Rethinking Language

She moves her hips to the beat, and dances happily for the first time.. The stars outshine the streetlights

She began to smile at me, revealing that the beauty still exists ... I love this land and all places like it
I hope someday we can take her back to the days of bb king and langston hughes poems ..
Back to the days when the jazzy beats had the same beat as her heart… Back to the days when her hair was curly and her eyes were bright … And her skin was art
back to the days of her former beauty, back to the days of the magnificent African American  peaceful anarchy ..


Tears of Acid Rain
Wayne Strange
Young Chicago AuthorsStudent

1 teacher told
2 kids there are 3 ways to make
4 quarters … Beg, Work, and Take

He told us that we were the future,
And we put our dreams in a time capsule that had toy story figures
Because we believe we had a Buzz Light year and Woody the cowboy friendship Infinity and Beyond

Today I opened that time capsule and saw I dreams flutter like butterflies Fresh out of the cocoon
Today I looked a picture that had out toothless smiles Today, my tears run like acid rain.

His eyes don’t blink as if he’s in a staring contest for all eternity
His lips so cold it felt as if he’s been kissing vampires all day
And his body lay so still, if we played freeze tag he would always lose

The executioner exemplified an execution only night terrors could imagine. That day I replay officious memories as if I were a DVD player remote.
Rewind, play … Rewind, play … Rewind, play …
Let me start your life over and This time I’ll hold the camcorder

We won’t need our teacher to be our oracle and predict our future because It could always be changed
We can always switch lanes
An animal can always be tamed
But why kill an animal before it can break out of its cage Before it can take front stage
Before it can laugh at the jocularity and be as jubilant as a teenager on a Friday

shots to the head
seconds to call the feds
foot steps away from the murder the assassin fled while 8 eye balls watch big brother lay there dead
Today our tears run like acid rain

3.7 GPA but today he paid the price as if he had big bills to give away
The inglorious coward told him to get on his knees and face the other way He wanted to show his family that he was a magician
Making big brother and oldest child disappear until they can meet in the sky one day

Even if this happened
9 times in one day
10 news channels would still say, we have more important stories to cover today.
This is what I’m talking about …

Can you smell the gun powder? Can you see the ocean of blood?
Can you hear the last breath of my dead brother?
10 news channels would see this happen 9 times in one day while
8 eyes ball watch big brother lay there dead and
7 foot steps away from the murder the assassin fled when it only took 6 seconds to call the feds … maybe those
5 shots to the head wouldn’t have happened if those 4 quarters were made by those
3 ways that those
2 students heard from that 1 teacher …
Today my tears run like acid rain.


Renga, Party of 8 (collectively composed at the 2014 Aspen Ideas Festival)
Michaela Coplen, Omari Ferrell, Louis Lafair, Brandonlee Cruz, Nathan Cummings, Karlyn Boens, Sojourner Ahebee and Wayne Strange

We strip to our bones
on the page and stage just to
Receive acceptance.

Or maybe not "just," maybe
we peel away the surface

finding common ground
in our hands as we write truth.
Our mouths speaks the truth.

Our mouths are an opening
of sacred, of forgot: light

reflected from suns.
Plato, Adichie and King.
Guellen. Omelas.

I wonder what poems come next
and what nations they will build.

Climbed poetic hills
Whistle blows as we proceed
With poetic drills,

Discovering what it means
to be a poet, human.

First: life is never
about finding ourselves, it's
defining ourselves.

Mirrors never can reflect
the full truth of a poet.

Only the soul can.
The universal language
of the true poet.

Our words are bridges, ladders
antidotes, weapons, prayers.

Our words are breathing
pulsing on our tongues, alive
leaping from our mouths

to roost in nooks and crannies,
wings fluttering, faces singing

an early morning
wake-up call to the people
who are slumbering

In the depths of their white sheets,
poems and bodies rising.

Second: life don't exist
in a vacuum. Here we stand:
Writing for life's sake,

finding poetry in the
beauty of a baby step.

Rebellious teenage
footprints walking on language
creating fossils.

Creating something that lasts.
Building tomorrow, right now.

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