A recent invention, the Bop was created by Afaa Michael Weaver during a summer retreat of the African American poetry organization, Cave Canem. Not unlike the Shakespearean sonnet in trajectory, the Bop is a form of poetic argument consisting of thre
I need you to know i am missing. lost inside silent cries for reciprocity, a shattered reflection an image disturbed, lost in a 3d world filled by 2d expectations, I need you to know i am absent. You've colored in all the lines, Stark black shadows punctu
And it feels like I can almost hear it drop from its place, my heart, slowly so slowly does it fall. Miles and nine years away I can see it, fall. My eyes can only but watch, and my mind ca
equations and revelations bombard my mind, I cannot hold the weight. company bequeathed me, a fresh page of hidden words and mysteries. the quill of life writes unexpected verses, full of anathema and exclamations. destiny and
at highest hilltop, I pause world-worn bones and gaze below at the indigent state where, in beggarly raiment, I reside. a sullying fate, this circumstance of impoverishment, from which there seems no evasion, and insipid tales of the daily warfare of tene
my cobalt city, my indigo restraint, I thought to grow my wings here, to hone each gallant feather upon the flustering streets, the agitated walkways that run several countries and cultures deep, I did not expect an aviary to bound out of the metropolis, to sp
inception of untimed exactitudes borne of almost infinite unproximity brought soft lined shackling to me. the rhymed dance of bliss with similarities bore me to ignorant unrealities. the incompleteness of the matched severed the bond save an unravell