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The Write Kind of Kin, Folks

To my National Writing Project Siblings—especially PLWP S.I.14,

it was like a dream

we wrote and we read until hands held

our hearts and our souls

filled with joy full of Simile’s smile

quite simply, I’ll always proclaim:

NWP is the write kind of Kin

Folks, our blood flows through ink though;

and, writefully so,

if some see us grouped sporadically together,

they may say we were strangers

even stranger,

if a stranger saw me hair locked in what some call dreads;


in skin dark filled pigments invents endless possibilities

grabbing back past the first crater the Creator created

to cater to Indigoes and Blues and Jazz

infused with Rainbows of humanity- my Family

bright skinned like the light bends

within vibrant blends of aurora borealis,

such contrast collides coincidence that

can’t convince the clock to tick or tock ‘cause time

just wishes to be the watch…

for a second

to beckon the senses to swim in deepness

ocean deep are those moments

we wrote memories as needed as a summer’s



waves strong enough to wash away footprints in

the sand

providing new places where we can

stand and walk again amongst our


felt feelings louder than a thunderous locomotive can whistle

its warning cry burdened by such heavy loads

We shared

joys and woes even though we didn't know each other from Adam,

who is written to be the first man to propagate this people train


strain your eyes like some fix their gaze on space

constellations we pattern after animals with etymological care

now, make room to zoom in then focus your stare

as would a night sky searching to find THAT STAR knowing it's there

the One for which all evenings must boycott dusk and dawn

thus moving on to absolutely nothing

for even nature knows no next exists without lip syncing this






composed together, a symphonic bubonic blur that changes life

forcing nightmares to dream peaceably at least one reminiscent wrinkle in time



to the tonality expressed in each piece of our minds

as we freely give our never given


once erased in shame, fragmented and ended


replaced, renamed, rewritten and presented

Then it: the sporadic

would be less emphatic as one could discern

our differences don't divide us;

they unite us as we train

and if this choo choo broke down or could not go…

rather it’s the weather or whatever,

then we would take the bus together

‘cause that's just how we roll

or skip or walk with a dip in a hip

pure confidence knowing that,


this writing Family, always has a choice

even in silence the pen is our voice


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