Snow Days, Resolutions and Some Old Poems

Hello readers! I hope we all are making progress on our New Year’s resolutions or goals or plans for improvement, or however you want to call it since the term ‘resolution’ could be bad luck for some. As part of my resolution to write more this year, I have embarked on joining Twitter’s monthly challenge of writing at least 500 words per day (and if you’re interested in joining in on the fun, follow the link here!). So far, so good as I have finally started on the sci-fi novel I have been contemplating for some time and with any luck will hopefully see it to fruition at some point this year. You can follow my progress on my twitter handle @hawkandquill as well as in future posts as I continue to share updates on this promising project as well!

 

However, on another note, if you live on the East coast you may be experiencing some heavy snowfall as my lucky city of  New York have also recently been hit (yay for snow days as an educator and warmed scribe). So as it were I decided to use today to engage in even more research on the many ventures and projects I have lined up this year – a new sci-fi/dystopian/adventure book in the works, website options, lesson plan ideas (maybe for tomorrow?), amongst others – I also looked into some of my old works. The other day I shared some old prompt writing back from my undergrad days (click on the link to browse them if you wish) and today I thought I’d share some old poetry. Please note, I do not claim to be a true poet nor to be all that great at it (my realm is fiction, contemporary, YA, NA, and one day soon perhaps middle-grade) but I thought I’d share some nonetheless and in future posts some short stories for your viewing pleasure. I hope you can appreciate some of my old works as I continue writing and reflecting. Thanks for reading, and if any strikes a chord, please feel free to comment below on this post or any old post from Hawk and Quill!

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Subway Poets

Creative writing piece inspired by the performance of NYC Subway Platforms

 

Isaiah.

I stand here, just an inner-city kid

Bills to pay, baby mama to support

Three jobs and nothing seems to add up

So I perform for you

Late at night when I should rest, or help Sasha with the baby

I stand in these bullet cars and practice

I practice my damn heart out

I master every kick, every spin, every chest pop

I own the poles and the seats of this vessel

I know it takes four minutes to get between Roosevelt and Sutphin

The cops check every hour and a half for stragglers

I do this all for you but yet mostly I do it for me

Not necessarily for the extra money

Or even the vain self-satisfaction of praise for my craft

I do this because it is in my blood

I do this for all the decisions I didn’t take

I do this for the scholarship I had to give up for college

I do this for the selfish night I spent with Sasha – without my rubber

I do this for the son I can’t even picture living without

I do this for the millions of spectators that maybe, just maybe, one of them could be my ticket

My next big break

I, Isaiah, am a dancer and I perform because it is me

 

Aisha.

People stare at me

And not for the reasons you think

I’m not the beauty I once was

Nor am I dancing for money

Or singing or holding some baby with tear-stained eyes

But my soul does cry

For I stand here a forgotten hero

Part of the reason why you are able to look down upon me

In my rags and filth

The same rags and filth I had to endure when my platoon blew up

And my crew and I were stranded

Fighting for the rights this country upholds

Fighting to help spread democracy

Fighting to stay alive

Fighting

Now I fight a different fight in my own homeland

For the rights I was promised

For the democracy I was entitled to

Fighting to survive

I lay here waiting for that reassurance

I lay here waiting

 

Sammy.

I don’t have some sad

Story, I just want my dough

Hustlers gotta live

 

Maria.

I am the Puerto Rican princess

Gucci bag on left

Louboutin marking my steps

Fendi shielding my eyes from the haters

And the beggars, and the tears, and the black eyes

Elevating me higher than the scum who sleep on the soot-covered floor

I’m working on my Mini Cooper, don’t worry

If there’s one thing I hate about NYC is the damn MTA

I was always the princess, I deserve better

Than this Washington Heights apartment with the eight siblings who nag and lurk every corner

The men who whistle for attention and wail at my ignorance

My mother who gets stamps every month and spends on all but herself

I deserve better

Soy la princesa Puertorriqueña

 

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