branson-rideaux - Hello Poetry

I'm a black actor So my monologues are gospel my dialogues are political my blocking is a statment My diction is forgiven I'm a black actor So Shakespeare speaks above my melanin, Avant guarde is a canvas too fresh for color And the urban expierence Is a glove that fits too well to remove I'm a black actor So my casting is guaranteed My bio line is their defense against vulturous social critics circling the audition table They need a black actor I'm a black actor

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Jan 15, 2017

Jan 15, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC

branson-rideaux

Black actor

I'm a black actor So my monologues are gospel my dialogues are political my blocking is a statment My diction is forgiven I'm a black actor So Shakespeare speaks above my melanin, Avant guarde is a canvas too fresh for color And the urban expierence Is a glove that fits too well to remove I'm a black actor So my casting is guaranteed My bio line is their defense against vulturous social critics circling the audition table They need a black actor I'm a black actor

15

What if we were wind? Do winged words run with whispers to make breezes? Would raging air be arguments that wane to a calm silence? When cold wind whips and cuts you would a scream only result in wilder weather Do words between lovers fill sails way out at sea? Is the breeze between my fingers a laugh between old friends? Are skyscrapers pushed by passionate fights between families? Do my words meet yours in the currents of a storm? Then when I miss my mother I will breath in the wind. Take a deep breath and feel my lineage in my lungs. Open a jar and pretend our dinner conversations are swirling inside. Knowing my grandfather's last breath fans me when I'm heated. Opening my window so the words I said to my father would fly in mountains and erode the pain it caused. Letting my sisters voice sing through windchimes coming just short of its original beauty. Giving a laugh that would meet a laugh from a friend somewhere in the 9000 mile difference between us. I'll hold out my hand and try to hold the world. Because if we are wind, then wind is wonderful.

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Dec 3, 2016

Dec 3, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC

branson-rideaux

Wind

What if we were wind? Do winged words run with whispers to make breezes? Would raging air be arguments that wane to a calm silence? When cold wind whips and cuts you would a scream only result in wilder weather Do words between lovers fill sails way out at sea? Is the breeze between my fingers a laugh between old friends? Are skyscrapers pushed by passionate fights between families? Do my words meet yours in the currents of a storm? Then when I miss my mother I will breath in the wind. Take a deep breath and feel my lineage in my lungs. Open a jar and pretend our dinner conversations are swirling inside. Knowing my grandfather's last breath fans me when I'm heated. Opening my window so the words I said to my father would fly in mountains and erode the pain it caused. Letting my sisters voice sing through windchimes coming just short of its original beauty. Giving a laugh that would meet a laugh from a friend somewhere in the 9000 mile difference between us. I'll hold out my hand and try to hold the world. Because if we are wind, then wind is wonderful.

17

She runs recklessly Shoes with no support slapping on concrete Weeds sticking out pavement like flowers She flies by barbed wire fences Jumps over broken glass Graceful like a swan Dancing despite He studies elegantly Light bounces between bars landing on pages distorted Words faded by misuse covered by penned in screams He breathes in words Prideful and wise Reading regardless They sing peacefully Notes decorate gunshots and sirens shaping city melodies Measures permeate past pews and play through derelict playgrounds They chant stories Flowing like a dream Singing nonetheless The city grows within bloackades The neighborhood breathes through smoke The family hugs in flickering dark And it is beautiful.

0

Dec 2, 2016

Dec 2, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC

branson-rideaux

Beautiful world

She runs recklessly Shoes with no support slapping on concrete Weeds sticking out pavement like flowers She flies by barbed wire fences Jumps over broken glass Graceful like a swan Dancing despite He studies elegantly Light bounces between bars landing on pages distorted Words faded by misuse covered by penned in screams He breathes in words Prideful and wise Reading regardless They sing peacefully Notes decorate gunshots and sirens shaping city melodies Measures permeate past pews and play through derelict playgrounds They chant stories Flowing like a dream Singing nonetheless The city grows within bloackades The neighborhood breathes through smoke The family hugs in flickering dark And it is beautiful.

22