Orange que te quiero verde, that's Poeticah
The Visual Poetry of Poeticah explores the boundaries between poetry, languages, and traditional with computer visual art.
This is a poem from my chapbook Axtlanadu.
To Langston Hughes
Two striving rivers wedded and spawned Rowendi Brook.
Even though they rarely fed it, this rivulet grew.
Although one parent drained it, this creek swelled.
Though many dammed it or averted it
Into aqueducts that fed fields, this river gained power.
Rowendi River grew deep, shadowy, mysterious
Swallowing soil, boulders, bones, gravel, leaves,
Walnuts, chocolate, coffee, vanilla to swirl illusive browns.
It had sweet, sour, bitter, piquant, complex flavors.
Complex like vintage wines, dark ales, coffees, spices.
Rowendi sang and whispered many songs.
When it whirled into dams, its thwarted waves
Bellowed mournful, lazy, howling blues.
When it trickled over gravel at its edges, its ripples
Warbled varied riffs, improvised runs,
Syncopated bee-bops of jazz.
Rowendi crossed the Mississippi,
Wandered from Atlantic to Pacific, crossed the Rio Grande,
Wiggled into Mexico, flowed into the Caribbean,
Rippled through Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica.
Swimming with its vivid dances and stories,
No one wished for any other river,
No matter where Rowendi emerged.
It cried around West Africa,
Swayed and roared in Europe,
Meandered through the Soviet Union,
Even Bubbled in China and Japan.
Want to wing over Rowendi to view where it went.
Sail along its moody waters, breathe deep.
Relish its aromas, worship its eloquent notes.
Swim to enjoy its warm, cool, whirling currents.
Dive to quaff its fathomless wisdom.
If only for one swift whiff of wind,
Yearn to be the wayward Rowendi.