Listen! Listen!

Kicking off National Poetry Month with one of our newest promo videos for The Soul of Philanthropy. It features Poet Quentin “Q” Talley and a bit of his poem Full Circle.

Enjoy!

 

Here Again

Time again for lamentation.

Even though today and into next week, temperatures in Charlotte will near 90 ºF, I am not fooled. Absence of sunlight when I’ve awoken this week is a dreaded reminder: Today fall slouched in. So I’m re-posting the piece, titled equinox.
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equinox

fading daylight hints its approaching
the rustling cues my lament and loathing.
hustled, leaves surrender verdant hues
a pall befalls every branch in view.
its cooled breath, a cause to brood
déjà vu dreading of a bluest mood.
never ushered, seemingly flung in
the season liked least of them
alas, here again: autumn.

ava wood

autumn leaves

Long Enough

Hold me long enough

to melt this encrusted shell;

hard’s no state for hearts.

ava wood

 Poem, Day 25

Can’t Wait

Anticipation

Bated-breath high, gift, curse, fate.

I see and can’t wait.

ava wood

Dee sunset

Sunrise by Diatra

Poem, Day 13

Blue Sky

March, fickle, left last night.

She blew a kiss and was gone.

I’ll love her still though   — ava wood

 

(And ya know what that means…National Poetry Month is here  :~)

Poem, Day 1

Birth Month

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Sweet March has landed.
Winter is MIA and
spring is on the way!

— ava wood

(I know National Poetry Month arrives in April but can’t help myself. Spring excites me.)

Feverish

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Shake off spring’s fever?

How, while blossoms burst aloud

with their arias.

 

ava wood

 

Watch Hands Up

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Watch, hands up!

Darkest midnight descends

upon my kin and each American.

This pall befalls all our brethren.

An unprecedented presidency ends,

while a bigoted braggart divides and ascends.

A momentous new and proud museum,

yet streets exhibit dead Black men.

Some feign unknowing of the pilgrims’ sin

then deign to say our unforgetting offends.

Lies tease. Justice teeters. Truth dawns and upends.

Stand your moral ground trusting how the arc bends. 

— ava wood

the second one

Pretend unknowing

of the original sin

is the second one.

ava wood

The other day I visited one of the few slave-era cemeteries of African-descent people in Charlotte. Known as the McCoy Slave Cemetery, the site has about 25 plots that date back to the 1840s.

I, like that morning, was still and reverent in that place. This haiku came home with me that day.