Wednesday, April 28th, I had the joy of attending the ACPS Poetry Awards ceremony. Sixteen 3rd-5th grade poets were honored. They read poems about everything from birds and depression to mothers and hockey. Fifth grader, Afnan Ali from John Adams Elementary School, was named ACPS Poet Laureate. Her family is from Somalia. Her poem was called, Only I Know Who I Am. She wrote, "I am a Somali coffee with cream. / I am a brilliant green peridot gem shining in your eyes...." And a few lines later..."I dance across the regions of Virginia with passion and rhythm." I felt the passion and rhythm in everyone's hearts and in their voices as these poets let their words soar around the room. Congratulations to all of you!
It is clear that poetry is alive and well in Alexandria, even if it is hiding from us much of the time. While I was away over the weekend a package arrived at my home filled with pages of poems, by a stranger. I believe this was the same man who quietly handed me a sheaf of poems as I was leaving the City Council meeting on April 13th. His name is Wavely "China" Brown and he calls himself 'the rhyming poet'. He writes wisely about life on the street, and qualities such as loyalty and respect among other things. He has also written many poems about Alexandria and landmarks in the Washington area. Here is a quiet man writing with passion and rhythm.
Optimistic People
When optimistic people walk down the street
They establish eye contact and etiquettely speak.
When pessimistic people walk down the street.
They look the other way and seldom speak.
- Wavely "China" Brown
We have poets among us! Thinking about the poets in our midst, inspired me to start this poem:
Have You Seen A Poet?
There are poets hiding everywhere, in closets and under beds.
There are poets wearing high heels, poets wearing Keds.
There are poets using keyboards and poets using pens.
There are poets using cellphones, texting poems to their friends.
There are poets in the schools and poets on the streets.
There are poets in the laundromat, folding poems in their sheets.
There are poets in the pulpit, there are poets in this town.
There are poets at the skateboard park. Have you seen one around?
There are poets in Arlandria; there are poets in Del Ray.
There are poets who write their words at night and drive their cabs by day.
There are poets by the Potomac and poets at the park.
There are poets in the alleyways whistling to the dark.
There are poets in the West End, there are poets in the hills.
There are poets at Gadsby’s Tavern, wandering with their quills.
There are poets at Seven-Eleven, slurping wild cherry twist.
There are poets hiding everywhere. Are you one in our midst?
Tell me where the poets are hiding in Alexandria by adding your own lines to this poem.
