‘Poetry’ Archives
A Walk in the Park
By DANETTE BILLUPS As I walk the trail around the park I hear the scrape of the jump rope and patter of feet on the ground. The children giggle as they take turns jumping, in an attempt to have the most consecutive jumps without tiring or becoming entangled in the ropes.I hear the bouncing of a ball on the basketball court. I see the ball tossed towards the rim, but it did not make it through the hoop. The sound reverberates as the ball bounces off the backboard. A crowd is gathering to watch the game. The leaves rustle as the wind gently gently caresses them. Birds are chirping and ducks are quacking in the pond. Light taps can be heard from the fountain of water springing forth in the middle of the pond.As I round the curve on the trail, I hear the ever so occasional airplane pass by overhead. A dog barks and the owner jogs along the trail with their furry friend.Children squeal with glee as they roll down the hill amongst the dandelions. There is another swift breeze of wind, [...]
Water
By SHELIA BLAND There is something about the water that frightens me.Is this a before or after Katrina reaction?1600 dead.There’s just so much of it.Rivers, lakes, gulfs, streams,Ponds, bayous, lagoons, puddles, oceans,Just so much of it.1800 dead.Rain, storms.Typhoons, sweat, tears.Just so much of it.Blood streams, humidity everything that oozes,Water.I’m a little afraid of it.It sort of takes the solid out of solid.It permeates everything.Animates.Changes the certain into a soluble mush.A fog.Water.It’s everywhere.We drink it, eat it, breathe it. Sweat it,urinate it, defecate it.Inescapable.More present in our beings than flesh, sinew, bone.But is this a before or after Katrina thing?Houses exploded, crashed into each other. Floated like boats.High rises sit with vacant stares, like petrified tree stumps.Trauma rains down into a sea of nightmares.People hesitantly return to washed away spaces—locations that sheltered generations of relatives.Ancestral grounds.Ancestral [...]
Freedom of Expression
By DANETTE BILLUPS My freedom of expression is in my hair and I don’t care what other people thinkwhen I wear my afro, dreadlocks, twists and braidsor even if I chose to wear finger waves. I am free to be me. That is all I can be. If I wake up with a nappy headplease understand I just got out of bed. I can use the pressing comb on the stoveor curling iron, then don a bowto pretty myself all up for you,if that is what I wanted to do. But it’s not about you, it’s all about me.I am free to be me. That’s all I can be. If I don’t want to straighten my naps,I could just put on a baseball capor a winter hat if it is cold outside.The choice is mine and that’s no jive. Bobbie pins, barrettes and rubber bandsused to be at my commandwhen I was younger wearing ponytails and plaits.I was too young for wearing church hatson a Sunday morning or a Saturdaybut I could tie a ribbon any day. If I chose the chemical wayI could use a relaxer any dayor a jheri curl for [...]
