Dilemma
Time after time a notion comes through my mind,
Should I move on?
Or should I stay at a stand still place.
Though everything seems content …
In this place there is no room for improvement.
I deserve better,
I deserve excitement,
I deserve to be happy.
The only problem is will I chase
After this vision or
Surrender my happiness for my comfort.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, April 9, 2010
Time "Free Verse"
Let me redirect your time,
or better yet redirect your mind.
You keep telling me stories and
I'm just amused by your lies.
I wonder where we are going,
but then I remember it's all
a waste of time. You are a liar
and you will never be mind.
or better yet redirect your mind.
You keep telling me stories and
I'm just amused by your lies.
I wonder where we are going,
but then I remember it's all
a waste of time. You are a liar
and you will never be mind.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
From The Drak Tower
From The Dark Tower
We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made eternally to weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
By: Countee Cullen
Countee Cullen is poet, anthologist, novelist, translator, children's writer, and playwright. I pick this poem, because of the symbols in this poem. In this poem, Cullen expresses the crux of the protest poem which so flourished in the Harlem Renaissance. In poem after poem, articulate young Negroes answered these questions or asked them again, these questions and many more. And in the asking, and in the answering, they were speaking of the old, well-worn (though never quite realized) American ideals. Cullen symbols invariably refer to the natural sequence of things—the hope eventually realized, or the "just deserts" finally obtained. The sowing-reaping symbol here effectively expresses the frustration that inevitably falls to the individual or group of people caught in an unjust system. The image of a person planting the seeds of his labor, knowing even as he plants that "others" will pluck the fruit, is a picture of the frustration which is so often the Negro's lot. These images imply certain questions: What must be the feelings of the one who plants and how long will he continue to plant without reward?
We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made eternally to weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
By: Countee Cullen
Countee Cullen is poet, anthologist, novelist, translator, children's writer, and playwright. I pick this poem, because of the symbols in this poem. In this poem, Cullen expresses the crux of the protest poem which so flourished in the Harlem Renaissance. In poem after poem, articulate young Negroes answered these questions or asked them again, these questions and many more. And in the asking, and in the answering, they were speaking of the old, well-worn (though never quite realized) American ideals. Cullen symbols invariably refer to the natural sequence of things—the hope eventually realized, or the "just deserts" finally obtained. The sowing-reaping symbol here effectively expresses the frustration that inevitably falls to the individual or group of people caught in an unjust system. The image of a person planting the seeds of his labor, knowing even as he plants that "others" will pluck the fruit, is a picture of the frustration which is so often the Negro's lot. These images imply certain questions: What must be the feelings of the one who plants and how long will he continue to plant without reward?
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Poem about My Rights
"Poem about My Rights"
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can't
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can't do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
stay there
alone
as I need to be
alone because I can't do what I want to do with my own
body and
who in the hell set things up
like this
and in France they say if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him after screams if
after begging the bastard and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally you understand finally
they fucked me over because I was wrong I was
wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland
and if
after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to
self-immolation of the villages and if after that
we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what
in the hell is everybody being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father on the campus
of my Ivy League school and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria because he said he
was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying my tuition and
before that
it was my father saying I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a
boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and
that I should have had straighter hair and that
I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should
just be one/a boy and before that
it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for
my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me
to let the books loose to let them loose in other
words
I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.
and the problems of South Africa and the problems
of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white
America in general and the problems of the teachers
and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social
workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very
familiar with the problems because the problems
turn out to be
me
I am the history of rape
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
my self
I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it's about walking out at night
or whether it's about the love that I feel or
whether it's about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and disputably single and singular heart
I have been raped
be-
cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the
wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic
the wrong sartorial I
I have been the meaning of rape
I have been the problem everyone seeks to
eliminate by forced
penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/
but let this be unmistakable this poem
is not consent I do not consent
to my mother to my father to the teachers to
the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy
to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon
idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in
cars
I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can't tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life
By: June Jordan
African-American poet, novelist, and playwright June Jordan wrote for all ages, but her concern for children, especially African-American children, always stood out in her work. In terms of writing for young adults, she is well known for His Own Where, a novel offering hope for those who live in poverty; but Jordan has also created distinguished poetic work for children, including Who Look at Me. In addition to aiming some of her own writings at young readers, Jordan has made efforts to help children write, leading workshops for African-American and Hispanic youngsters and editing a collection of some of their work with Terri Bush in The Voice of the Children. June Jordan, born in 1936, was a revolutionary outspoken, brilliant, talented writer, educator, and activist, who before her death also founded "Poetry for the People" and participated in anti-globalization protests. Her subject matters included issues related to racism, sexism, classism, and many other topics. Jordan passed away in June, 2002, from breast cancer.
I picked this poem, because June Jordan expresses the worth of women throughout her poem. This poem to me captures her voice, pain, rage, and resolution pertaining to a woman’s minds and emotions.
