— adam donaldson powell

Casual street profiling 

Eyes sweep the street.

A cluster of teenagers—
skin noted before thought,
age bracket filed,
mostly boys,
hoods, trainers,
the loose-shouldered rhythm
of their walk.

Ears gather fragments:
vowels stretched,
consonants clipped,
a dialect carried
on the evening air.

The evidence rises
through hidden corridors.

No jury convenes.
No witness is sworn.

Already the verdict forms.

Potential trouble.
Potential threat.
Keep your distance.

The body receives
the brain’s quiet memorandum.

Shoulders tighten
by a fraction.

The jaw firms.

The stride lengthens,
not enough to run,
just enough to leave.

Face arranged
into studied neutrality—
neither challenge
nor invitation.

Pass unnoticed.
Pass unharmed.

Only later,
when the street is empty,
does another voice arrive:

How much was seen?

How much was supplied?

The eyes delivered shapes,
colours,
sounds.

The mind delivered a story.

And somewhere between
observation and conclusion,
between teenager and thug,
between stranger and danger,

the oldest instinct
had already begun
writing the ending

___________________________

under-estimation at workplace 

She arrived with a notebook full of margins,
blank spaces waiting for names,
for systems,
for the unwritten map of who mattered.

The office was busy with its own reflection.
Conversations looped around familiar faces
like vines around old stone.
She learned the coffee machine,
the passwords,
the habit of raising a hand
just slightly too late.

Questions drifted past her
as though she were part of the furniture—
a chair with opinions,
a desk with a pulse.

Then one afternoon,
someone turned toward her.

“What do you think?”

The room tilted.
At last, an opening.
A door unlocked.

She began carefully,
assembling thought into sentence,
sentence into meaning.

“Well, I think the issue is—”

But before the thought could cross the distance,
the questioner had already turned away,
their attention swinging elsewhere.

“Mark, what’s your take?”

And her unfinished words
hung in the air like a coat
nobody intended to wear.

The conversation moved on
without the inconvenience of hearing her.

Yet underestimation is a peculiar thing.
It mistakes silence for emptiness.
It assumes an unopened book
contains no story.

Weeks later,
when a problem arrived
that certainty could not solve,
the room found itself tracing paths
she had quietly mapped.

The answer was there,
waiting in notes no one had asked to see,
in observations gathered from the edges,
where overlooked people learn everything.

And when she spoke,
the room finally held still.

Not because her voice had changed,
but because evidence had become impossible to ignore.

The irony of underestimation
is that it says more about the observer
than the observed.

A star does not brighten
the moment someone notices it.
It was burning all along.

____________________________

Subtle and unintentional under-estimation in the family home

The Middle Child

No one decided it.

There was no meeting,
no vote,
no family decree.

It happened the way dust gathers
on a shelf no one notices anymore.

The oldest carried expectations
like a heavy crown.
Every triumph was celebrated,
every stumble discussed,
every future carefully examined.

The youngest arrived
with the gravity of newness,
drawing smiles from tired faces,
gathering tenderness
simply by being small.

And in between them,

a child learned how to vanish.

Not completely.

Just enough.

Enough to make his own breakfast.
Enough to solve his own problems.
Enough to hear,
“You’re fine, right?”
instead of,
“Tell me more.”

His report card would be glanced at.
His siblings’ would be unfolded,
studied,
followed by questions.

How did the test go?
Are you excited?
What happened next?

For him,
the conversation often stopped
at the first answer.

Good.

Okay.

That’s nice.

A bridge built halfway across the river.

He became skilled at shrinking.
At making no trouble.
At carrying disappointments
without setting them down
where anyone might trip over them.

People called him independent.

They never wondered
where he learned it.

Never noticed that self-sufficiency
can be a lonely language,
spoken by children
who stop expecting someone
to stay for the second half
of the conversation.

Years passed.

The family praised his resilience,
his calmness,
his ability to handle things alone.

As though these were gifts.

As though they had not been forged
from unanswered questions
and unopened doors.

Yet beneath the silence,
he grew.

Roots do not ask permission
before they deepen.

And one day,
looking back,
he understood something:

Disappearing had never been
his true nature.

It had simply been
the shape of the space
left for him.

The tragedy was not
that he had too little worth.

It was that the people who loved him
had measured him
with distracted eyes.

And still,
despite it all,

he remained.

Waiting not to be rescued,
not to be chosen over anyone else,

but simply
to be seen
for the whole length
of a sentence.

___________________________

Under-estimation at work: foreign employee ignored normally, but  suddenly put on the spot as a  momentary diversion:

a polyglot’s hell (deer in headlights) 

He spoke in cases, genders, tones,
In rolled R’s and glottal groans;
Could order beer in Latvian,
Discuss Proust in Serbian,

Explain, with scholarly precision,
The optative mood’s elusive vision,
And casually decline a noun
While trains in Prague were breaking down.

He’d whisper Finnish vowel chains
Like sleigh bells ringing through the plains,
And conjugate through seven tenses
With monk-like calm and iron senses.

But then — catastrophe arrived.

A coworker swiveled. Someone smiled.
A silence spread. A trap was laid
With all the subtlety of a marching band parade.

“Oh wow,” they said, “you know Thai too?
Say something! Go on! Anything will do!”

And suddenly his brain went white.
The servers crashed. There was no light.
His knowledge fled without a trace
Like startled pigeons into space.

French abandoned him mid-stride.
The German hid. The Swedes denied.
Mandarin climbed out a rear escape
Disguised beneath a table drape.

