by Margaret Colangelo | | Uncategorized
Restless?No, I need to rest morein these wee hours of this morn.If I was a betting girl, boy,I’d say we shouldplay someuntil it is day some.by Margaret Colangelo | | Uncategorized
The rooster crows-and I rise up.To face this dayof all the dayswith this poemof all the memories.Yet these are words of now, not recollection.This dawn, this caw, this warmth-my discovery of all the daysin this sunrise,in this poem.I rise, up.
"Poetry is as strong now as it was hundreds of years ago. Kendrick Lamar is doing the same things that John Donne did. One of these we love, the other we get traumatic experiences from High School Lit. We might hesitate to call Lamar’s work “poetry” because it brings to mind old dead white men and incomprehensible Middle English, but the mechanics of poetry are all there.
Rhyme? Yep. Meter? Uh huh. Stanzas? All there. Heck, I would make the argument that sophistication is not even a prerequisite to poetry. “Twinkle Twinkle”? Poetry. “F*ck the Police”? Poetry."
Kevin Chen