Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

Another Bad Poem

I would read my books,
Hands pressed sore against
My forehead,
My fingers almost bleeding
From pencils & pens,
Bumping my thoughts, into
The inefficiency of my prose
In my current state of recital
I almost froze
"What is, bad poetry?"

In raised lines,
I would try to find
In glassy eyed outlines,
To small for me to see
Within my abandoned pages,
Or, those put on a shelf
Twisted notes and my boundaries from quotes
"What is, bad poetry?"

Down ghetto streets, endless roads
& Lonely moonlit indigo night verses
No friendly rehearses
That you would intone me
To a callus, indifferent
No one-- but someone
I can't control my pen
Yet, the inditing of muse within
Keeps me from being phony
Hell, shit keeps me,
From being lonely at night

I thought change & time would shape itself
I held nothing in my hands, nor behind
I never wanted to talk back to time
Nonetheless, in love with words
"I followed through all my screaming lines."

I could run naked on stage
Inert & out of place
So that, I could trip on glances
And stumbled on stanzas
My glistening skin painted with blinding color
Sun-kissed on my ass with eager arching eyes
I said, "I followed through all my screaming lines"

You wanted me to call out in the wind
I'd listen, but you wouldn't speak again
Almost went from front to back on me
Just like someone told me
Another one bites the dust on supporting me

Phases, ringing through my eardrums
And jumping off pages
Like fluorescent colors from lasers
I'm Poetically MzBHavin'
Going through poetic rages

This act of recital tonight
I realize, is degeneration
Of my former self
A poem that I thought was good
Well thought out, just misunderstood
Up on some shelf
To be put away
"What is bad poem?"
"What is a bad poetry"?

Written by MzBHavin


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