My work is romantic, unruly and unapologetic. My poetry employs time travel in the service of encapsulating moments, hoarding memories, and dancing around the ideal of freedom. I write love into every poem in remembrance of bell hooks. My poems are playful and experimental. However, they are born through spiritual practice. Therefore, my poems arrive naturally as my hand becomes the extraordinary machine linking my ideas to its fingertips. I stretch out my hands, roll my wrists around, crack my knuckles and grab a pen. Then I begin to trace my thoughts onto paper, weaving ideas together to create a poem.
The function of my poetry aims to interact with the five senses: taste, touch, see, hear and smell. My poetry immerses the reader in those senses, and guides them down a healing path. My work connects to a lineage of healers in my ancestry and calls upon the Asante Sankofa tradition that recognizes our past to inform our future. My poetry serves as a rite of passage into the often-kept-secret world of joy that resides in Blackness. It questions whether or not Black joy is a radical act, allowing it to exist freely and normally as creative work. With that being said, it does not simply just hold one note. It frolics up and down the major scale, releasing repressed trauma and saying out loud the exact things that most people would keep a secret. Vulnerability is embedded in my work.
My work acknowledges the reflective nature of my literary ancestors. The remnants of James Baldwin and Maya Angelou lay like seasoning on my words; I let them use their wings and take flight. My work aligns with my spiritual path, a path riddled with trials, errors, mistakes and experiments. My work refuses to be boxed into categories or conform to one style. And my words reinforce my humanity while uplifting my Blackness. They are honest and vulnerable but also brave and curious.
My poetry does not tip-toe around quietly. It stomps around, kicks and screams and most importantly, cries. Almost as much as it dances, sings, and whispers whimsical tales inside of ears. It cradles the sorrows of Black people and reimagines the world as a safe place to explore. My poems are like wishing wells. Sometimes drenched in sorrow, and sometimes soft and sweet. But always very, very, Black.
Your Angel Ash 💌
P.S., you can find all of the links to the poetry on this blog down below