Poems by Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis 46 Poems by Chardelle Imani Lassiter 43 Poems by Chris Cameron

Poem by

Chris Cameron

ANGEL WITHOUT WINGS

Features shocking and rarely seen the epitome of a human being: hair aquatic, tamed by the flames of the labyrinth, body shaped like a unique vase, skin fairly touched by the kind rays of the sun, soul as deep as a black hole in space, her essence irresistible to man, honeysuckle taste. My angel is real and true as the clouds white and the sky blue— Ashley, my Nevaeh, my angel without wings— I’m missing u.

Poems by

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

SIGNIFICANT OTHERS

Blurs Of Light, Shadow, Substance, Sound, Fury. Streaking through Time Wreaking Fire, Rain, Storms, Earthquakes, Dawns, Midnights, Morns, Hellos, Goodbyes, Memories.

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

Dreams are Spirits Calling Leaving Messages

OH! HELL NO!

Words and Deeds Aimed like sticks and stones Used to break my Spirit My Heart, my bones Some found their mark Sought to lay me low…BUT The Warrior I am shouted! OH! HELL NO!

When I get kicked down I get back up When another blow comes…Well, I’ve learned to duck

If a dam is built To block my ebb and flow I’ll roll, crawl, walk, run, fly, and Float to where I aim to go. Ain’t no “playa” gonna dim my glow

’Cause the Warrior I am laughs! OH! HELL NO!

GIFT

Life is a Gift An awesome test Be grateful for life Be Your Best

Do what you must Keep dry through Life’s rain Stay Grateful through trial, challenge, and pain Use loss as a pathway to knowledge and gain Balance action between soul, heart, and brain Fill up on faith When Spirit feels drained Protect Sacred Soul from fear, scar, and stain When you “fail” Learn the lessons Start over again

Life is a Gift An awesome test Thank your Creator Be Your Best

AUDACITY

our your my Ancestors Come from The Land of the Sun Invaded by Terrorists Raped with Bible and Gun Aggression Transgression Oppression

Audacity

Spanning centuries of Days and Nights Orchestrated Terror…Still Our Plight…Still, for Right and Justice We Fight To find our Way, to find our Way

OUT

Of the jungles of multinational plantations: The Big House The Poor House The Nut House The Jail House Into

The White House

Audacity

TO BE WITH YOU

To Be With You I’d stuff myself into a dixie cup and, using one cracked straw as an oar, row myself into the middle of the deepest ocean, if That’s where You are.

To Be With You I’d knit me a pair of wings made from the indestructible fabric of my love, and fly straight through lightning, while thunder clapped her hands over her ears.

To Be With You I’d walk backwards and barefoot across the scorching sands of the Sahara Desert at High Noon in the Summertime.

To Be With You I’d run alongside the railroad tracks because the train is too damn slow.

To Be With You I’d crash through the Gates of Hades and smack the Hell out of the Devil for standing in my way.

To Be With You I’d climb Heaven’s Highest Gate, and Thank God that I found You.

That’s just Some of what I’d do To Be With You.

Poems by

Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis

ABOUT US

Lost that voice? There’s choices and sanctuary And rights and spaces and tests We must confess... Who’d like a test? Testing reasoning and ability to say no? The nerve of men, wanting more stuff. There was a time we wanted more stuff. And then, in time, simplicity Like good vision Good sex, good food, good ole us.

Vanquish fear and let’s forgive ourselves: Forgive the good, the bad, and the haughty, Forgive everything about us.

MORNING AFTER

I ain’t gonna fall no mo I ain’t gonna fall no mo I get dizzy looking down Woke up and a new me I found I ain’t gonna fall no mo.

I ain’t gonna smoke no mo I ain’t gonna smoke no mo I get heber-jibbers when I do Now I see crystal clear and fresh as dew I ain’t gonna smoke no mo.

I ain’t gonna moan no mo I ain’t gonna moan no mo Found me passion good as writing And a whole lot of love overflowing I ain’t gonna moan no mo

Ow-ooo-oo-o! Please don’t take my pen and pad away! Please don’t take my friends away! Just let me score through pleasant doors And I ain’t gonna moan no mo

A GHAZAL

There is temporary unrest in my mind. The morning invites calm and the minutes fade fast.

Only a fool follows a heart wavering and wondering. The bulk of energies we share should allot us good.

Take away my pen, my paper, my free movement and iris is only A woman, encroaching over air, thinking.

My bed is like double twin and my dreams stay undisturbed. The fan brings comfort, but not far—a dead log.

It doesn’t take very long to recognize true passion, but unaware, You can go on mistaken. Breathe anew with its meaning.PINK

Pink is imprinted in goldmines. Pink is royal pink in all its glory. Pink is on the rise to my surprise. Pink is a feeling of warmth turning to red, clean love. Pink is the loud or quiet mask we wear. Pink is the color of our tears. Pink is crown of our head, palm of hands, and soul of feet at birth. Pink is healthy innards. Pink is our world, from whence we came.

Pink is not with prejudice.

PASSION AND POETS

The poet speaks. And passion is born Like forever lover Needing no charm— There is no better way to say, I love you Than to act for the beloved unasked;

The poet speaks Of everything humanly given, Of everything under the sun, Of everything by Creator at creation;

The poet isn’t confined, Yet tied at conception Like true love’s umbilical Unsevered— A lifelong love affair With passion for words, Like saws anointed And provocatively real, The poet lacks no passion.

20 HAIKU

My neighbor’s lawn of yellow dandelions shimmying in the wind.

Lone man in black raincoat His boat silently gliding Out from white fog.

Floating alone in sidewalk puddle— Soft rose petal.

Thunder, wind weeping willows and pine trees swaying—still, no rain.

On a quiet Sunday the sound of militia planes overhead.

Yesterday’s clean cars sprinkled yellow from pine pollen.

Lone bird I hear in quiet of winter morning as if stranded.

Always salivating past bakery of Creole bread and bun.

Smell of rice and beans with coconut milk at border— I’m home.

The gulf breeze speaks of earlier times when I was green.

A talking parakeet— And I’m at a loss for words. Ah, the smell of yellow pound cake and lemony sherbet each summer!

On front lawn, blue jays baptizing themselves in birdbath on rainy day.

Fresh reminder I hear as winter birds say, “Not all of us migrate.”

Dogwood pink flowers cherry blossom pink Pink pansies pink carnation.

Microscopic bug bearing wordless message in form of simple nip.

Young boy with tarantula fears flying cockroach

Like a turtle on its back Large black beetle’s Legs, struggling.

Even the best-kept lawns— immaculate, green, and lush— turn rebellious brown.

This thing of writing— when all else fails, haiku-ing comes to the rescue.

ASC’s Creative Writing Workshop provides a forum for creative expression, healing, and hope for people affected by HIV/AIDS. For more information, visit ASC’s website, www.ascnyc.org, or call 212-645-0875.

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41 East 11th St., New York, NY 10003

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