poetry is my life
by Ron Whitehead
breath busted out of boarded mouths
words smuggled past censors and time clocks
notebook shaking in hands that refuse obedience
I stand with words
because silence is already owned
because the truth keeps getting priced
tagged
sold
life and death brokered by men in suits
counted in columns
signed away between lunches
while we keep breathing in the margins
poetry is oxygen
they cut it
we choke
they restore it
only for themselves
we steal it back
line by line
poetry moves through births in unfunded wards
through funerals nobody budgets for
through rooms where history sweats
and nobody in charge listens
who ordered the fire dimmed
who profits from quiet mouths
from docile lines
from poems that never interrupt dinner
the mind digs graves in gardens
the heart bleeds through the page
both illegal
both necessary
thoughts need training
love needs room
truth burns on exposed wires
even when they tape our mouths shut
nothing straight survives empire
don’t trust straight lines
they lead to borders
cells
graves
poetry staggers swerves
cuts across fields
jumps fences
refuses maps
poetry is the shortest distance between two points
poetry is creative distance
poetry sings and cries in stolen lands
of last gasps under badges and boots
rhythm pounding inside trouble
poetry
my co-conspirator
keeping me alive against instruction
totalitarian destruction
poetry arrived before lawbooks
before property lines
before permission
and it will still be here
after the towers crack
after the screens go dark
say it
Poetry
say it until the room breaks open
say it until the lie can’t stand
become the voice
they warned you about
I am the poem
the poem walking unsupervised
through checkpoints
through headlines
through classrooms scrubbed of memory
Poetry sweating
carrying the soul
while the world keeps dropping bodies
nothing smooth
nothing planned
the poet is awake while our country burns
talking to ghosts with names they erased
peace waiting past endurance
past compliance
past fear
can joy exist without justice
can peace live under surveillance
The Milky Way answers
with radiant stars
and we answer back
by surviving
I whispered Wow
and the owl shouted Who from the oak
the night is thick with witnesses
stars unashamed
light tugging me forward
light knows what is at stake
she said come watch the sunset
sit where the last ray resists extinction
flowers blazing protest
the world refusing to end on schedule
look
butterflies crossing borders without papers
bees working without wages
each one crowned
each one essential
she kissed me and crossed through the gate
I stayed behind
writing ghosts
writing pain
writing chains with dates attached
but the sunset came anyway
through wire and limbs
and the light did what no law could
softened the grief
without erasing the crime
she moved through evening
catching life mid-flight
red hair a signal fire lit
nobody authorized
everybody needed
my mind went quiet
my heart got loud
the chair rocked
time faltered
the poem stood up
not silence
not surrender
the day isn’t empty
it’s charged with consequence
Poetry grows the soul
and names the road
through fire
wonder still walks around
in bodies they tried to break
still refuses obedience
this is where I stand
no other faith
in Poetry
I keep walking
in Poetry
I keep saying
I refuse
in Poetry
I keep saying
I will not bow down
Poetry is my life
my life is Poetry
Ron Whitehead, U.S. National Lifetime Beat Poet Laureate
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