Tag Archives: poetry

Friday’s Haiku- On Growing up in WV

these hills are mine, green

mounds of love bearing burdens

of a lost people

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Childhoood

Honeysuckle innocence

Walking to Shawnee park, avoiding cars, unsupervised

Running to get the merry go round to go really really fast

Fleeing neighborhood dogs

Purchasing candy, (or a hamburger) from Andy’s-which is no longer there

I remember walking around campus with my beautiful mother. I thought everyone’s mom was called Doctor. 

I didn’t drink koolaid. No sugar in my cereal

Just hamburgers and milk- and chocolate chip cookies…

to the man who raped me (f*** Bill Cosby)

I am not less than because you violated me.

What once was freely given now drily observed and consumed

I have no voice, screams dissolve in deaf ears, muted by rough hands and a baritone voice making it known that resistance is futile

I am not less than, but I am not the same.

Forever stained with the knowledge

that my will is not enough

my no is not enough

my heartbreak is not enough to stop hands that would take from me that which is most sacredly mine to give.

I am not less than because I tried to pretend it did not happen, going through motions until I collapse under the shame and pain- the gargantuan weight of the memory

of rough hands that would take

that which is not yours to consume.

-Lady in Yellow

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/angry/”>Angry</a&gt;

(c) Lady in Yellow, 2016, All rights reserved.

 

Le sporting-club de Monte Carlo (for Lena Horne)-James Baldwin

The lady is a tramp
        a camp
        a lamp
The lady is a sight
        a might
        a light
the lady devastated
an alley or two
reverberated through the valley
which leads to me, and you
the lady is the apple
of God’s eye:
He’s cool enough about it
but He tends to strut a little
when she passes by
the lady is a wonder
daughter of the thunder
smashing cages
legistlating rages
with the voice of ages
singing us through.

A woman speaks- Audre Lorde . . . Thursday’s Woman Poet

A Woman Speaks

Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
look into the entrails of Uranus
where the restless oceans pound.
I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.
I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon’s new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.

Friday’s Poem- Nikki Giovanni

CHOICES

If i can’t do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don’t want
to do
It’s not the same thing
but it’s the best i can
do
If i can’t have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i’ve got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want
Since i can’t go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn’t lateral
When i can’t express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
I know
but that’s why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry

Nikki Giovanni

Tea at the Palaz of Hoon

purple-flower

 

Not less because in purple I descended
The western day through what you called
The loneliest air, not less was I myself.

What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard?
What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears?
What was the sea whose tide swept through me there?

Out of my mind the golden ointment rained,
And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard.
I was myself the compass of that sea:

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
Or heard or felt came not but from myself;
And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

-Wallace Stevens