikkka. Pause -- because he thought it was a taser. And pause for the self-flagellating knife-cuts of our scoffing laughter, for the rejection of your tired, lazy myth, for this one more time of you revealing the bloody soul of Amerikkka.
National Poetry Month 2021: the Golden Shovel
As I’ve done for the last forever, I’ve chosen a poetic form, and I’m going to try to write a poem in that form every day for the month of April. I don’t always succeed, but I always give it my best shot. The “Golden Shovel” was created by Terrance Hayes in tribute to Gwendolyn Brooks. I learned about it from my friend Sonia (aka Red Emma). I’ll be using Lucille Clifton’s poems as my starting point this month. Here are the rules:
- Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
- Use each word in the line (or lines) as the end word for each line in your poem.
- Keep the end words in order.
- Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
- The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
If you pull a line with six words, your poem would be six lines long. If you pull a stanza with 24 words, your poem would be 24 lines long. And so on.
Should be interesting!