The Poet

Adult
A traveler,returning to Aberdeen, Scotland, tells the story of his adventures in America, when he was an agent for a Slam poet. A provocative look into the world of poetry. Some fair and unfair opinions on the nature of poetry and poets, real and imagines. The purists need not indulge their fragile souls. More
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About Ian C. Dawkins Moore

My Biosphere

My name is Ian, in England born
My father’s from the islands, my mum’s from that shore
My youth was spent fleeing xenophobic bores.

I traveled to Athens and Timbuktu
I bathed in Alhambra, Granada too
I could never shake my brooding school.

My American wife dragged me here
My stepdaughter in toe, a brand new sphere
My opposition to the states to five years to clear.

I started again, from scratch in haste
I stared to relearn a new verb, chase
I started to learn a new action, waste.

My endeavors were positive though painfully slow
My dues well paid, eventually did grow
My overnight success took many moons to glow.

I now serve the public civil and clean
I now work the markets and international scene
I now have great credit and a labyrinth machine.

My writing before covered prose and essay
My heroes are Baldwin, Sojinka and Sesay
My novel attempts include travel and jazzy.

I read like a fish that swims in the night
I spend more on books than I have such a right
I meditate, cool out, and stay UN-Tight.

My dreams are to learn the heart of the word
My hopes are to chase that winged bird
My endeavors I pray are to teach and be heard.

I live in Oakland, city caught in a lie
I dwell in environs of many colored eyes
I inhabit a space of love and deep sighs.

My time here now is eight years plus
My memories of home are short and cussed
My life’s irony is to be an English fuss.

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