Joe Kidd is a distinguished poet, writer, and cultural ambassador whose work bridges art, peace, and social consciousness. Author of The Invisible Waterhole and Digging Underground/Portrait of a Beat Poet Laureate, he has been honored as Beat Poet Laureate (2022–2024) and continues to inspire through his role as Cultural Director and Ambassador of Peace. Recognized as the Official Poet of the Government of Birland and recipient of an Honorary Doctorate, Kidd was also nominated for the 2025 Pushcart Prize. His affiliations with the National & International Beat Poet Foundation, 100K Poets for Change, and other global organizations highlight his dedication to literature and activism. Beyond poetry, Kidd is a celebrated musician, inducted into the Michigan Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. With tours across Europe, Mexico, Jamaica, and the USA, his voice resonates worldwide. Through his art, he uplifts humanity, advocating for unity, justice, and enduring hope.
A SUFI MOON
at dawn, alone, I set the sail
the ocean, a faint hypnotic rhythm
creation's harmonious symphony
my body moved, yet my spirit slept
a drop of water, an infinite sea
at noon the sun was in its glory
"oh god in heaven, what have I done?"
the rope still tied to the mooring dock
I journeyed far, but traveled not
beyond the lengths of these earthly bonds
I now relinquish the navigation
and overboard, pass the turning wheel
surrendering to a foreign justice
a presence worth submitting to
to gain the freedom of a mission
of souls together in solitude
one mirror, shattered, becomes a million
reflections of an image true
a view of what cannot be seen
as night turns over, in its grave
that vision as it looks at you
the captain of this vessel, now
commanding forth the invisible wind
"safe passage" cries a human voice
an outstretched arm from unmeasured depths
a sign of peace, and mercy's quest
Urn Day
creator almighty
creator of the universe
creator of soil
creator of soul
creator of holiness
creator of yourself
today we bow deep and low
to the mysteries before us
today we rest upon the remains of history
the psalms and proverbs speaking clearly
the legends of ancestors awake and mobile
in languages silent except for the weeping of willows
where the serpent hides
today we bend and stretch and fold the fabric of time in which we are clothed
we collect with clean hands the past from which we came
and the future to which we shall return
today the earth is not the earth
today we walk upon the farthest star
today we are the triangle, the tripod, the prism in light
we have discovered the proof that creatures seek
countless lives, one upon the other
endless love, the heart of our mother
today is the day we stop the world
to sing our cemetery songs
the ghosts alive, the spirits in flight
the urgency of life together
fearless, we must live forever
Liberate et Deum
who now seen again
from a different angle
holding a rose
'neath an evergreen
a monument standing
silent and still
a cloud casting shade
above your sweet face
a blanket pulled high
across your shoulders
there a solitary votive
in the peaceful air
an unnecessary element
in the room tonight
of human hands
this timeless beauty
immortalized by
so mortal an effort
upon an eye
a light, a beacon
a shadow dances
across the green
an undeniable fragment
scattered by
one private prism
that unseen
no social utterance
abandoned to claim
nor target donated
to absorb the aim
move slowly, directed
oh, fragile one
as a carried leaf upon the wind
to your destination yet unnamed
your seat of refuge yet unfound
one day has ended one soul unbound
MA SALAMA SITTO
now as I sit in the middle of the courtyard
glass and concrete raining from the sky
the ground beneath my body rumbling violently
smoke and fire burning everywhere
my neighbors running blindly through the street
fathers screaming, mothers’ endless wailing
blackened bodies lifeless on the corner
others blown apart among the rubble
this is not the dream that I could wake from
this is really happening before my eyes
I tried to stand, to walk, to run for shelter
but my thoughts could not convince my legs to move
I could not recall the impact or the inferno
but my heart was telling me I was still alive
Sitto, Sitto, please wake up
she lay face down in a pool of blood
her shoes were scattered across the road
what could I possibly have known
or understood beyond the fear and pain
the softness of the hand that once held mine
now turned to stone, broken, cold as ice
this beauty that had taught me how to kneel
and pray for Allah’s perfect peace
this voice that sang so softly as I slept
and lit the votive candle at my bed
from the north in Tripoli she traveled
to meet the boy to whom she offered grace
I remember the days before the blood and hunger
before the sound of rockets filled the air
when days were filled with dandelions and flat bread
tonight I have no home, no food, no family
before tomorrow’s sun, I surely will be dead
