[Poem] The Almost Unbelievable

A full blown wine edition.

Dear reader,

Thank you for always supporting me, this newsletter, for sharing and talking about Tobi Akinpelu. I’ve received DMs from people talking about how Poems have helped them as a form of therapy.

Many tried out writing Poems first time. We’ve formed a group, a community of writers, where we talk through our learnings, we strive for each person to have their time on stage. To express their experience with poems difficult to explain. Leave in the comments: “Send me slack link to join community of writers”.

Writing Poems moves from paper weight into a juicy weight in the first few tries. We are all just writing poems to describe a moon, by typing “moon”. Like how would you describe a string of light, when you are standing in front, same size, same height?

How would you see through a window with two white baseballs? It’s almost like, it was connected via a dropping pipe to the central system. Then a quick inner peep downwards to the rest of the longer thicker pipes. Trying to look for. Scanning. Look for. Scanning.

Have you heard of a type of word structure called the Quatrians? A dynamite. It’s a very old structure. Mary Oliver has used it, Emily Dickson, who is an undefeatable in the role of short poems of American English, as used it. William Stratford, W.S Merwvin, all writing short forms of poems.

While long forms has its drunkenness, and short forms has its… dynamiteness. It ended right when it started, often creating an experience that is too quick, too fast it is almost unbelievable.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Starting…

Best read with the music: Appalachian Trails by Calm Shores on Spotify or Apple.

Blown.
What you see outside, is somewhere inside.
A flute music flowing. We are the bubbling jingles
Else is in control.
Blown from round cheeks.

—
Cover the earth from the Sun with a blanket.
Hold it spread on bed with planes.
This Sun is too loving.
Sun is my reflection.

—
I am the Soul,
Inside it, is Spirit.
Inch my Skin, to feel it.

—
Energy, a milk woman hair dancing waving.
Zoom to star space.
Energy, a thin hair beating on blue round.
Non-touching, yet every-touching.

—
I am the piece, that makes alive
the sleeping existence,
Touch my new skin over there.

—
You’re on your phone.
You’re looking somewhere in the middle of 
the screen and elsewhere.
Like a wave reflecting,
As you breathe, in, and out.

—
We are living the entire world, at once.
Beeping torch light each dawn.
Striking each piano note to sustain.