Free Me From the Vote in this Land that Rumbles
new poem written before I head to the poll; old poem from last presidential election
Go vote
That’s not what I mean by “Free Me”
Consult with your gods, your ancestors, and your friends about who to vote for and then do it.
Land That Rumbles
(written in Oklahoma in April 2020
the first poem in my most recent collection)
This is our land that rumbles.
The rest is death, and death alone.
One last step up, then step forth.
Damn this feel like rollin' dice.
They not even from here.
Orange don’t know Red.
Smog don’t see sunset.
Ocean feel boxed in by earth.
Don’t matter.
This is our land that rumbles.
The rest is death, and death alone.
One last step up, then step forth.
Damn this feel like rollin' dice.
Can’t live by they rules.
North air crush our lungs.
South heat melt our feet.
King sword break my arm,
die under arrogant armor.
Need hawk feathers
and scissortail wings.
Fix eyes on horizon clean.
This is our land that rumbles.
The rest is death, and death alone.
One last step up, then step forth.
Damn this feel like rollin' dice.
Collapse into your bones.
Bind muscles tornado tight.
Breathe the bluest sky,
blue breath balloon.
Breathe before you move your feet.
This is our land that rumbles.
The rest is death, and death alone.
Eyes don’t see enemy.
Ears don’t hear no roar.
Mark space for fortress
in home hostile territory.
Nothing but brother back-to-back.
No aid, no acceptance, no praise.
One last step up then step forth.
Damn this feel like rollin’ dice.
Free Me From the Vote
(written in Oklahoma on Election Day 11-5-24)
I’m not a political strategist.
I just want to vote in a way
that shows I know I’m living on stolen land.
How do I make every move
honor what carries me?
Orange don’t know red.
Bloody hands dye dirt the wrong shade.
Smog don’t see sunset.
That blue too dark and too light.
Neither scissortail nor nighthawk
can find the sky,
disoriented, searching for elevation.
Brothers toe to toe on the ballot,
behind badges.
We all scared of bullets.
Something like a sister
with a badge
swear she wear a white hat.
Difference between skin and kin real grey.
Young bucks say my sex
make my mind conniving,
make my kind unfit to lead.
I know he’s wrong,
but where does the right path lead?
Every other year we vote
in the same month
we pretend to venerate those
we slaughtered for seeds.
I’m so tired of watching us all bleed.
Everything is us, but
no peace til we all free.
Click below: “I ran, but I couldn’t escape. It’s like empathy hurts more the further it has to travel. I thought the opposite would be true, that I would watch home on the screen and feel my empathy reach out while my safe, calm body soothed it.”
“So here I am, back in Oklahoma, in the thick of election season, and my nerves remember where they were a year ago…
“I haven’t finished grieving the change in my plans. My first set of roots are in Houston. On an alternate timeline, I’d be living there, teaching high school ELA. On this timeline, I’m living in my grandmother’s house in the city I wanted to leave…”
Let me know what you think about the poems and the voiceover. This is my first voiceover on this site.
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Also, if you really feelin’ me, here’s the same stuff on YouTube.
Love your poetry!