Dis Poem


Dis poem has a will of its own, finds a way
Rides a crest of waves across the mid-Atlantic
And translates into the language of dolphins
Dis poem smiles often, but also frowns
Speaks to the secret life of plants as it tunnels underground
Felt right down in the marrow of your bones
Interpreted by trumpets and trombones
Dis poem makes its home
Even within the ice and snow block walls of igloos
And is enjoyed equally by Jews, Moslems, and Hindus

Dis poem dances on the edge of lightening flashes
And crashes, in sync with toddlers jams on pots and pans
Dis poem rises from the ashes
Plus it jumps up and prances
Dis poem is for protests, celebrations, funerals and romances

Dis poem seeps into your dome telepathically
So that the moment of composition and transmission happen simultaneously
Dis poem laughs spontaneously
And has choruses as colorful as coral reefs
And verses that span universes

Dis poem leaps off the page into cyberspace
Along cellular waves that bounce off satellites into outerspace
Dis poem is overstood as vibrations, thru chants and hums
Telecommunicates like djembes and talking drums
Goes beyond the millennium
But was inscribed on scrolls since Day One, of civilization

Dis poem is fertile
Ripples and splashes along banks of rivers like the Nile
Heard in the gurgle of an infant child
Dis poem circulates like the equator
Reaches out from the tropics to populate, procreate
Dis poem is a melody begun by the creator, seeking harmonies
Carries on despite wars, despots, destroyers and dictators

Dis poem relieves like a cool breeze
That inspires leaves to pirouette and whisper rhythmically
From the tops of trees, and
Dis poem, when no one's looking
Is the paintspray from a can that takes gray walls
And creates displays some call graffiti
Dis poem is a grumble in the belly of the needy

Dis poem is woven into patterns and tales detailed in plaid and kente
Dis poem is the force that sculpts bronze in Benin at Ife
Dis poem is dreamed in a deep sleep on the seventh day
Holds chaos at bay
Swivels and swirls like a Carnival mas band at play
Dis poem has a will
So it will find
A way



copyright A. Bansfield, 2002