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Poetry

by Dimitri William Moore

I choose the red pill

Growing up I did what was ordered

I ran away from home

I pressed play

September 6th 2001

Then I took the red pill

I ran away from home on my 19th birthday

Morpheus asked if I wanted the blue pill

. . . time stopped . . .

or the red pill

I did what I had to to survive

I contemplated my options

I choose the red pill

Suddenly a plane hit a building

Now I have to do

Then another

what I want to do

Then one building hit the ground

to give my life purpose

Then another

Welcome to the real world.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

I saw the French Quarter . . .

Inspired by Reach Out

. . . as first rays of sun shine. Green, yellow and purple houses. Turning onto the street. Beauty experienced for the first time, though it was always there. A dream realized.

I saw driveways and stairs with no houses. Swallowed by the marsh and bayou they may never be seen again but their shadow will always remain.

I saw houses that were in pristine condition but next door, a family’s home was frozen in mid collapse

I saw a neighborhood strangled by commercialism but culturally fighting back.

I saw a pool behind an abandon home. Water collected from the storm came alive.

Surrounded by concrete, an ecosystem emerged. Mountains of algae, swarms of tadpoles, and a sign in the bottom that read, “For quarter life loans dial 510 etc. etc. etc.”

I saw nature find a way.

I saw a system that failed but I saw failure jumpstart the system.

I saw gentrification in reverse. Major businesses were ejected by nature and gave neighborhood stores a chance.

I saw balance.

I saw every corner of the city while transporting eager volunteers. Good to bad, wrecked or new, one block to the next, I love the spirit of this city now more than ever before.

I saw what I thought was a clown starved for attention but really he was a man that gave a kindergartener the attention he needed to change his life forever.

I saw a man talk about people he grew up with that took their lives after the devastation. Telling their story keeps them alive. He didn’t shed a tear. He just told their story.

I saw people that love their town and have found a way not to give up. The love for this city, their home, can never be quantified. The spirit of this place can never be tarnished.

I saw a group of people form all walks of life, put their lives on hold to make at least one persons day. The days they made can never be measured. Only they know what each moment meant to them. Words, photos and text can only scratch the surface.

I saw hope. Nothing will ever be the same, but nothing will ever be the same.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

People Get Up & Drive Your Funky Soul

In order to feel the funk you must be the funk that pulsates & moves like a heart bouncing through your body.

James Brown told us to get up & drive our souls not as an exercise but more as a spiritual directive that guides us & pulls us into directions unknown.

Get up indeed & stand for beliefs, for people or ourselves to be alive, don’t sit & don’t lie, as there is plenty of time for that when we are dead.

Motion that stirs is what he meant not to just get up & move around but that you should feel the beat of life move through you, pick you up & experience every corner of the room till it throws you down through the floor to experience another place.

The funk, so sweet, so live, so juke it seems as if it was paying rent in your ear from birth only when the music plays is it awoken ready to underscore your day & progress to the unending night.

Soul, spirit, feeling, nerves, the things we can’t see but we know are there, ghosts from within that touch us, no, grab us till we think we are in control of our destinies, silly consciousness.

Loose control, let go & flow through life bouncing from one project to the next, one day to the next, one moment to the next, one thought to the next creating a web of life that goes from one person to the next.

Interesting that the funk that flows through James Brown has infiltrated my brain & reminded me to live as I tap my toes to the unending beat.

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3 responses

  1. naomi hill

    Very insightful poetry!

    August 24, 2010 at 3:29 pm

  2. gary houston

    A wonderful, wonderful work. emotional. Wow ws the first word that came to my mind. Brilliant was next. Dimitri is a true genuis.

    August 24, 2010 at 8:04 pm

  3. gary houston

    Dimirti is an inspiring true artist. His work is awesome. The first word that came to my mind on this piece of work was “Wow!”, followed by “brilliant”

    August 24, 2010 at 8:06 pm

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