He stood there blinking, rigid, pale,
A woodland creature sensing jail.
A polyglot of great renown
Reduced to circus monkey-clown.

“Uh…”

A bead of sweat.

“…bonjour?”

They clapped as if he’d trained a seal
To juggle codfish on a wheel.

“WOW! Again! Say more! That’s sick!
Do the accent! Talk real quick!”

Now every language he had known
Curled up and died behind his bone.
The ancient verbs, the subtle tones,
Collapsed like poorly stacked trombones.

For this was not a conversation.
This was impromptu cabaret vocation.
Not “Tell me what you love or think,”
But “Dance, professor! Squawk in Basque! Perform in Greek! Recite in sync!”

And somewhere deep within his soul,
Past every textbook, chart, and goal,
A tiny voice cried out in pain:

“I learned Uzbek to read the trains.
Not to become your party trick, Karen.”

____________________________

Essay: Not just a poet

Not Just a Poet

Poets are often imagined as dreamers who dwell among metaphors, memories, and private emotions. Yet throughout history, many of the world’s most celebrated poets have also been keen observers of politics, social upheaval, war, injustice, and cultural change. Their gifts with language did not remain confined to verse. Through essays, articles, lectures, and public commentary, they became influential interpreters of their times. Their prose, like their poetry, illuminated the world’s most urgent problems and challenged readers to think more deeply about current events. They were not just poets; they were public intellectuals.

One of the most remarkable examples is George Orwell. Although remembered primarily as a novelist and essayist, Orwell began his literary career as a poet and retained a poet’s sensitivity to language throughout his life. His essays, including “Politics and the English Language” and “The Lion and the Unicorn,” remain among the most incisive analyses of propaganda, nationalism, and political manipulation ever written. Orwell recognized that the corruption of language often precedes the corruption of truth. His essays continue to resonate in an age of misinformation, demonstrating how literary craftsmanship can serve democratic vigilance.

Another towering figure is Octavio Paz, the Mexican poet, diplomat, and Nobel laureate. Paz wrote essays of extraordinary breadth and elegance on politics, culture, history, and modernity. In works such as The Labyrinth of Solitude, he explored questions of national identity while also addressing broader global concerns about freedom, authoritarianism, and the relationship between tradition and progress. His prose sparkles with intellectual curiosity and philosophical insight, proving that poetry and rigorous social analysis can coexist in the same mind.

The Irish poet Seamus Heaney also contributed significantly to public discourse through his essays and lectures. Living through the Troubles in Northern Ireland, Heaney grappled with questions of violence, memory, and reconciliation. His essays did not offer simplistic political solutions. Instead, they explored how literature helps societies confront conflict and preserve human dignity amid turmoil. Heaney believed that language could become a bridge between opposing communities, and his prose reflected a deep commitment to moral complexity.

Among contemporary figures, Margaret Atwood stands out as both poet and essayist. While widely known for her novels, Atwood’s poetry established her literary reputation. Her essays address environmental degradation, technological change, human rights, censorship, and gender equality. With wit and clarity, she examines some of the defining challenges of the twenty-first century. Her nonfiction demonstrates how literary imagination can sharpen public understanding of issues that affect the future of humanity.

The Nobel Prize-winning poet Joseph Brodsky likewise produced essays of lasting significance. Exiled from the Soviet Union, Brodsky wrote eloquently about freedom, totalitarianism, exile, and the responsibilities of artists in society. His essays reveal a powerful conviction that literature is not merely an ornament of culture but a safeguard against tyranny. Through elegant prose, he argued that the cultivation of language strengthens individual independence and moral judgment.

One cannot discuss poet-essayists without mentioning T. S. Eliot. Although best known for poems such as The Waste Land, Eliot was also one of the twentieth century’s most influential literary critics and essayists. His essays on culture, religion, and literature helped shape modern intellectual debate. Even when readers disagreed with his conclusions, they admired the precision and sophistication of his arguments. Eliot demonstrated that a poet’s analytical abilities can be as formidable as his imaginative ones.

More recently, poets such as Adrienne Rich have used essays to address contemporary social issues directly. Rich wrote passionately about feminism, democracy, inequality, and the politics of language. Her prose combines intellectual rigor with moral urgency, encouraging readers to question established structures of power. For Rich, writing was not merely an artistic endeavor but a form of civic engagement.

What unites these figures is their belief that language matters profoundly in public life. Their essays do more than comment on current events; they reveal underlying patterns, challenge complacency, and expand the boundaries of public conversation. The poet’s attention to nuance, rhythm, and meaning enables these writers to see connections that others may overlook. As essayists, they bring imagination to analysis and humanity to debate.

In an era marked by rapid technological change, geopolitical tensions, environmental crises, and information overload, the example of these poet-essayists remains especially valuable. They remind us that public discourse benefits from voices capable of combining intellectual depth with artistic sensitivity. Their essays prove that poetry is not an escape from reality but another way of engaging with it.

The phrase “not just a poet” captures an essential truth about these writers. Their achievements in verse earned them admiration, but their essays expanded their influence beyond literature. They became interpreters of history, critics of injustice, defenders of freedom, and commentators on the pressing issues of their day. Through both poetry and prose, they demonstrated the enduring power of language to illuminate the world and inspire thoughtful action.

—Adam Donaldson Powell

___________________________

Quote:

Verily, my poems are both short stories and full essays; and my essays are often pure poetry. I under-estimate neither form.

— Adam Donaldson Powell