Hello, My name is Niel and these are the ChristaPoet Freestyle Sessions. This year, ChristaPoet wants to give you a special perspective to our freestyles. At first, some of these poems were published as stand-alone pieces. But in actuality, each poem is an untitled part of a freestyle session. Each freestyle session is given a topic for the poems to address.
Today, I have two poems for us to pause with. Before we dive into another barrage of poems, let us lounge in a sort of respite, however induced.
Here is Chika St. Davnique, at an untold time:
I’m finding that in finding me,
I’m finding my poetry
Thick lines of metaphors and jagged dots of feelings
I’m finding my pain.
But also my smile
My random moments of sense
And constant state of goofy
Of naive expectations
Of sentiment and all that nonsense
I’m finding moments preserved in time,
Of friendship, true and thick
Of love scorned
Of use and abuse
I’m finding my miracle,
My colorful, loud mix and match
My wriggle and shake
I’m finding my happy
Maybe even my scribbles…
Opinions flow easier now.
Walls get replaced by glass,
Direct and clear,
I’m finding the girl in the garden
Though she was never lost
And I’m remembering,
My poetry is me
And it’s breathtakingly beautiful
What would you say of your work? How would you describe your handling of your art?
I think that we should surround ourselves with support, love and strategic minds. But the truth is, we love who we love. This is not a submission to the dictates of whim and affection. But over time, those who show loyalty and solidarity gain our favor. But should you suffer emotional damage because you can’t say no to bad company?
Some of us find solace in our work; it’s quality, it’s reach, it’s growth…
Here is Uba, in an untold time:
Its weird when my pen and I don’t converse
Like we are in a long distance relationship
And these sheets too feel lonely
But we talk,
Seem like we were never apart
The cruise is smooth sailing
As thoughts begin to hit me like stray bullets
I could literally set my table on fire and still be on my job
Yeah, my pen has a loud mouth
Mouthing off all closet conversations
Our Pain, victory, trials and triumph
Above all telling tales of My father
So when I write;
I block my mind from the devil’s lies and here say
Shut my eyes not to see or hear what this world say
And only listen to his voice, My true sensei
That’s speaking his truth the most even in my low
So I put pen to paper to rewrite wrongs
Hold that pen on your left arm
As I squeeze out truth from it like a Python
Till this world know the point of my ball point and how much his word on your pen weigh
Yeah, and some of us weigh ourselves by our obedience to the Word. It gives back to us.
I believe that if you had read any of these poems on their own, you would get a part of the picture. Now you see them together, I think it’s a more wholesome picture. Tell us what you think, and see you next time.
Chika St. Davnique