Poems To Write: A List

Poems To Write

1. a poem to end all wars
2. a poem to end all rape
3. a poem to make people realize how foolish white supremacy is
4. a poem that can be recycled
5. a poem that doubles as a fractal of all other poems
6. a poem that makes bitter and lonely old people laugh
7. a poem that turns love into hate, pain into joy, and grey into purple
8. a poem to bring the endangered animals back from the brink of extinction
9. a poem that tastes like chocolate, smells like roses, and feels like good sex
10. a poem that everyone thinks is about them

Mixed race Indian feminist on TV

Yesterday I got to tape a TV show down in Cocoa Beach, FL- my old stomping grounds. The host was this wonderfully impressive woman, Charna (Charna Davis Wiese) who was charming and asked all the right questions.

Interviews can be difficult, annoying sometimes. You never know what questions you will be asked. Sometimes the reporter seems hellbent on exposing your dirty laundry, digging up your darkest secrets, making you look foolish or arrogant or shallow. I have had my share of bad press and I admit I have developed a bit of cynicism with regard to the media.

But hey, it had been awhile since I had gotten any press at all so I figured what the heck. Sitting in the green room watching TV with the make-up artist, I got into a conversation with an interesting man of unknown position who wanted to know if I was an Indian. Yes, Seminole I said. He got to talking about his own Cherokee past and then asked me later if I was fullblood. No, I said. Oh, really? He seemed genuinely shocked. Well, nobody would know, he said. You look like a fullblood. I think he meant this as a compliment. It might have been taken as one if he wasn't talking to mixcentric mama herself. Yeah? I replied. And then my usual reply: well different people see me differently.

I think its odd that everyone thinks they know exactly what I am and feel so certain that I look exactly like that and nothing else. People are funny.

I was wearing my Tibetan jacket which looks a bit Seminole to me. But I would be lying to myself if I thought I could figure out what aspects of my appearance lead to particular racial ascriptions. I never know and my efforts to unravel the mystery is usually fruitless and if I am lucky, also humorous.

I read two poems on the show, "Names", and "We are the Women." I brought a whole binder of options but 30 minutes was over fast. We talked about my being a mixed race person, an Indian,a poet, a philosopher. I said a lot of things I wasn't expecting to: I called myself a troublemaker, talked about learning to love people who across differences (being careful not to mention that Florida had taught me how to love white racists. That might not have gone over well), compared African and Native American philosophies, reminisced about my graduate school days when I was outraged by the claims of a certain Native American professor that southeastern Indians had no culture, and told stories about one of the early women's writing groups I founded.

Then I pulled out the poem about sexual abuse. Just to spice things up or make people uncomfortable, I am not sure which. Never a dull moment. She asked me how I was able to read such an emotional piece over and over again. Good question. One best not dwelt on for too long!

We talked some about the feminist issue of silence and shame before the show was over. It was fast-paced and exciting. The host said she might invite me back. I don't know if that is just showbizease or if she meant it but it sure sounded nice.

Where can you see this show? WBBC. Also some PBS affiliates throughout the country, I was told. Not a network show. I will have to hunt down the airings so I can list them on the website. Will keep people posted. Once Charna's show sweeps the nation, I am sure I will be gettign some invites to be on some bigtime talk shows

Oprah, here I come!

Q-tip, Women runnin' things, being big-time

Yesterday my sister breezed into town like she usually does- with little warning, staying for only a few hours, landing somewhere that required a map and a long drive, and accompanied by a crowd. My sister, Jilchristina, is a production person. She tours the country and the world with famous musicians like Naughty by Nature, Missy Eliot, Queen Latifa working as a production manager in her spare time. Spare time because, yes, she he has a day job too- some big whig position in one of the largest mixed race organizations in the country, I-Pride. That's right, my sister is BIG-TIME.

Being an artsy, nerdy type who doesn't drink, smoke, or sleep with men (even famous ones), I have never craved the rock star, rap music limelight my sister lives in. So it was with some reluctance that I made my way to the House of Blues last night to hang with little sis. I wanted to see her but was not particularly interested in seeing her stars or the entourages that accompany them. Being only vaguely familiar with the headliner she was the tour manager for- QTIP- I knew who Tribe Called Quest was at any rate- and having become somewhat rap-cynical after witnessing the steady decline of defeat of rap and hiphop by commercialized misogynistic, internally racist, downputting (instead of uplifting) rap in recent years, my expectations were not high.

I am after all old-school. Or maybe I am just old. Whatever you call me, I remember when Run-DMC came out. I remember listening to KRS-1, NWA, and other positive voices and feeling hopeful. I remember discovering MCLyte, Queen Latifah, Monie Love, Salt N' Pepa and thinking yeah! some women droppin knowlege.

In recent years, I have come to distance myself from rap despite my previous admiration for the art. I just have no time for men who objectify women, have videos full of half naked ladies thrusting their hips and butts into the camera. I have no time for lyrics about men's sex drives, sexual desires, and the fantasies they have about women who act like sex-slaves satisfying their every erotic whim. I am sick of hearing men call women hoes and bitches and talking about them exclusively in terms of their reproductive organs. Brotha, PLeeease!

There are so few women rap artists out there these days. There is so much rap that is degrading to women. Black people are the most musically inventive, original, inspired artists in the United States, if not the world. So why are men hogging the mike? And why are men dogging women? And why isn't there more music and rap about changing the world?

