Wednesday, April 15, 2020

April Is National Poetry Month!

April is National Poetry Month!

A dope sister, a slam champion, a poet, a performer, an educator, a scientist, and a Maryland Center for the Book Honoree. Her work was featured, at The Reginald Lewis Museum and numerous Baltimore publications. Today I shine the spotlight on Tonya Maria Matthews A.K.A. JaHipster.


Grandma, get your gun.
The wolves are in the yard.
They have come for the children.

You ain't really got to shoot at nobody
just aim for the moon
graze Alpha Centauri's shoulder
let stardust rain down
knock the devil on his ass
make him think twice
bout comin roun' here so quick
soooo slick
no more.

Grandma, get your gun.
The wolves are in the yard.
It's feeding time.

Destiny is a delicacy
promise quite tasty and
legacy will stick sweet to your ribs
like family reunion barbecue.
Revolution can be a bit lumpy
but goes down smooth like your mashed potatoes.
Grandma, get your gun.

Used to be safe out here in the country.
Young kings and queens could run through the fields
sniffing daffodils
but now the daffodils have been replaced
by snapdragons
breathing down their necks
fires of hellish existence burning away
memories of how to be royalty.
At every corner a new definition of Venus
fly trapping the children's souls
swallowing their consciousness whole
convincing them the natural state of their spirit
is not beautiful.

New-age roosters have turned the babies into
forgetful farm foul
coops are filled to overflow
with eagles
thinking the life of a chicken is acceptable
that flying is overrated.
The weasel has become bold and
the fox fearless
they'll come up over around the fence
into the yard in broad daylight
to snatch your eggs.

Someone taught the jackal how to play the drum.
Now he's tap tap tap tap tapping to the beat
tap tap tap tap tapping to the beat
has mastered the boom-bip
watch the children form a line behind him
shaking their groove-thang.
He'll dance them out the village.

Grandma, the piper's price is too high.
Just shoot him.

I know we hid the guns
to protect the babies
but now sisters are being
prostituted by hair dye
pimped with fashion.

I know we hid the guns
to protect the babies from misogyny
misandry, misanthropy
but now brothers don't know
how to defend themselves.
Swapping chains for puppet strings
watch them knock each other out.

Grandma, get your gun shove it down throats
make them eat their words
make them stop eating us for breakfast.

Grandma, get your gun
get the buckshot, get the hollow-point bullets.
Grandma, get the camouflage.
It is time to stop playing
because life was never a game
freedom never will be and
our survival never is.

Grandma, get your gun.
wolves are in the yard.
Grandma, get your gun
wolves are in the yard.
Grandma, Grandma
get your gun
and give it to me.

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