Another Poet and I . Another poet and I sipped on some Coffee one night in an obscure Dimly lit coffeehouse. We drank until our eyes were As bright as the sun. Then, he turned to me saying, Sea horses danced in the treetops Above the calm settled plains. To which I responded, An empire was built with blood, Red tears and broken backs. . He looked at me puzzled, pensive, Deeply seated in his thoughts, Then he declared, A dancer, green with envy Pirouetted across the golden sky, Which illuminated his shining path. I, of course, stared at the poet in total Amazement and was bewildered. I injected, Humanity has been ripped to shreds And torn asunder by the forces of darkness In the name of profit and race hatred. . The other poet’s eyes cried for clarity As they stared into the ceiling, Searching for clues to this mystery. He finally burst out, I live in a world uninhibited by Walls or boundaries…my inner self Is free in flight like the fiery phoenix That ascends above mortal thought. . I jolted in disbelief, Pondering the poet’s motives. I paused for a moment To catch a few phrases, And hurled them at him, I am the seed sewn From thousands of years of Cultural enlightenment And five hundred years Of survival against a tradition Of genocide! . The other poet laughed As if the words tickled him. While he struggled to regain his lost Composure, he sucked in a deep breath Of air and let out a cool sigh. He looked at me with all the intensity He could muster, then he announced, The clouds, appearing as soft as cotton Accepted the shapes of deception As they slowly limbered across the vast Blue-ness. A breath Of tranquility embraced me Because I am at peace with myself. . I grabbed my hair as if to hold it In place, while conjuring up as much Dramatic flare as I could. My coffee Lit eyes roamed the room in search of clues Until I finally extolled, Our mother, vast with oceans, Green with life and wide with terrain Cries in pain because she’s been Inflicted with harshness and she’s been Punctured and gouged and burned …I fear that she may die. . The other poet scoffed at my vision And scornfully retorted, There is no truth, there is no lie. Only concepts and ideas. Only beliefs And creative expression, which come from The throat of intangible origin. Truth And lie are non-existent, yet Flow like gravy poured over A banquet of inconsequential Disorder and disarray. . The shapes of his words scorched me …Nearly boiling—I needed time to chill, And I coolly retorted, I have spent a lifetime disassembling The rubble of lies that have dominated My past. Piece by piece truth has Been uncovered and I have come closer To understanding the blood, sweat And tears, and flesh that comprise The essence of humanity Preserved in human dignity. . The other poet seemed amused As he sarcastically smiled At me. Then he calmly stated, Poets only dream intangible Dreams. We are protectors of Abstract intellect. We enter realms That only we can find. We Are the guides to transcendental Thought. We are the inflexible meter, Rhyme and rhythm that has no Commonality with mediocrity. We Stand at the threshold of wisdom and At the apex of intelligent thought. . I contemptuously snarled at the other poet’s Meaning. In response, I only added, I am heir to the tradition Of people everywhere Who struggle for human dignity, Social equality, political rights Earth protection, children’s survival, Women’s equality, freedom of Sexual orientation, and an end to oppression. Poets are the shamans of The past, present and future, Preserving dreams and dreaming of Future visions, carefully inscribed For everyone to read. . The coffee wore off, We were tired And agreed to Call it quits. . . -by Joe Navarro