Cyril Sneer

I wrote a poem whilst away on holiday last week, it's the first time I have written a poem since school although I have written songs. I hope this doesn't contravene the posting rules, this isn't a case of shameless self promotion but mods can delete this post if they deem it to be. Anyway, it's about smoking.

Accusing eyes with faux surprise,
Don't get to see what they despise,
The result of a bad choice made,
The disappointment will not fade,
It's up to me to make the change,
My lifestyle needs to rearrange,
A promise that goes unfulfilled,
The trust in me has long been killed.

katsy

Love Langston Hughes. He has a collection of short stories worth checking out, I want to say the title is BLACK LIKE ME. I got it at a garage sale for 50 cents-- one of those awesome finds.

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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson

katsy

I'm reading this poem next week at an African-American read-in to celebrate Black History Month. I almost went with Soujourner Truth's "Aint I a Woman" which is also below.

"Be Nobody's Darling"
Alice Walker

Be nobody's darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap around
You like a shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Let them look askance at you
And you askance reply.
Be an outcast;
Be pleased to walk alone
(Uncool)
Or line the crowded
River beds
With other impetuous
Fools.

Make a merry gathering
On the bank
Where thousands perished
For brave hurt words
They said.

But be nobody's darling;
Be an outcast.
Qualified to live
Among your dead.

"Ain't I a Woman" -- speech deleivered to a Women's Rights Convention in 1851
Soujourner Truth



"Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that between the ******s of the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all this here talking about?

That man over there say that women needs to be helped into carriages, lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man-when I could get it-and bear the lash as well! And ain't I a woman? and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me. And ain't I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what's this they call it? ['Intellect' someone whispers near.] That's right, honey. What's that got to do with women's rights or ******'s rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, because Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Men had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now that they are asking to do it, the men better let them! Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner has got nothing more to say."

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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson

Laney_Soto

Sleep wise bird
Strong as can be
Independent and stunning
In all of its glory
Across the tree tops
Forever free

Sleep young butterfly
Wings on the moon
Fly away to another world
Where the grass is greener
And fairy tales are the norm

Sleep rising caterpillar
Going to shed the old
Taking in the new
New coat of identity,
Comforting the ancient
Enchanting the young

Sleep new soul,
For tomorrow is a new day.

Body123

Hello, i am a big fan of poetry. I always enjoy to read poem. It is really interesting for me.

bhawika

poetry is awesome .......
i like it.

katsy

OH, this **** is good.

The Quiet World
By Jeffrey McDaniel
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

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Split the Lark-- and you'll find the Music - Emily Dickinson

VEGANGELICA

The poem is darling and funny, katsy!

I especially like the humorous situation in which the man's lover has wastefully used up all her words, while he has saved so many of his words just for her. Even though she didn't save any for him, he still uses the rest of his to tell her the most important thing again and again: "I love you, I love you (etc.), I."

I also like the part where they just sit and listen to each other breathe because they've used up their allotment of words. I guess when one gets prank calls where someone is breathing heavily, that must be what is going on.

For you math buffs out there, I checked if the poem's word math adds up, and, satisfyingly, it does!

The man used...
59 words during the day,
11 words when telling her, "I only used fifty-nine today. I saved the rest for you," (apparently, "fifty-nine" counts as one word rather than two), and
97 words by saying, "I love you" 32 and 1/3 times.

Total words used = 167!

* * *

Today I reread a vivid and realistic poem by Mary Oliver that I first read in 2010 at the memorial service of a family friend, whose relatives printed it on the back of the service program.

I remember my dad was with me that day, and so the poem is bitter-sweet to me, since he has now, like our family friend, also had his mind that was "as lightning" come to nothing.

"Morning Walk" by Mary Oliver

Little by little
the ocean

empties its pockets -
foam and fluff;

and the long, tangled ornateness
of seaweed;

and the whelks,
ribbed or with ivory knobs,

but so knocked about
in the sea's blue hands

that their story is at length only
about the wholeness of destruction -

they come one by one
to the shore,

to the shallows,
to the mussel-dappled rocks,

to the rise to dryness,
to the edge of the town,

to offer, to the measure that we will accept it,
this wisdom:

though the hour be whole,
though the minute be deep and rich,

though the heart be a singer of hot red songs
and the mind be as lightning,

what all the music will come to is nothing,
only the sheets of fog and the fog's blue bell -

you do not believe it now, you are not supposed to.
You do not believe it yet - but you will -

morning by singular morning,
and shell by broken shell.

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VEGANGELICA

I read this sonnet today and was impressed by how deftly the author not only evokes the feeling of the location described, but also portrays the perspective of the visiting vacationer:

"Tourist in India" by Gail White

Monkeys are urban animals in Delhi,
peacocks are city birds. And everywhere
I’m drowned in waves of men who want to sell me
overpriced souvenirs. I fight for air

and reach the marble shores of my hotel.
Thank God for Lutyens! Where would Delhi be
without the British? They used power well,
spread English, trained the boys that serve my tea.

But O seductive East! Today I found
a Hindu temple, entered and was crowned
with marigolds, made puja, walked around
a lingam thrice and sang “Jai Hanuman”
while monkeys chattered and without a sound
my Christian ghost indulgently looked on.

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Mr. Charlie

Nice collection of poems in this thread. Love the Mary Oliver one, and anything by Bukowski.