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