Rodrick Minor

0 notes

Recently I had the honor of headlining at a college art festival, BRCC ArtsFest that is and I had a blast. Here’s a comment posted on my timeline by one of the people in the audience I had the opportunity to meet. I’m humbly grateful to know that lives can be changed and altered with this form of literature/art.

Recently I had the honor of headlining at a college art festival, BRCC ArtsFest that is and I had a blast. Here’s a comment posted on my timeline by one of the people in the audience I had the opportunity to meet. I’m humbly grateful to know that lives can be changed and altered with this form of literature/art.

Filed under comment motivate art inspire artist writer poetry lives change

0 notes

8/30 For the general known as Tony the Tiger/The Cereal War


I was a young lad
Bounded to this land
Of milk and corn flakes
My taste buds
Were like valleys
Coated with sweet frosting
Of this grain

I met the mascot
Of this cereal
On a Saturday morning
When I wore Batman undies
And whitey tighties
His presence
Would gleam like a general
Ready to lead an army
To a war filled with sugary weapons
Of mass destruction
That was in the wrong hands

His stripes fit his body
Like a general
That had lost soldiers
To a Froot Loops ambush
But he was proud
Of fighting the good fight

I remember asking him
If he had a last name
Or what to call him
He said, “Call me Tony
Not Tony Montana
Or Tony Danza
But Tony the Tiger”

For the first time
My taste buds
Were not able
To go cold turkey
On a bowl of cereal
And Tony the Tiger knew this
So he enlisted me
As one of his captains
To wage war on
The Great Cereal War

I can still hear
The roar from his gut
The deep bass
From his voice
As I crunched
Into each sugary flake
His rallying cry
To arm the troops
With spoons
Ready to set flight
Into a river of milk
And sugary weapons
Of mass destruction

He would belt
From his gut
On the front line
Before the war started,
“They’re Gr-r-reat!”

Filed under poem april 30for30 napowrimo write poetry cereal food tonythetiger frostedflakes war fight general taste mascot theyregreat milk

22 notes

6/30 What it’s like to have Dreadlocks

6/30  What it’s like to have dreadlocks

It’s a series of questions
That beelines
Out of a stranger’s mouth
That’s in need of a cigarette lighter
“Hey my man you got a lighter?
You be listening to a lot of
That Marley huh?
You know who got that green?”
It’s the notion
That some of my friends
Will nickname me Rasta
As if I’ve converted
To Rastafarian overnight

It’s the assumption
Of one’s sexual preference to many
That if a woman has locs
Then she only has eyes
Fit for the same gender

It’s the curiosity
In my mother’s eyes
To touch and prance
Her fingers through my hair
And if I dare to tell her to stop
She’ll fuss and remind me
Of each Huggie’s diaper
She changed in the past

It’s the look in babies’ eyes
That feels the need
To yank matted coils of hair
Like brand new stuffed dolls
Stuck in the grip of their hands
It’s the get up and go
It’s the 2 am scream
That’s mistaken
For a spider
When it’s only hair
It’s the hang time
After the new growth
It’s the ugly phase
That everyone tells you about
It’s the patience that only a few have
To go through it all
It’s the moment to just…”Shake them dreads”

Filed under 30for30 locs dreadlocs dreads hair poem poetry napowrimo poems april writer dreadlocks dreadhead write

0 notes

7yrs old in my Grandma’s garden

7yrs old in my Grandma’s garden

In the backyard
Of 235 Plum Street
There is a seven year old chubby boy
That speaks gibberish
That only his grandmother
Can make sense
Of the broken wheelbarrow
Of syllables that crawl out
From his tongue

She palms a ripe beefsteak tomato
In her hand
As if the universe
Lies in her grip
And she teaches
The boy to be firm
To be well-rounded
To be bright
To be red with fever
In his bones about life
That the moment
Breath is brought
Into the lungs
Be passionate
About every
Exhale

She grabs the boy hand
And shows him a watermelon
She teaches him
How to pluck a watermelon
How to listen for the watermelon’s laughter
After plucking its bellybutton
How to fill his lungs up
With joy when there is nothing
That has harvest
How to keep planting himself
In the soil and not being hollow

She snips the okra
While he holds the colander
He knows that okra is her favorite
By the prance
In the joint of her fingers
He knows tomorrow
That she will teach him
How to be well-rounded
How to harvest
How to live passionately
With fever in his bones
How to live life when
Its ripe for eating

Everything in this garden
She will teach him.

Thank You. Geneva.

Filed under garden food poem 30/30 napowrimo poetry life vegetables learn grandma tomato literature art me okra writer stanzas lines

7 notes

5 Things in Response to the so called “Writers Block”

5 things in Response to the so called “Writers Block”

1. When your bones decide to pull you in after the current
    Take the bait
    Write what the tongue cannot lift
    Write what it is urgent
    Like there’s a burning house inside your chest
    That’s caving in

2.  Let the gospel gush like an oil well
     Let it shiver in your gut
     Until it becomes a weapon of mass destruction
     Make mental notes of the rubble
     Within this smoke screen

3.  Inspiration is not always place
     On the smile of some sunset
     That gazes over an orchard
     Sometimes it is the wreckage
     After the storm
     After the grief festers in your diaphragm
     After the anxiety attacks
     Crash into the inside of you
     Like it never wore a seatbelt

4. Write the wreckage
    Write the suicide attempts
    Write the depression that hides
    In the basement of your smile
    Write what is urgent
    Like there’s a burning house
    Inside your chest caving in

5. Write
    Write
    Write
    After the debris
    And the ashes have disperse
    Say hallelujah after it all
    "Hallelujah"
    “Hallelujah”
    You’ve made it

Filed under writer writersblock poem poetry response 30for30 napowrimo poems house burn grief gospel truth nationalpoetrywritingmonth