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Do you remember the fables of your youth?
The quickness of breath as the tale rages on?

The exhilaration, thumping beat,
As your mother strangled the follicle of your imagination?
Leaving you breathless, longing, hopeful?

My mother wrote in whispers, as if
Afraid of the words she wrote.
In secret, she would craft worlds of dragons
And fairies, and the scariest beings.

In the morning, leaving trinkets of paper
Around my bed. Instead of the tooth fairy,
I was visited by the writing goblin.

With a voice of flutes and African drums,
The writing goblin would remind me of
Love and family. In a whisper,
It would ask,
“How does the world change for the better?”

And in a shout, I would reply.
“One person at a time”

A dance and spin later, and I am safe in bed.
In the softness of silence, in the stillness of calm.
Rocking back and forth, the only way a child would.
Content and spacious.

Like my mind has not yet found walls.
I am boundless, and the writing goblin tells me,
“I am special”. And I teleport!

To a land of nursery rhymes, golf carts and denim shorts.

Trails of memories line the golf fields.
As tiny white orbs grow to mountains and hills.

In the distance, hesitant smiles are fueled by Jello shots, and pork buns.
Laughter rings true, as T-forms create conversation.
The air smells of contentment and kinship.
How does Joy feel?

Maybe with the stance of a majestic crane,
Or the fear of Canadian geese flying overhead?
Maybe when Jack and Jill score a hole, and
Goldilocks creates jingles to the sound of water flowing.

This is Poetry in Commotion!

When the wish of learning prolongs generational gaps.
As The Band Poison plays underneath talks of the weather, and fanny bags.

I feel serene and calm
We feel serene and calm.

The writing goblin comes back to me.
It says “Love created this world,
Love for the community, love for literature.”

This is a world where characters grow, and
Are fed with rewards for their good works.

And I laugh at their rosy cheeks spiked with glee!

These are the trails of golf carts filled
With companionship and good hearted competitions.

This are the lines of high fives,
Congratulating the hard workers with their cleaned golf clubs.

These are stories, and memories tracing the fresh cut grasses of our youths.

Here, we are young!
Taking on skies of liquid courage while overlooking our kingdom.

We have made it.
Let us exclaim profanities and our plan for a beautiful life
As the white gleam orbs soar through the atmosphere.

What joy, what joy, and it will go on,
And so on, and so on.

With a big stretch, I go back to bed,
Humming the tune of, “the cow goes over the moon.”

-Peace Akintade, Foundations PGI Golf Tournament for Literacy Poet Laureate