Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
A Poem for Dreamers
A Poem for Dreamers
Written by ShyPoet1
You lean into my eyes and you see rivers
Old rivers that stagnate in the past
Their fingers touch floors of this world
And wrap around the Blackness of my skin
Muddy, long, wet rivers
Like my 'peoples' path
And they flow everywhere
In the deep brown scars in my eyes
You see how things used to be ...
Pyramids
And chains
And master mentality arrangements ...
Rigged hard like hot cotton fields
And you hope they never change
You see what you were told to see,
But, I, only wanted you to see me
Now I talk to rivers
And the rivers talk back to me
They linger like dreams
And spread their life to everywhere
Like my 'peoples'
Even on the shores of a defeatist society ...
Now I walk in deserts
Deserts of broken hopes and dreams
They seem to be everywhere ...
Black and White and blue ... - Yellow too
Now I see deserts of my people
But, I'm left wondering if ...
They truly see themselves?
As these old rivers, and truth, dry up to dust ....
So many rivers have flowed through us
In bright and lustrous hearts
Poets remind us of what we can still be,
Maya
Langston
Malcolm X and Martin too ...
And many new Poets flew ...
No, not like raisons dying in the sun
No, not like servants and lesser things
No, not like inferiors and a doomed beings ...
But, like Captains and Presidents
Soon we'll be Saints and Saviors too ...
And all American heroes for you ...
Dreamers and cloud walkers
My 'peoples', my hopes
-- All walked inside the dream
They made dreams reality;
In the highlands and the low lands
The rivers flowed ...
In dark darkness and smooth light
Like my 'peoples'
Each one of them, will love you too ...
And someday, the rivers
Like my 'peoples'
Shall flow again
Great the vision and dreams
Wise the rivers flow ...
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Mom & Me & Mom,
from Mom & Me & Mom, by Maya Angelou (2013), to share with you
Frequently, I have been asked how I got to be this way. How did I, born black in a white country, poor in a society where wealth is adored and sought after at all costs, female in an environment where only large ships and some engines are described favorably by using the female pronoun—how did I get to be Maya Angelou?
Many times I have wanted to quote Topsy, the young black girl in Uncle Tom’s Cabin. I have been tempted to say, “I dunno. I just growed.” I never used that response, for a number of reasons. First, because I read the book in my early teens and the ignorant black girl embarrassed me. Second, I knew that I had become the woman I am because of the grandmother I loved and the mother I came to adore.
Their love informed, educated, and liberated me. I lived with my paternal grandmother from the time I was three years old until I was thirteen. My grandmother never kissed me during those years. However, when she had company, she would summon me to stand in front of her visitors. Then she would stroke my arms asking, “Have you ever seen arms more beautiful, straight as a plank and brown as peanut butter?” Or she would give me a tablet and a pencil. She would call out numbers to me in front of her company.
“All right sister, put 242, then 380, then 174, then 419; now add that.” She would speak to the visitors, “Now watch. Her uncle Willie has timed her. She can finish that in two minutes. Just wait.”
When I told the answer, she would beam with pride. “See? My little professor.”
Love heals. Heals and liberates. I use the word love, not meaning sentimentality, but a condition so strong that it may be that which holds the stars in their heavenly positions and that which causes the blood to flow orderly in our veins.
This book has been written to examine some of the ways love heals and helps a person to climb impossible heights and rise from immeasurable depths.
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Friday, April 12, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Black Girls Rock! Thanks to real Black men (playlist)
Poetry can be found as lyrics in a song. Here is example of beautiful and meaningful lyrics which really is a form of poetry as shown here in this video. Think of this as poetry as you listen to this song.
Who Is Sara Baartman Every black woman should know her name
Listen to this astonishing history lesson about this historical black woman. Then the amazing poem which follows will become much more meaningful. This is suitable only for the mature.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
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