International Poetry Month

The Tongue of Words

Condensed milk, thick and sweet
is how I like my poetry
flowing consistently
comforting as cornmeal porridge on a rainy day

Sometimes my poetry
taste spicy as scotch bonnet peppers
emerging from under the clumsy shuffle of new love
embracing her power, palatable, full of herself

My poems blaze and spread red
leaving imprints brilliant as poinsettias
marching to their own drumbeat
disciplined and with a moral conscience

My poems have grown muscular arms and legs
and gallop away from the ordinary crowd
their voices loud and tender
moving to their own vibrant rhythm


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