On The Spot Haiku – Weary Blues

*Written in response to prompts from the audience of “The Weary Blues” Langston Hughes Suite dedication at Marriott Wardman Park – 2.1.2017

 

Many hues gathered

To honor a Hughes who changed

The world with his blues

 

A meeting of the

Minds, student meeting teacher;

Sharing a worlds wealth.

 

Many seeds planted,

Cultivate and grow! We must

Rise Up, choke out hate!

 

Black power looks like

The loud student in class and

The book worms journal.

 

Of dictators and

Presidents alike, we must

Resist to find peace.

 

Her vibes, bodacious

Verbally loquacious,  her

Love, remarkable.

 

True love is the stuff

Of legend. Follow your heart

To reach destiny.

 

You can find hope in

The eyes of children, the hearts

Of kind strangers; God.

 

Who else could take hair

And make a crown strong enough

To raise strong families

 

Black magicians turn

A lifetime of trial into

A triumphant tale.

 

We reset our days

Nightly, a fresh start to life;

Constant beginnings.

 

Peace Love and blessings

Flow abundantly when heart

Follows true passion.

 

With open mouths we

Sit; glass jars seeking water;

The need to be full.

 

When heartaches echo

Like the ramblings of fools, try

Love; it cures it all.

 

Though the journey hard;

The distance long; one rule stands

Simply begin work.

 

Birthed from the bitter

Lemons – fresh squeezed resilience,

And hope in new life.

 

May the stars guide you

As you live long and prosper,

Trekking the cosmos.

 

Come into every

Action with love. Commit to

Moving with Gods path.

 

We congregate, stand

Against the cacophony

Of negative men.

 

Saving our people

Means saving our pennies to

Escape money’s grasp.

 

Passion pushes you,

Love is what’s sustaining you.

Hope inspires you.

 

 

Under sepia

Streetlights, the cadence of her

Speech, sweetest bliss known.

 

The city sits in;

Waiting like a skipping stone,

Yearning for springtime.

 

A misty missing;

The want to feel vibrant as

Buds bursting with joy.

 

Winter is a mask,

Exfoliating the grime

Of autumn’s excess.

 

Are masks not meant to

Be broken? In what more grand

Way than with sunshine!

 

Some flowers don’t wait

Till spring; choose snowy fields to

Break ground and find life.

 

We are tectonic,

Shifting into each other,

Creating from faults.

 

We rise, knowing the

Best is yet to come, looking

Forward; finding hope.

 

*Works in bold to be read as one collective poem.

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