This image is a trademark of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and it is used only to pay homage
Playin’ with poets: Homage to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe
Zoom, boom, bally who? Brick wall
Stage where words explode like bombs.
Now a screen shot and you with your
Latest, I mean latest, headphones and mic.
Host lining ‘em up for a four-minute round
Where 240 seconds span a lifetime.
Words tumble like stones thrown from
Bridges hoping for ripples downtown.
Words flicking fast like when tìo tossed
cards with naked women on our toes.
Words somersaulting across the floor,
Doing James Brown splits and more.
Words broad brushing rhyme, begging
You to keep up or wipe up, your choice.
And the love, and the love, and the love,
Warm love, chocolate love, poet love.
Stillness as pause and performance and
Quiet become one, a silent muted aria.
Small change to oldsters, mujeres of the
Finest kind, only hip folk need apply.
Mi hija from the corner building who
Was always playing crazy with words.
Staging her dramas for mamis and papis
And the whole damn neighborhood.
And the love and the love and the love
See what words and poets are about.
Bronx, Brooklyn, and New Jersey Poetry
Voices reciting poetry, angelic parlor,
crustless sandwiches on towered
Plates, cloth napkins, best China “pinkie
Finger up to show class” teacups, sonnets,
solemnity of bible verses read to instill
fear instead of raise up the good faith.
To each her own I say, but I like my
Poetry with a Bronx flair, vowels with
Attitude, volume that can be heard on
The next block, rhyme that does not
Sneak up on you but asks you to dance
On the floor, not ashamed to be seen
Not worried about what people think
Just a spirit and drive that hammer
Like someone putting up dry wall,
Getting paid under the table and
Caint wait to spend it all on that
Chulita, the one who heard you
Slam, who got and felt the words
And the work it took to make those
Words not just sound right but whose
head bop wit and wisdom make the
crowd know that you don’t just run
the streets you read the damn books
too but quoting the greats with the
lens of one who felt the words, voiced
them to get hands in the sky and butts
off the chair and make someone see
what you saw that something they
never thought to think about let alone
visualize, poet as optometrist, who
knew,
you knew and preened and performed
because nothing else you can do, the
creative can’t rest once understood.