I have a confession to make:
In one of my earliest days as a
spoken word performer, I smuggled
poems across the boarder to Canada.
I told a white lie to get in, those words
needed a stage, freedom.
That was the beginning: knowing the
poems I was penning were taking
me across interstate lines was the
most ultimate of times, of times.
Lines on paper traveling on buses
and airplanes to arrive to be unpacked,
spoken, or slightly rapped.
Sacred Woman, I took her to Washington, DC
with me; I Met Her at A Book Store, we went to the
Memphis Black Writers Conference & Film Festival;
Word Warrior, we cruised out to Chicago to the
Chicago Poetry Festival; She has Breast Cancer
has traveled with me to Cornell University.
These are poems with miles on them – frequent
flyer miles where they received applause, praise, smiles.
They are packed, packaged, unpacked. Poems, rhymes,
rhythms, raps packed, packaged, unpacked.
Poems, rhymes, rhythms, raps
Tucked neatly inside of my bags. Traveling
vocab. Traveling vocab.
They’ve helped me develop a following
and a name. Poetry written, but born to be
wild. Experiencing long bus rides, just as
tired and worn as I am. Just as tired and
worn as I am.
I open the bag, then let them breathe. They
have come to achieve. Been places you
wouldn’t believe. Smuggled consistently
ready to please.
Happy to satisfy, especially after they’ve
been requested or ordered, are the poems
of mines smuggled across boarders.
© Christopher D. Sims
March 7th, 2013
Listen to a recording of this poem with music here: https://soundcloud.com/universoulove/smuggling-poetry-across-1?in=universoulove/sets/internacional-sounds-words
christopherdsims 