Basquait poems on Hello Poetry

Lydia Cooper May 2013

Where are the greats of my generation?

The great artist and thinkers.

Will there be another Warhol, Basquait?

Of course not.

Are we doomed to a worth set by numbers?

Are we doomed to have language become a nuance

Where conversation is useless?

Where eye contact and subtle glances

Become fiction for Romances?;

Where is the fire in our youthful souls?

We want to be heard so we take another poll

One thousand nine hundred and three.

We gained the ability to reach the masses

But we chose to be classless.

Always looking out for the last

-Ist.

Where are the greats of my generation?

UWANDU VICTORY May 2019

SUNRISE

Sadness is a ray of darkness
Blind photons darting in effervescent emotion
Melting away the grip of pericardium
Waterboarding tired heart
Smiles are labour pains
Laughter, a jaggered cut through grey matter of necrotic brains
Thalamus, grave of relayed impulses
Empty carotid, dead heart in danger
The night is darker
Your shadow, your stalker
Call the Bishop
Tell the imam to bring the Bible
The Abbot and the crucifix, love and no jinx
Wake mother, hold the door for father
A son is coming, their last daughter
Tell Mungo Galapagos is not Darwin
Basquait was a raincloud
A mean frown in the sky
Tell Kelly journeys have two ends
That tears are diggers
Say these before sunrise.

— The End —