Dec 2017
Right Downtown where
buildings scrape blue skies
and leaves share
their space on the cement,
A vagrant just on the end of 10th
dances wildly capturing high-class sentiments
he throws wide arcs of brown shrouds
and falls with practiced elegance,
the city waltz between trees,
the jazz swing stepped proud,
in harmony with the breeze
your lolling head beats
out an ancient melody.
You belong to the streets.
You creak at the knee.
You smile right at me.
Between the glass pane
you see mine and wink,
you are perfectly framed—
I never do look away.
If you weren’t all
that I am not
so free
would I have seen
the officer turn the street
his rigid blue uniform taut
like his skin and hard
like his eyes?
Officer! I wish I could’ve
screamed, would you
had heard me? Turned a cheek?
Street dancer, city slicker,
You were everything—
****, the way he tapped his feet
floating high, mesmerized,
stunned, I just watched
sitting in a leather chair
hair dye dripping blood red,
his cracked lips flare
a smile turned cross
he falls onto the cement
he goes home colored red
he fills the cracks
he is dead.
buildings scrape blue skies
and leaves share
their space on the cement,
A vagrant just on the end of 10th
dances wildly capturing high-class sentiments
he throws wide arcs of brown shrouds
and falls with practiced elegance,
the city waltz between trees,
the jazz swing stepped proud,
in harmony with the breeze
your lolling head beats
out an ancient melody.
You belong to the streets.
You creak at the knee.
You smile right at me.
Between the glass pane
you see mine and wink,
you are perfectly framed—
I never do look away.
If you weren’t all
that I am not
so free
would I have seen
the officer turn the street
his rigid blue uniform taut
like his skin and hard
like his eyes?
Officer! I wish I could’ve
screamed, would you
had heard me? Turned a cheek?
Street dancer, city slicker,
You were everything—
****, the way he tapped his feet
floating high, mesmerized,
stunned, I just watched
sitting in a leather chair
hair dye dripping blood red,
his cracked lips flare
a smile turned cross
he falls onto the cement
he goes home colored red
he fills the cracks
he is dead.
This is part of collection for a senior portfolio project at CU Denver
Project is intended to represent the stylistic distinctions of great American poets through the imitation of their poetics and/or their subject matter
"Getting a Haircut," is an imitation poem of the poet, Gwendolyn Brooks. Her poetry hones in on the political outcry of her time and uses accessible language to convey narratives of the everyday people. This is a true poem that uses her poetic form of narrative ballads to tell the story of a homeless man shot and killed outside of a salon I was getting a haircut at. Brooks is influenced by Langston Hughes with her rhythm and blues that is seen in the flow of her poetry, sound, and style.
Project is intended to represent the stylistic distinctions of great American poets through the imitation of their poetics and/or their subject matter
"Getting a Haircut," is an imitation poem of the poet, Gwendolyn Brooks. Her poetry hones in on the political outcry of her time and uses accessible language to convey narratives of the everyday people. This is a true poem that uses her poetic form of narrative ballads to tell the story of a homeless man shot and killed outside of a salon I was getting a haircut at. Brooks is influenced by Langston Hughes with her rhythm and blues that is seen in the flow of her poetry, sound, and style.
