Charleston SC poetry

Articles from this Category

The rain.

(written for a collaboration with Chicago composer Shawn Okpebholo and baritone Will Liverman) When the reality of racism returns, all joy treads water in oceans of buried emotion. Charleston is doing everything it can to only swim in a colorless liquid of calm sea and blind faith. But the Lowcountry is a terrain of ancient […]

the language we learn

I. masculinity doesn’t have to be toxic, but some men choose to put poison on their tongue. foaming at the mouth before flinging unholy thoughts into action. hungry for prey, licking their lips as biting words draw blood. women do nothing to feed this venom. porn and pop culture evolved from paper cuts to pixels […]

a divine feminine (wine + food 2019 poem)

if you believe superheroes didn’t exist, then you never knew Georgia Mae Jones. My grandmother. she could have saved the world with her poundcake – it had just the right amount of sugar to defeat any evil inside of you, it could turn a sour weakness into sweetness, take your tastebuds to hyperspace, and awaken […]

The United States of Anxiety (a spoken word poem)

welcome to the united states of addiction. in this country, your smart phone holds more meaningful moments than your memory. here, social media is social justice and history is a hashtag for broken screens to get their fix. here, fame doesn’t lead to fortune – just first-world problems. echo chambers for people at war with […]

Opening Doors

(written for the Children’s Museum of the Lowcountry) When we walk through a door, we are looking for a safe space for smiles to be let in no matter the status of the sun. We are hoping for the power to play in rooms without judgement, and be completely free to have fun. When we […]

when falling into fear is easier than falling asleep.

my cat doesn’t like car rides. an otherwise fierce feline becomes a furry bundle of fear, rapid-fire breathing and foaming at the mouth, every second is suffocation, every bump in the road is permission for each hard breath to be a puke premonition on my feet, my lap, the back seat. but she paws her […]

antenna

cover my skin in sorrow, lay my body down with feathered tears. help me sleep with the dreams of friends who are having conversations with ghosts so that i can wake with their pain. a shared depression, a thread among empaths. give me the compassion and emotional power to be strong when needed.

on jury duty …

heads pointing down, eyes avoiding contact. the poet sits in the back, the best version of himself. Life on Mars in his hands, “Wuthering Heights,” low, in his ears. (Low enough that silence seems louder). A man in a blue shirt jokes about how he should have brought beer. I laugh as the scrolling, scrolling, […]

a piece of paraíso

(written about a poet in residence stay at The Betsy Hotel.) south beach is the sudden sweat that soaks up your energy, the sex stores sitting next to the sandwich shop. the bright bikini bodegas holding hands with bougie art museums, the over-priced cocktails mixed with cheap conversation, the poetry project that protects you from […]

our night at zero george

(written about this) we are here for one night but the experience is everlasting. solace drew us in with the dawn and a calm, despite the relentless summer downpour. the dinner was untouched by drama. it was crafted by hands whose passion is cooking; whose love for his family is reflected in food. we were […]