1515 Poplar Ave., Richmond, CA 94805-1662
(510) 235-0361 firstname.lastname@example.org www.dancingpoetry.com
Richard Angilly is President of the Ina Coolbrith Circle (founded by California’s first Poet Laureate), Treasurer and Poet-in-Residence of Artists Embassy International (AEI), and coordinator of the annual Poets’ Dinner, which celebrated its 92nd year on March 24, 2018. As a Laureate Man of Letters, honored by United Poets Laureate International (UPLI) in 1986, he is a co-founder and performer with NaticaAngilly’s Poetic Dance Theater Company, and has performed for over thirty years in many national and international events and ceremonies. They bring poetry to life annually in the Dancing Poetry Festival, now in its 25th year, which will be held at the San Francisco California Palace of the Legion of Honor on Sept. 15, 2018, and were recently honored by the state of California. He was also one of the first to research and computerize the American language for teachers, while working at the Southwest Regional Education Laboratory. His books of poetry include: APOEMS OF ILLUMINATION@, AORGANIC MUSIC@, ACHANTS@, AMYSTIC ROOTS@, and many other poems in current anthologies.
Winds of strange born destinies
range my limits.
amidst the stars’ banquet.
I give them my feet
my earthbound dust
to be resouled.
I fly —
upon the fog’s carpet
above the trees
above the ridges
out past the Channel Islands.
my body’s density.
this new trick
this unearthly flight.
My voice is lifted
to lessen my weight.
We answer the call
sung out in all ages.
We follow that call
which flows from moon to sun.
We are here, sparks of life,
poets of the call, its song.
We sing out our calling —
our song from one to all.
We sing in all voices —
sing with our rhythm, our form.
We come from many nations
— a rush in our river of song.
We break into all silence —
sing praise in many names.
We are that truth, carry that light
— we sing, we echo our call !
We are all truly poets of the call!
Many centuries of grain
grinding, stooped-over work
humans& rice glow in the sun
steady, back & forth polishing
pictures framed in archways.
A girl washes her hair
along the stream, lotus blossoms
water buffalo, chickens, pigs
encaptured in earthy charm
along the slowly moving water.
Tropical lushness hides
walkways arched in walls
ghosts in the village
people continuously alive.
Going beyond these points of light,
I journey within this web, this wonder —
visioning through all these pinholes in space,
transitioning myself into a brilliant channel
— splashing light!
I travel upon its sinews, its clues,
coating it with every color I need.
Beaming my senses beyond dreams,
I transmit myself into very unusual documents.
I become an envelope which never seals,
flashing strange stamps and foreign addresses.
Light years away, I reappear —
wearing a mask of feathers and bark,
dancing to a rhythm I alone hear.
I turn these pulses onto my back,
paint my body with unseen sounds
— then vibrate into myriad incarnations.
So, I become a dream-walker, sailing in time,
watching all beings, these marvelous delights,
play with their chorus, their dance, their emotion.
Ah, caught within this bright beam, I gladly ride
— looking at the midnight sky —
I surround myself with all this presence,
touch so many places I cannot name,
follow its patterns until my consciousness subsides.
Then, opening again into a magic wand,
I gradually disappear within the starlight.
Lost under wide Chinese hats
they squat beside their black bags
slowly, patiently weeding across the park
Lost amidst the swarm of motorbikes
they sweep & sweep with their straw brooms
cleaning out all the garbage in the gutters
Lost alongside colorful political parades
they roam through alleyways seeking trash
dragging their thickening bags behind them
Found beyond the labors of the day
they drink healthy soup beside their TVs
watching Jackie Chan clean up devils from the world
Let’s put that on the other side of the waves
behind the cloud silhouetted in flame
the country with no name.
I send my birds to find it.
They bring back fruits —
their wings are bathed in exotic perfumes
their eyes tell me stories.
Our nights welcome strange dwellers
the mist is on the land.
Responses are ghosts, dance around us
entertain new shapes, shadows
form intersecting patterns across your body.
You swing down, under, thru me
our legs become vines,
play with the trunks.
Fast spiders, our lips, our nose.
Our mind runs backwards, slows,
enters, swarms thru us, out our toes.
We are quiet, our raft flows.
The night has no answers, passes
turns our questions into patchwork.
We need to send out more birds.