Poetry Break
A guest on Susan Taylor’s The Electric Picnic, a program about poetry, spoken word, prose and other creative arts, Olivia shares two of her poems with KNSJ.
–By Permission from Olivia Mercedes
Olivia Mercedes is a perpetually overwhelmed human who relies on creative mediums to process the intense spectrum of her conscious experience. Her poetry has been published, her artwork has been exhibited, her voice has been featured, but her most beloved accolades are the moments of real-life connection in response to her authenticity. She finds hope and gratitude in inspiring someone to feel, to question, to learn, to heal, to express, and ultimately to be more fully human.
instagram: @oliviamercedesart
how to write a poem
first, gather your materials:
you’ll need something to write with,
something to feel with,
something to think with,
and enough vulnerability to actually use these.
you’ll need a language
adequate enough to transpose the sparks of synapses
setting fire to your imagination–
oh yes, you’ll need an imagination.
if capitalism has taken yours hostage,
you might be able to bargain with your inner child.
just make sure you use an encrypted messaging app,
the oppressor doesn’t like us to think
let alone imagine,
what this world might be like
if we all listened to poetry
instead of those in self-appointed power.
you’ll also need power,
but not the kind that’s harnessed inside an ego
the kind that’s harnessed inside every atom of the universe.
the universe that made everything before you
everything after you
and everything
you
are.
and chances are,
once you realize that,
once you realize that what qualifies you to write
is that which qualifies you to be human,
your pen will no longer feel foreign or like a burden,
rather it will appear as the instrument you’ve known how to play all along.
you will realize that a poem is not something you write
it’s something you witness.
and the words you use to capture it
are merely a photograph
documenting the reason we exist at all.
the hardest part of writing a poem
is noticing it.
noticing not only that it exists,
but that you exist inside of it.
the fact that you are asking how to write a poem
proves that you are one,
and the part of you that knows this
is simply asking for your attention
in the language of curiosity.
it’s existence itself
begging you
to experience it so fully, you can’t help but write it down.
like a message you know must be delivered, must be heard.
and in this way
you don’t write a poem, the poem writes you.
and if you so choose to surrender to its demands,
to allow your blood to dance like ink,
let your authenticity spill across the page,
your soul scream its unfiltered truths,
you will find yourself doing more
than writing poems
you will find yourself living them.
and what better way to exist,
than to live.
what better way to write,
than to be.
what better way to be,
than poetry.
What goes in a backpack? (From a conversation Olivia had with Susan during her interview on The Electric Picnic poetry show)
Olivia: okay Sue, I’ve written the second half of this poem, but not the first half, so I need your help with
the beginning. Can you help me brainstorm things that go in a backpack?
Sue: chapstick?
Olivia: that’s a great one, but the owner of this backpack doesn’t have any of their toiletries around.
What’s something else?
Sue: a pen?
Olivia: oh I wish, but their school actually isn’t in session, they don’t have their pens or notebooks right
now. What else?
Sue: a cell phone?
Olivia: ah unfortunately they lost their cell phone and all their electronics already. Anything else?
Sue: dog treats?
Olivia: oh sadly their dog has passed away…
Sue: a water bottle?
Olivia: I wish, but there’s no access to clean water or food where this person is right now. Ugh, I know
this is hard, this is why I needed your help! Thank you for helping me brainstorm, Sue. And before I
finish this poem, I’d like to preface this by saying I wish I didn’t have to do this.
I wish this were simply an exercise for us to stretch our imaginations,
but this is actually me using my imagination
to communicate to you
what is happening to our humanity.
because the owner of this backpack
is a little boy in Palestine named Ismael,
who was wearing his backpack on his chest
as he stepped out of an ambulance
and a journalist asked him what he had in his backpack.
and as blood dripped heavily
from the bottom of his blue bag
ismael answers,
“in my backpack i have Ahmed,
my dead baby brother.”
my dead
baby
brother.
when i asked you a moment ago
to brainstorm things that belong in a backpack,
there is a reason
you did not suggested that as an answer,
and that’s because
it’s not supposed to be one.