Kenneth Carroll
Jul 01, 2013
Kenneth Carroll is a clarion voice that will outlast the birds in the trees. He's a mentor for every heart that cries out to be heard - to learn how to speak. He is funny and sad. He writes of the past with a style that can't be imitated and his stories are indelible. From our shattered lives, Carroll brings light to our task. From the collapse of dreams, he restores a wind of goodwill and courage. From all that is fatal in language, he infuses it with life everlasting. -- Grace Cavalieri
Kenneth Carroll is a native Washingtonian, his poetry, short stories, essays, and plays have appeared in numerous publications including. He is the former executive director of DC WritersCorps, Inc., where he helped create the country’s first Youth Poetry Slam League, which was honored by President Clinton’s Commission for the Arts and the Humanities in 1999. He is married and the proud father of a daughter and two sons.
Truant on MLK Avenue
1.
she points her green nails at me, a curse
tells me, I have been absent or late 68 days this year
there is a robin that visits my windowsill every morning
around 9am when I should be in my first period class
she points her green nails at me, a curse
tells me, I have been absent or late 68 days this year
there is a robin that visits my windowsill every morning
around 9am when I should be in my first period class
I have decided that the robin's breast is not really red
instead it is burnt orange, my boyfriend has a hat that color
he wears it all the time, he think he cool
but he reminds me of that poem we had to memorize in english class
sometimes when the robin is late, I sit in my spongebob pjs and wait for its song
instead it is burnt orange, my boyfriend has a hat that color
he wears it all the time, he think he cool
but he reminds me of that poem we had to memorize in english class
sometimes when the robin is late, I sit in my spongebob pjs and wait for its song
2.
wisps billows to green opens to sky
delivers rain as an answer to smoke
driven by breezes that swirl in desperation
mixed with perseverance potential and fate
gray skies frame green leaves as young as hope
branches brown as faces on corner murals.
wisps billows to green opens to sky
delivers rain as an answer to smoke
driven by breezes that swirl in desperation
mixed with perseverance potential and fate
gray skies frame green leaves as young as hope
branches brown as faces on corner murals.
Call and Response
For Charles Louis “Chuck” Brown 5/16/12
the antiphonal sonic response of eternity
call and response, the go-go-ification of the groove
the black church birthing funk
the holla back for the future generations
Chuck Brown as caliph, as patron saint
of the endless jam, asked us
“Hey everybody how you feel tonight?”
and we answered, “Feel like moving that body.”
from spirit we still hear his call,
the inhalation and exhalation of life
above us like the overlook at the panorama room
pulse carried by river carried by song.
call and response, the go-go-ification of the groove
the black church birthing funk
the holla back for the future generations
Chuck Brown as caliph, as patron saint
of the endless jam, asked us
“Hey everybody how you feel tonight?”
and we answered, “Feel like moving that body.”
from spirit we still hear his call,
the inhalation and exhalation of life
above us like the overlook at the panorama room
pulse carried by river carried by song.
Afterschool Program
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Mathew 19:14
They come to us as the same bell that warns of fire, begs
them rudely to leave its deteriorating edifice. They come
cornrows and sagging pants, shoes untied and dirty faces,
smelling of youth and desperation and hope.
cornrows and sagging pants, shoes untied and dirty faces,
smelling of youth and desperation and hope.
They come to us like children fleeing nightmares
All arms and legs akimbo, screams announcing fright.
like family reuniting, hugging us in violation of regulation,
like returning abductees seeking embrace & remembrance.
All arms and legs akimbo, screams announcing fright.
like family reuniting, hugging us in violation of regulation,
like returning abductees seeking embrace & remembrance.
They come to us to with progress reports, test scores, report
cards, official statement of their status, & triggers for state
reimbursement.
cards, official statement of their status, & triggers for state
reimbursement.
They come to us with faces bludgeon by standardized tests,
core curriculums absent of poetry, with smiles bent in half
by failure. as fugitives sought by several hundreds years of
policies seeking their enslavement.
core curriculums absent of poetry, with smiles bent in half
by failure. as fugitives sought by several hundreds years of
policies seeking their enslavement.
