WARNING: Some of the language in this month’s poem might freak out very sensitive individuals. You have now been informed:

September is a big month for the Quotable Poet for a few reasons: NUMBER ONE, he just did one of those rare things which few authors beside him ever do. Which was to publish in the same post an editorial with a matching poem, this one for the mighty gloved one called: Summer-Song Rhapsody for Michael Jackson. I almost picked that poem for the September Poem of the Month but too many people beat me to it already.

Two more reasons it’s a big month for him is because Creative Thinkers International is celebrating its 5th anniversary AND it’s also the 9th anniversary of the publication of his Encyclopedia of the Harlem Renaissance. That’s a lot to suck in and spit out in one breath, plus we haven’t even gotten to the new websites or his big Guerrilla Decontextualization push. Hmmm, seems Michael Jackson got caught up in that too. But the big deal here is the September Poem of the Month and for this one we’re going with “Seized by the Perils of Poetry,” from the book I Made My Boy Out of Poetry, since this month the second annual 100 Thousand Poets for Change is kicking off too. So here we go:

  Seized By The Perils Of Poetry

Seized by the perils of poetry
surely I am damned and doomed
quite properly to hell,
I am thrown beyond Paradise
and made love to by Eagles.

Seized by the truth and the cock
and the holy ghost scream of poetry
I run through public spaces
as naked as an “I” without
his dot or mascara or lines
to define where he thinks he stands.

I am seduced and bamboozled,
made discombulate by metaphors:
I ride consciousness
like the unicorn of time galloping
between history’s thighs
and his dead whore’s nonreality,
I am the heat that loved your mouth
when first  you tasted fire,
I am curiosity of the eclipse
looking down at Jesus and wrapping his
blood in the earthquake of my blackness.

Seized by the perils of a resurrection gone wild
I have lost count of my colors and genders
kidnapped by a f*ck that never stops
my tongue explodes into thorns
and my chest glows geometric with visions,
somewhere to the east of his skull
the moon is loving me full of madness
and we are dancing to everything
that rhymes with this one gorgeous moment,
we are eating our tambourines raw
smoking big fat lions and shooting
long cool breezes with a singer named God.

© Aberjhani

Post by MS/25