Ward Stories: Poetry

NEW YORK CITYVOICES: Winter 2006

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A Column by Cindy Sostchen Kenyatta Yamel is an African American man who was raised in Buffalo, New York and is currently residing in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He served in the US army from 1970-72. After serving in the military, he lived in New York where he attended York College. Among other things, he writes, paints, drums and protests against the war. He is employed as a peer mentor assisting persons who are living with mental illness. Kenyatta also writes the Veterans Affairs column for New York City Voices. He may be reached at [email protected]. Cecil Williams is a veteran of this poetry column, always amusing us with his witty poems. But this time around, he offers some practical advice on how to avoid boredom and do something useful at the same time. Regarding his poem, Cecil says, "It does help to make priorities and the list is far from complete." Pat Nicholson was born in Brooklyn, learned how to read and write on Long Island and is now a resident of Bayport. His poems are not only seasonal but they show us how much can be said using economy of language. Untitled By Cecil Williams Put out the garbage for collection. Weed the garden Vacuum the floor carpet Sweep the floors Mop the floors Redecorate the apartment Visit or telephone a friend to socialize Prepare the change of clothes and hygiene Shower regularly Attend a concert, art gallery, museum or library Prepare your favorite meals Go grocery shopping Find out about a furtherance of education Go to the beach or picnic Read a book See a new movie Title: I Saw Myself Running By Kenyatta Yamel I saw myself running In an urban park Sparkling With sunlight Twigs crackling Beneath your feet Was a race About to begin With young strong men Already primed Muscles straining Against warm-ups Ready to slash the air With long, sure strides A signal was given The race was on From nowhere I entered the race Against These bright young men Feeling The cool autumn air On my body Stretching Pumping Cheering Myself on Only dreaming Forgetting Briefly That my long distance legs Had left me And in their place I found Legs balking When asked to run For a bus Forgetting Aching And medicating Again, I was running And competing Don't ask me now That I am awake Would I catch Those swift sure strides Just follow My Dreams Watch me run! Title: Schizophrenics Understood By Kenyatta Yamel Does this poem Resemble you I want you to know I have heard you Everyone talks About schizophrenics Almost everyone That is Except schizophrenics I have heard More than once About artists Teams And everyone But my grandma Having A schizophrenic season But who among you Can understand The terror My friend felt After waiting for Bob Marley All night on a street corner in Milwaukee Does this poem resemble you? Do you spend weeks, months or even years Decoding secret messages to you Hidden within The New York Times The Wall Street Journal And The Washington Post? Have you been this person? How have you explained Those gaps in your resume When you say you went to France Explored yourself Or took care of your elderly mom When in reality mom was helping take care of you Do you fear Someone at work Finding your medication And asking What is this Haldol, anyway? Bobby, Karen or Frank You never said anything about this Is your worst nightmare The thought one day A breakdown Could destroy Your job Your friendships And maybe even Your life Panicked by police, Guards Or anyone else Invading your mind's reality Am I talking about you? Are there days when All you have the strength To do Is cry out loud? Did you wonder, was anyone else out there? Schizophrenics Cash their reality checks every day But ask yourself? Where are you? Are you a watcher A listener A trusted friend or Relative Or someone silently Oh so slowly Reaching out Not knowing who you might trust We must all begin somewhere Sometime in our lives With knowledge Comes understanding Understood Understood me Understood her Open your minds To our hidden injuries And embrace us Does this poem speak to your heart? I wanted you to know I have heard you Untitled By Pat Nicholson Violence swept through me Like water bursting Through a dam, ruptured by the force of it Here in the whip Of the Autumn wind I am strewn about like litter Haggard Title: After Bradstock By Pat Nicholson Oak trees tower Overhead, and bleed at the top The first blush of fall

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