So today is the 100th day and TSE’s closing poem over at Starting Today is wonderful.

First Grade, All Over Again

[1]

When he was little
and just a boy
and called Barry,

his report cards
were shown, first,
to the one person

whose approval
mattered the most,
his mother, Ann Dunham.

Works well with others
who do not work
well with each other.

Another GOP No,
another honor roll of polls,
locked-in telephoto.

[2]

Barry Obama was
African-American,
African father, American mother,

but not Barack,
Barack Obama is mixed,
race-less and Black.

I have seen more photos
of Barack Obama
than I ever seen

of my own mother.
Blame the Press,
digital photography, all

the camera-phones,
raised like Rockefellers,
above the rest of us.

[3]

My mother hates
being aimed at. “But Mom, this is
a really good camera,

a Leica.” So what, it’s
all German to her
and that means torture,

already half locked-up
with my brother.
Armed robbery, his war crime.

My parents broke-up
the day Jimmy Carter
was inaugurated,

the last time swine
sent to wipe out drug cartels
came home to roost.

[4]

There’s no way to stay
“on-subject” and do this
without high marks

for marksmanship.
Some bald, class bully
taking shots at him,

saying he’s not tough.
Saying he’s a brown Apologist,
shaking hands with

future allies-of-color
weakens us, so let’s waterboard Bo,
the bi-racial Water Dog.

Let’s let the human eye decide
if colorblind is cultural
or regular-blindness.

[5]

Mother’s Day in the White House,
Marian and Michelle.
First Granny and First Lady.

Out of vernacular-respect,
Black men often refer
to the women they love as “Mama.”

This is not something
the minority expects the majority
to accept, reconciliation.

“Once a man loses his mother,
he can accomplish
damn-near anything.”

I heard this on the streets
of Washington, D.C.,
right outside the office of citizen.

just when i was about give up on my musical collection, i found thirty thirsty. their great 30 minute mixes are definitely adding a lil spice to my daily listening. i miss a good dj. i should go out more…

i just got some new books of poetry. woooo! i know i keep saying that i won’t pick up any new books before finishing the books i already have, but i am addicted. i want to read everything!

i’m kinda mad at myself though, cuz now i know that instead of writing a paper, like i said i would, i’m gonna be reading poems all night.

oh well…

so, i just got rejected from a certain black poetry retreat that i applied for…luckily, that means i can spend a longer time in brazil. i am still kinda bummed, but also happy since this means i have a little more time to spend with boopiece. apparently it sometimes takes multiple applications to be accepted, so i’ll just try again next year, when my poetry is even more hot to death =)

Check out these portraits that Kehinde Wiley made in Brazil. Simply amazing.
>> The World Stage: Brazil (O estágio do mundo)

If you live in SoCal or will be there before May 30, you should go to Roberts & Tilton and see the exhibition!

A little while ago, I was given a Splash Award by Girl Griot and now the time has come to pass it on! The Splash Award is given to alluring, amusing, bewitching, impressive and inspiring blogs, so I was very honored to have received one from a blogger, whom I also admire =)

Anywho, once you get Splashed, you’re supposed to:

1) Put the logo on your blog/post.
2) Nominate up to 9 blogs which allure, amuse, bewitch, impress or inspire you.
3) Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.
4) Let them know that they have been splashed by commenting on their blog.
5) Remember to link to the person from whom your received your Splash award.

Of the many blogs that follow on a daily basis, it’s hard to choose only a few. However, since I’m feelin kinda late on doing the whole splash thing I’ll try to keep mine brief and unrepetitive. To that end, I’d like to highlight:

KameelahWrites: Kameelah’s honest and thoughtful posts combined with her absolutely stunning photography has made me a long-time admirer.

XicaBahia: Xai’s on hiatus til summer, but I know that when she comes back, she’ll be sharing more of Brasil’s wonderful treasures.

Nowarian: I wish I could write as beautifully and pointedly as Susana. Plus, she always pulls the most gorgeous quotations.

