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Collective poem from French-Akpata Connexion

May 2, 2014

As I clacked away on the typewriter, the audience members from the French-Akpata show all grabbed hand percussions: tamborines, shakers and the like, while John Akpata played his drum leading the way. Through the melody and rhythm, guided by three words: QUAKE, AMPHITHEATRE, and NIGHTMARE, this poem/story was born. For more poetry-busked pieces, please visit my tumblr:!


photo 2 (1)


the mind quakes

his spirit was thrilled into

fire-pit, no nightmare

a night terror in which his soul

was plucked out of his body, a wild woman

with passion pulsating from

her chest would come to

him in the dream state, whisper a message

soft and loud — filling ten

thousand amphitheatres —

of self love, and as he gazes up her body

as he falls in love with her mind

he loses himself in her spirit

she drums “NO…I am not the thing you

love most, or need most, or yearn for the very

most. The truest form is to love the

man in you, the hand that finds its way

then your nightmares will melt

into the deepest calm

the mind no longer quakes

his spirit is sure

and she goes forth to find another lost soul.




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