They come to us molested by fellow students whose laughter
reminds them of their below grade level reading, whose
derision marks their struggle to grasp algebra
reminds them of their below grade level reading, whose
derision marks their struggle to grasp algebra
They come bruised by teachers who scream at them for their
circumstance, who resent their academic deficiencies, who
see them as roadblocks to professional gain
circumstance, who resent their academic deficiencies, who
see them as roadblocks to professional gain
They come to us to release their anger, to cuss our names
as representative of the names that have frustrated them
They come to us to have the letters and labels around their
names, IEP, Disabled, E.D., removed like old bandages
as representative of the names that have frustrated them
They come to us to have the letters and labels around their
names, IEP, Disabled, E.D., removed like old bandages
They come to us to hear us celebrate their simple presence,
to acknowledge their heartbeat, to validate their company.
They come quietly, muted, unable to shake the ravages of
the day or the anticipated dangers of home
They come because father is absent and mother cannot bear
his face that they carry.
to acknowledge their heartbeat, to validate their company.
They come quietly, muted, unable to shake the ravages of
the day or the anticipated dangers of home
They come because father is absent and mother cannot bear
his face that they carry.
They come to us hear tales, to have verse read to them to
be excited by story and song.
be excited by story and song.
They come to us to be honored as spirit and student, to be
pupil in pupil, an image in someone’s eyes. They come to us,
because if we do not, no one will ask them about their day,
tell them they are loved, remind them they are holy.
pupil in pupil, an image in someone’s eyes. They come to us,
because if we do not, no one will ask them about their day,
tell them they are loved, remind them they are holy.
They come to us and are reluctant to leave, they meander,
have one more thing to say, request an extra snack, a final
touch, a tentative promise of tomorrow before they follow a
waning sun toward home.
have one more thing to say, request an extra snack, a final
touch, a tentative promise of tomorrow before they follow a
waning sun toward home.
A People's Historian
For Howard Zinn
who will come to tell us what we know
that the king’s riches are soiled with
the history of our blood and sweat
that the king’s riches are soiled with
the history of our blood and sweat
who memorializes us when we have been vanquished
who recounts our moments of resistance, explicates
our struggles, sings of our sacrifices to those
unable to hear our song
who recounts our moments of resistance, explicates
our struggles, sings of our sacrifices to those
unable to hear our song
who speaks of our triumphs, of how we
altered the course of a raging river of oppression
how we turned our love for each other into a
garrison of righteous rebellion
altered the course of a raging river of oppression
how we turned our love for each other into a
garrison of righteous rebellion
who shows us even in failure, when we
have been less than large, when our own
prejudices have been turned against us like
stolen weapons
have been less than large, when our own
prejudices have been turned against us like
stolen weapons
who walks among us, willing to tell the truth
about the monster of lies, an eclipse that casts
a shadow dark enough to cover centuries
about the monster of lies, an eclipse that casts
a shadow dark enough to cover centuries
what manner of man, of woman, of truth teller
roots around the muck of history, the word covered
in the mud of denial, the mythology of the conquerors
roots around the muck of history, the word covered
in the mud of denial, the mythology of the conquerors
let them be Zinn, let them sing to the people of history
let their song come slowly, on the periphery of canon
of history departments owned by corporate prevaricators
let their song come slowly, on the periphery of canon
of history departments owned by corporate prevaricators
let their song be song in small circles, furtive meetings
lonely readers, underground and under siege
their song, the seed crushed to earth, and growing
now a tree, with fruit, multiplying truth.
lonely readers, underground and under siege
their song, the seed crushed to earth, and growing
now a tree, with fruit, multiplying truth.
Entropic World
What used to be in our dreams are now memories
the faces of old loved ones
the faces of old loved ones
the graying and disappearance
the expansion before the contraction
the expansion before the contraction
the years worn on our waists
the teeth deserting our mouths
the teeth deserting our mouths
like our heroes slow fading
to remembrance & mother soil
to remembrance & mother soil
the music means so much more now
like a time tested prayer
like a time tested prayer
we come together to count our fallen
to reassure our selves of moment
to reassure our selves of moment
we celebrate sunrise & eclipse
birth & survival
birth & survival
our faith tested by knowing
we hold to the canon’s covenant
we hold to the canon’s covenant
the entropic world spins around us
each day we survey the slow decay
each day we survey the slow decay
measure the distance in our children’s voices
from our recollection of our own youth
from our recollection of our own youth
we are not afraid, just selfish
jesus knew & still wanted more time
jesus knew & still wanted more time
we promise to miss the world
if we can
if we can
on the other side of our memories
we will dream of new loves.
we will dream of new loves.
© Kenneth Carroll, all rights reserved