Rigoberto's got me thinking about poetry and music, and I've been thinking about my favorite singers, who always seem to be poets at heart.
So 1 a.m. on Sunday morning is the perfect time to unveil my guilty pleasure, the man second only to Smokey Robinson in my heart. This was tonight's lullaby, the song I needed to hear in order to end the day, and the reason I'll wake up with a poem in my pen tomorrow.
Goodnight, all.

Originally Published: September 2nd, 2007

Patricia Smith has been called “a testament to the power of words to change lives.” She is the author of seven books of poetry, including Incendiary Art (2017), winner of an NAACP Image Award and the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award; Shoulda Been Jimi Savannah (2012), which won the Lenore Marshall...

  1. September 3, 2007

    Dear Patricia,
    I know you don't really care these days, after all, your confessions about W.H. Auden already settled the issue, but now with James Taylor... I am afraid that The Committee will be giving you a call soon. Those stripes on your shoulders are in grave danger. I will testify on your behalf, but this is too much. You have not heard me say anywhere that I think Bob Dylan and Paul Simon are some of the most gifted songwriters I have ever heard or that I can't help sitting through The Sound of Music every time I catch a glimpse of it while surfing the channels. You haven't, and you won't. It just gets too confusing. And I can't bear to face The Committee. James Taylor? Wow, you are really crazy, woman, or maybe those drugs you took for the allergic reaction are actually some kind of truth serum. (smile). I will miss you at the meetings, Patricia. I really will.
    One love
    ***Irony Alert***Irony Alert***Irony Alert***Irony Alert***

  2. September 3, 2007

    "...in my mind, i'm going to Carolina ..."
    ain't he grand?!
    ain't he some kinda poet?
    KD, i won't hand over Patricia's stripes, but you and the committee can have all of mine if i get to keep the songs ...

  3. September 3, 2007

    Ah, I am not worried at all about my stripes, or my dog-eared membership card. You see, I know much about The Committee and its various and sundry members. I don't divulge their indiscretions, and they don't rag me for knowing all the words to "Carolina on My Mind" (thanks, Cherryl!). It's an uneasy alliance, but a workable one.
    Kinda like fire and rain...