A Poet Like Me

I walked into the venue to listen to him speak,

He was one of the best, at the pinnacle at his peak,

I was told he brought words constructively fashioned,

To take one to places with violent reaction


Alone walking in, back left, I take a chair,

Sensing the excitement in the thick of the air,

Ambiance was quite nice, the vibe no doubt relaxing,

I quickly move to the front without the decency of asking,


I needed to have a good view of who I came to see,

To feel the force of his voice cause he was a poet, like me...


The lights turn down dim as I sit,

Waiting for him, in hopes his set will be first

I felt patiently nervous, mouth desert dry

And I’m slowly dying of thirst,


Now a drink from the bar is not what I was after,

But the quench from the flow of this master-piece crafter.

He’s at the top of his game, poetry slams won in his pocket,

So I knew when he stepped to the stage that he’d rock it


Sound transmitter's warm now, on set first he was not,

Now it’s his turn to grab the mic and finally make it hot,

The audience gets quiet and now he’s in the light’s spot...


His lips gently he licks, then he steps forward to spit,

Remarkable lyrics and my heart takes the hit,

His flow was sooo sick with jaw dropping appeal,

Words in atmosphere entangled, depth of meaning to real,


His sound flew past my ears like the speed of light,

In stillness of time, an experience in flight,

He dropped knowledge and drama,

Spoke of Israel and Obama,


He was clearly well read,

I felt I could get in his head,

Cause he was a poet, like me...


By the time he was through, I felt attacked as by a lion,

Others paused in deep thought, some even walked out of there cryin’,

He was just that deep. He reminded me of why I so love this untouchable gift

Like the uniqueness of gold found after a miner’s tenacious sift


Or like the rare pearl obtained after prying open one’s soul,

To take a mind, what it thought it knew, causing submission to your control,

He possessed that ability, all of it and much more,

Greater volumes of his craft I felt compelled to explore,


We had something in common above what I thought before,

But then I sat and realized, he was definitely far more,

Than just a poet like me...


He communicated with an intensity only a veteran poet could bring,

And used utterances that cut like a knife and poured in rhymes that would sting,

He was no ordinary poet with a passion for his art,

See, he painted imagery on canvases with colors from his heart.


If I could be that great, harbor abilities like his within,

Expressing and releasing scribes bound no longer by sin, since fear is my sin,

As he does, I can never fully share,

This treasure the Creator placed in my care


I was privileged to meet him after the show,

Approached him timidly, though my faced showed a glow,

He smiled at me and winked, said he thought I was cute,

And from then and there I knew that my character he’d suit,


Across the street we had coffee and conversation was on point,

With his inspiration I anticipated my ears he’d anoint,

Though his capabilities were considerable, down to earth and accessible was he,

I found after hours in his presence, that in fact, he was a poet, just like me.


© 2011 Natisha Iloka