My Poetry Is Pedestrian
My poetry walks barefoot along the winding unpaved road
where beautiful people peddle smiles
that tell a story older than language.
Where sundry patches of fabric
are stitched together
to clothe an entire tribe.
Where doorways lined
with woven tapestries
beckon my poetry.
It lingers on
a warp and weft,
then wanders through the market,
smelling the pungency of mongers' fish
and sweetness of clay-warmed bread.
Throughout this braid of wares
their beaded twine
and painted stone.
If it could,
my poetry would trade cadence for incense;
the scent intoxicates its rhyme,
rendering it artisan.
Currency jingles through this bazaar
this thread as versed as time.
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(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
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- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
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- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe