A Desert Morning In The Age Of Novel Coronavirus — Image by kenne
Midnight poems are bicycles
Taking us on safer journeys
Than jets
Quicker journeys
Than walking
But never as beautiful
A journey
As my back
Touching you under the quilt
Midnight poems
Sing a sweet song
Saying everything
Is all right
Everything
Is
Here for us
I reach out
To catch the laughter
The dog thinks
I need a kiss
Bicycles move
With the flow
Of the earth
Like a cloud
So quiet
In the October sky
Like licking ice cream
From a cone
Like knowing you
Will always
Be there
All day long I wait
For the sunset
The first star
The moon rise
I move
To a midnight
Poem
Called
You
Propping
Against
The dangers
— Bicycles by Nikki Giovanni
Becoming is Superior to Being 
Decoding Poetry
Poetry,
what is it?
Is it not all things
we experience —
Feelings?
Thoughts?
Ideas?
Wisdom?
Beauty?
Music?
Art?
In human existence?
Yet,
some claim
the words of poetry,
as if anointed
announcing to the world,
“I know the code!”
Poetry is not a code,
allowing entrance
only to a few
fettered and packaged
for the scholarly.
If I experience
my life
in the words of another,
is it poetry?
For it is I
who holds the code
to my existence.
In the end,
there is no right
or wrong answer –
Poetry is like dancing,
if it feels good,
do it!
— kenne
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