 Excerpt from Book Three of The Evans Poetry Collection,"Things That Make My World Go ‘Round: A Poetic Memoir”:
My Poetry
You may wonder
Where my poetry comes from
The answer, I wish, was simple
For my poetry is the product of an unplanned conception
A timeless labor of love
That wakes me up in the middle of the night
Kicking
Pulling
Tugging on my insides
Making me leap up out of bed
And race for a strip of paper
A pencil or pen
Causing me to run away from a place called home,
With my single Mother,
Two little sisters,
In a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor
Wondering where our next meal was coming from
Forcing me to contemplate its value
Importance
Impact
And hold
That it would someday have on my life
With an omnipresence,
Poetry overwhelms me
It fills my mind,
An open oasis of ideation, sounds, semantics,
Experiences
That must be shared
Brought to life
My poetry comes from
The summer hawk that blew me from side to side as I rested on the concrete porch looking down through wired-fences, sipping red Kool-aid in the shade
My poetry comes from
The ten flights that I had to walk every day
With busted-out light bulbs, in the dark
Holding my breath
Suffocating by the stench of piss that stained the walls and each step
My poetry comes from
The elevator that could not carry my pregnant Mother to her bed after being on her feet all day
That could not pick up my grandfather as he made his last and final trip downstairs
My poetry comes from
The laughter of children
That I still see running and jumping
Building castles in the dirt they call sand
My poetry comes from
The sound of babies, crying, reaching out to their grandmother’s supple arms while their momma’s up the block in search of a rock
My poetry comes from
The lonely moan of a widow wondering what to do
Because she’s in Hell,
Her son’s in jail,
And uses the rent to post his bail
My poetry comes from
The anguish felt by a patient in pain, alone and afraid
Awaiting care
Not knowing what the next day may bring
Realizing
That he’s just a passerby
My poetry comes from
Romance and love
The passionate Ooohs and Aaahs of the couple next door
As they giggle and wiggle in the middle of the night
My poetry comes from
The stench of sweaty passengers trying to get home
On the CTA
With no seat
No AC
Followed by an ambulance
Because the elderly woman up front is weak
My poetry comes from
The streets, the hood
My old stomping ground
A place, each day, I see
My poetry comes from
The anger felt by a mother raising her children around gangs and drugs in rat and roach-infested public housing projects
She wants to move
To escape
To get out
But doesn’t know where to go
Or how to get there
My poetry comes from
Places I long to see
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
How I’m Livin’
It’s Good to be John D.
Like a hazy dream
An inconspicuous, hidden place
That tease each molecule of my mind
With surreal satisfaction
My poetry comes from
Rap
Jazz
Gospel
Pop
Neo-Soul
House
R&B
Hip-hop
My poetry comes from
Everything
Everything that can be viewed through the black burning of these mortal eyes
Everything that can be heard through the drums of my ears
Everything that can be tasted on the sensitive pallet of my tongue
Everything that can be felt from within or outside of this imperfect frame
Everything that can be smelled through the nostrils of my nose
Everything that I know
Everything that I think I know
Everything that can be crafted by my imagination
From inception, culmination,
To the closing of a, seemingly, endless day
I am reminded of it
I can’t ignore it
I can’t fight it
I must bring it to life
My song
My world
My poetry
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