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can't
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can't do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
stay there
alone
as I need to be
alone because I can't do what I want to do with my own
body and
who in the hell set things up
like this
and in France they say if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him after screams if
after begging the bastard and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally you understand finally
they fucked me over because I was wrong I was
wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland
and if
after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to
self-immolation of the villages and if after that
we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what
in the hell is everybody being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father on the campus
of my Ivy League school and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria because he said he
was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying my tuition and
before that
it was my father saying I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a
boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and
that I should have had straighter hair and that
I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should
just be one/a boy and before that
it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for
my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me
to let the books loose to let them loose in other
words
I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.
and the problems of South Africa and the problems
of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white
America in general and the problems of the teachers
and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social
workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very
familiar with the problems because the problems
turn out to be
me
I am the history of rape
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
my self
I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it's about walking out at night
or whether it's about the love that I feel or
whether it's about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and disputably single and singular heart
I have been raped
be-
cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the
wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic
the wrong sartorial I
I have been the meaning of rape
I have been the problem everyone seeks to
eliminate by forced
penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/
but let this be unmistakable this poem
is not consent I do not consent
to my mother to my father to the teachers to
the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy
to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon
idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in
cars
I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can't tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life
By: June Jordan
African-American poet, novelist, and playwright June Jordan wrote for all ages, but her concern for children, especially African-American children, always stood out in her work. In terms of writing for young adults, she is well known for His Own Where, a novel offering hope for those who live in poverty; but Jordan has also created distinguished poetic work for children, including Who Look at Me. In addition to aiming some of her own writings at young readers, Jordan has made efforts to help children write, leading workshops for African-American and Hispanic youngsters and editing a collection of some of their work with Terri Bush in The Voice of the Children. June Jordan, born in 1936, was a revolutionary outspoken, brilliant, talented writer, educator, and activist, who before her death also founded "Poetry for the People" and participated in anti-globalization protests. Her subject matters included issues related to racism, sexism, classism, and many other topics. Jordan passed away in June, 2002, from breast cancer.
I picked this poem, because June Jordan expresses the worth of women throughout her poem. This poem to me captures her voice, pain, rage, and resolution pertaining to a woman’s minds and emotions.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
"Puppy Love" My Prose Poem
Puppy Love (Prose Poem)
Back when I was a little girl, I fell in love with my first crush. I met him in the sandbox during recess and by naptime; I planned our whole life together. We were to be married July 17, 2006 at my family church. I would walk down the aisle wearing a stunning white gown holding my dad’s arm and he would be waiting for me in his all black tuxedo. After the exchanging of our vows, we would live happily ever after like all the fairytales I read about. However, my fairytale started to change towards the end of the day, when my crush on this boy started to fade away. My crush started to fade away, when I seen his best friend walking my way.
Back when I was a little girl, I fell in love with my first crush. I met him in the sandbox during recess and by naptime; I planned our whole life together. We were to be married July 17, 2006 at my family church. I would walk down the aisle wearing a stunning white gown holding my dad’s arm and he would be waiting for me in his all black tuxedo. After the exchanging of our vows, we would live happily ever after like all the fairytales I read about. However, my fairytale started to change towards the end of the day, when my crush on this boy started to fade away. My crush started to fade away, when I seen his best friend walking my way.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
"Good Night, Willie Lee, I'll See You in the Morning"
"Good Night, Willie Lee, I'll See You in the Morning"
Looking down into my fathers
dead face
for the last time
my mother said without
tears, without smiles
but with civility
"Good night, Willie Lee, Ill see you
in the morning."
And it was then I knew that the healing
of all our wounds
is forgiveness
that permits a promise
of our return
at the end.
By: Alice Walker
I picked this poem, because I believe it is an great interpretation of a elegy poem. Because how the woman knows her husband is dead, but she still looks down at him and say “I’ll see you in the morning.” Walker uses this poem to display the destructive results of a woman's need for a love relationship with a man. Her images of pain and death, suggest the physical and mental stress on a woman in this double bind. Walker uses this poem to show the continuing vulnerability of heart and body, but we also see hints of an emerging awareness of woman's equal need, and increasing ability, to resist abuse.
Looking down into my fathers
dead face
for the last time
my mother said without
tears, without smiles
but with civility
"Good night, Willie Lee, Ill see you
in the morning."
And it was then I knew that the healing
of all our wounds
is forgiveness
that permits a promise
of our return
at the end.
By: Alice Walker
I picked this poem, because I believe it is an great interpretation of a elegy poem. Because how the woman knows her husband is dead, but she still looks down at him and say “I’ll see you in the morning.” Walker uses this poem to display the destructive results of a woman's need for a love relationship with a man. Her images of pain and death, suggest the physical and mental stress on a woman in this double bind. Walker uses this poem to show the continuing vulnerability of heart and body, but we also see hints of an emerging awareness of woman's equal need, and increasing ability, to resist abuse.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Juke Box Love Song
Juke Box Love Song
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.
By: Langston Hughes
I love this poem, because Langston Hughes uses a literary point to explain the love he has for Harlem and a pass relationship. I love this poem, because it is basically Langston Hughes’s view of jazz and his environment in relation to Harlem, New York. The environment in which everything is represented makes it very clear that all of these elements are detailed very clearly through descriptive words and he still involves his acts against stereotyping in general in the poem by stating,” Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.” To me this part talks about a pass relationship in Harlem that Langston Hughes had and this poem was a way for him to reminisce on the times they spent together.
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.
By: Langston Hughes
I love this poem, because Langston Hughes uses a literary point to explain the love he has for Harlem and a pass relationship. I love this poem, because it is basically Langston Hughes’s view of jazz and his environment in relation to Harlem, New York. The environment in which everything is represented makes it very clear that all of these elements are detailed very clearly through descriptive words and he still involves his acts against stereotyping in general in the poem by stating,” Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.” To me this part talks about a pass relationship in Harlem that Langston Hughes had and this poem was a way for him to reminisce on the times they spent together.
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