I’m a fairly new reader of the following blogs but I wanted to acknowledge them, too, for sharing some of the things they’ve come across on the web and in the world:

Guerilla Mama Medicine / Raven’s Eye :: find her lovely poems!

Alice Wonder :: see her fabulous photos!

Blank Bare Clean :: check the amazing artists!

Happy Splashing, y’all!

even if you don’t understand spanish, check out this short video of afro-colombian artist liliana angulo talking about her installation called mambo negrita. skip to the end for a cool preview of what it looks like in action.

if you haven’t seen it yet, please visit the HOPE project. there you’ll find poems by kwame dawes that were produced in combination with an essay and two documentaries about people living with HIV in Jamaica. commissioned by the pulitzer center on crisis reporting, the poem-videos also feature photographs made by joshua cogan. very sad but stunning work.

i can’t get enough! here’s another beautiful poem by aracelis girmay:

FOR ESTEFANI LORA, THIRD GRADE, WHO MADE ME A CARD
for Estefani Lora, PS 132, Washington Heights

*
Elephant on an orange line, underneath a yellow circle
meaning sun.
6 green, vertical lines, with color all from the top
meaning flowers.

*
The first time I peel back the 5 squares of Scotch tape,
unfold the crooked-crease fold of art class paper,
I am in my living room.

It is June.
Inside of the card, there is one long word, & then
Estefani’s name:

Loisfoeribari

Estefani Lora

*
Loisfoeribari?

*
Loisfoeribari: The scientific, Latinate way of saying hibiscus.

*
Loisforeribari: A direction, as in: Are you going
North? South? East? West? Loisfoeribari?

*
I try, over & over, to read the word out loud.
Loisfoeribari. LoISFOeribari.
LoiSFOEribari. LoisFOERibARI.

*
What is this word?

I imagine using it in sentences like,

“Man, I have to go back to the house,
I forgot my Loisfoeribari.”

or

“There’s nothing better than rain, hot rain,
open windows with music, & a tall glass
of Loisfoeribari.”

or

“How are we getting to Pittsburgh?
Should we drive or take the Loisfoeribari?”

*
I have lived 4 minutes with this word not knowing
what it means.

*
It is the end of the year. I consider writing my student,
Estefani Lora, a letter that goes:

To The BRILLIANT Estefani Lora!

Hola, querida, I hope that you are well. I’ve just opened the card that you made me, and it is beautiful. I really love the way you filled the sky with birds. I believe that you are chula, chulita, and super fly! Yes, the card is beautiful. I only have one question for you. What does the word ‘Loisfoeribari’ mean?

*
I try the word again.
Loisfoeribari.
Loisfoeribari.
Loisfoeribari.

*
I try the word in Spanish.
Loisfoeribari
Lo-ees-fo-eh-dee-bah-dee
Lo-ees-fo-eh-dee-bah-dee

& then, slowly,

Lo is fo e ri bari
Lo is fo eribari

*
love is for everybody
love is for every every body love
love love everybody love
everybody love love
is love everybody
everybody is love
love love for love
for everybody
for love is everybody
love is forevery
love is forevery body
love love love for body
love body body is love
love is body every body is love
is every love
for every love is love
for love everybody love love
love love for everybody
loveisforeverybody

to make up for totally slacking on my poetry per diem, here’s a lovely poem by aracelis girmay, whose beautiful first name means “altar of the sky.”

enjoy!

Dear,

It rained all night. It did not rain.
I strapped my life to a buoy
& sent it out.

& was hoping for a city
as beautiful as hair
or the saffron ghost
of a monk in the morning.

This morning I sneak
out of your bed,
& am the red skin
of the snake who leaves
the stiff meat of your muscle.

In other words, I take my skin,
a costume, to the kitchen,
& stand in the doorway
between these dirty realms
of knives & air & pocket-change.
& behind the curtain
of the breasts you chewed,
I am a city
whose citizens sing, forget
the rifle in your eye.

You’re breathing like a farm
in the other room, & the lintel above me
is a guillotine. I’ll miss you, deer,
but I choose my head, & carry it out of doors
wearing only its creaking feet.