Don't get me started!

But Qtip and Common are old school and also conscious. Their music is not misogynistic. They don't define their manhood through the oppression of women. While standing off stage in the wings with my sister listening to his show last night, I heard him spout out some positive lines about women. Refreshing.

Though I am no performer in the way that musicians and spoken word artists of his fame are, I can recognize the flow when I see and feel it. I know what it is like to get into your audience and to get caught up in the energy exchange. I know what it is like to take strings of energy and use them to pull your audience toward you, with you, along for the ride. I miss that. I am reminded in going to hang out with my sister of my need to get back out there- perform more. Get more gigs! Here I go!

What dreams are made of

As my summer comes to what feels like a sudden and disheartening halt, I find myself assessing what exactly I have gotten done over the last 8 weeks. Have I come any closer to making my dreams real? What are my dreams? Has all the time I have devoted to trolling the local papers for open mics, driving around central Florida in search of dimly lit venues, and the ridiculous number of hours I have spent harassing my web-designer, fellow poets, friends, and internet forum buddies about "the national poetry scene," poetry tours, and poetry websites amounted to anything in the grand scheme of things? In my little scheme of things?

This poetry business is something I do because I think it matters. Its part of a grandiose dream I have of changing the world with my art. I try to change the world in other ways too- by teaching, by protesting, by signing petitions, writing irate letters-but it is my art which speaks with the most authentic voice about who I am and what I am about. It is my art, I have been told, which changes people.

Years ago, when I was founding a black arts collective in Washington, Dc, I asked all the women in the group to write a small blurb about why they wrote. We collected the blurbs together to make a flier for one of our early performances. I recall looking over it years later and thinking wow, we were a dramatic bunch, weren't we?

Erica, Janelle, Ellen, Pariss, Deniece, Rochelle, Carla, myself….Every single writer in the group claimed to have some extremely important reason for writing. We were all trying to touch someone, to change someone, to end racism, stop the violence, save women. We were passionate and ambitious and it would be easy for the older, more sedate me to look back in laughter at such dreamy proclamations. Who did we think we were, anyway?

But the truth is that we knew who we were. We had decided to call our collective Daughters of the Dream. We saw ourselves as King’s legacy and we intended to live that dream- as artists, in our writing, with our words. We weren’t confused or self-involved (well maybe a little- we were young after all). We were dreamers.

In a stanza of one of my poems I have written:

What will you make
Of my urban league father
Telling me I can be anything/do anything
Playing me the recording of
Martin Luther King’s
“I have a dream” speech
Over and over and over again
Telling me I AM that dream.

I suppose I still imagine that my generation has an obligation to at least try to walk in the footsteps of our more courageous predecessors.....

Poetic Fakeries, Mixed-race internet hobo-ing

I heard about a happening poetry open-mic in Orlando on Thursdays run by a local spoken word artist I know and headed over there with a friend. The event was held in a vegan cafe full of fliers about world peace, global gardening, organic farming, conflict-free trade, and other important issues. Such a location is guaranteed to draw a progressive crowd. If you write poetry like I do, having a progressive crowd is always a good thing. I was psyched.

But even the best laid plans are easily dashed. Despite my calling ahead TWICE before traveling the 45 minutes to get to this venue, I was not notified that the event had been cancelled until arriving to sign up (promptly, I might add). The not so prompt 10 or 12 of poets who arrived after I did had also not been informed. The guy behind the counter apologized for telling me the gig was a go when it was not but passed the blame onto the event organizer, Willie Lowman (his stage name), who, according to the veganista (vegan barrista?), had called in last minute to cancel the event. I guess we artists don't have a reputation for being flaky for nothing....

I could not help wondering though, flaky poets aside, if I wasn't caught in the middle of a more sinister plot. I have heard of these cafes and bakeries that are just fronts for drug dealers. The sign says bakery, the furniture says bakery, the coffee smell says bakery , the IRS tax return says bakery but nobdy who knows better would go there to buy baked goods. Its called a fakery.

Had I somehow stumbled into a poetic fakery? Were the fancy fliers I had seen strewn about at events around town just props used in a much larger deception? Who was this man with a fake name and why was he trying to lure unsuspecting poets out to small cafes late at night? Had I been bamboozled ? I may never know. At least the vegan food was real... and tasty if overpriced.

When I am not busy taking trips to advertized open mics, I am devoted to my other life as a dedicated internet hobo in search of websites, forums, blogs, and other virtual meeting grounds for mixed people all over the world. What do I mean by mixed, you ask? Other terms sometimes used for people like me include:

mustee,mestiza,half-breed, quadroon, hapa, biracial, triracial,pardo,
moor, haafu, mixed-breed,half-caste, two-tone, Creole, mulatto,
multiracial, doogla, sambo, santantone, mongrel,
metisse, salt-n-pepa,mixed-caste, interracial, yellow, zebra,
multiethnic, castizo,newpeople,breed, Eurasian, moranos, Afroasian,
mutt, chinee, brown baby, mixedblood, light-skinned,rainbow,
highyella, metisse, chameleon, morena
mixedheritage, colored, chinee, wesorts,
lumbee, Afrodeutscher......

the list goes on

We are everywhere and apparently we are now internet savvy. Mixed people of the world unite!!!! You have nothing to lose but your race!

We Are the Women

A poem about survivors

You Look Like My People (3)

A poem about the existence of ties that bind people beyond biology