Haiku 1

I have died and dreamed

myself back to your arms where

what I died for sleeps.

-Sonia Sanchez

Jabberwocky

"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

-Lewis Carroll

Sonnet 69

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,

without you moving, slicing the noon

like a blue flower, without you walking

later through the fog and the cobbles,

without the light you carry in your hand,

golden, which maybe others will not see,

which maybe no one knew was growing

like the red beginnings of a rose.

In short, without your presence: without your coming

suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,

gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:

since then I am because you are,

since then you are, I am, we are,

and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be.

-Pablo Neruda

on the state-sanctioned murder of shaka sankofa

they are killing me tonight, they are murdering me tonight.

8:49 pm pronounced dead, with one eye open.

these names i place in my mouth tonight. shaka sankofa, amadou

diallo, and mumia abu-jamal. these names familiar on my tongue. all

african, muslim names. all eastern, all other. until the end of his

breath, shaka sankofa, born gary graham, urged black power. march

on, black people, he said.

dead. and an example, now, to all people. a promise of what is to

come. state-sanctioned killings of innocents. a white towel they

placed on his face, to cover his stare.

i place these names in my mouth, and think of how american the name

shaka tastes. how american mumia sounds. and the names of men we

love who are called after prophets, nations, blood lines, warriors.

the men we love who can neer have enough eye witnesses. the state

will turn back even god's eye, and witness murder easily.

if i could talk right now, i'd call my girl, and tell her to keep our

son inside. to shape his head into a bullet-proof crown. i'd

whisper my intimates' names into a secret pot, bury it under a tree,

and pray for strength to grow. i'd at least scream this pain out

into the street. rage at this night. i'd call wbai and say, i don't

know what to say. my sisters are somewhere tonight, broken down one

more time.

and what are we gonna do? shut what down? boycott whom? appeal to

which court?

and a 17-year-old gary graham, criminalized since birth. chose the

name for himself sankofa. a ghanian word, meaning to learn from the

past. transformed himself into a soul outside of bars and skin and

even death.

it is hope they killed.

it is life they ate.

i love you, he said several times. i love you. learn from the past.

george bush jr. is a murderer, as is his father. learn from the

past. we still have mumia. learn from the past. i love you, he

said. one eye open. i love you. sankofa.

62200 10:49 pm

-Suheir Hammad (New York)

from 'Bum Rush the Page' a def poetry jam

Sonnet 29

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least:

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, --and then my state

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at

heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings'.

-William Shakespeare

Diner

My eggs will never be dry

when I am with you

and no matter how much

I am told to be professional,

when your lips stare at me

like they are hungry

for what is finally real,

and your eyes speak to me as if

they see millennium,

I am the butter

melting on your toast.

-RoByn Baron

Silence

I sit here, waiting.

An unknown signal shall sound,

and I shall arise.

-Frank Mandarine