“And I realize that no matter where I am,
whether in a little room full of thought,
or in this endless universe of stars and mountains,
it’s all in my mind.”
~Jack Kerouac
It hurts everywhere 3 #iNeedFeminismBecause
1
It hurts everywhere
By Emily Dickinson
I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –
I note that Some – gone patient long –
At length, renew their smile –
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil –
I wonder if when Years have piled –
Some Thousands – on the Harm –
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm –
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve –
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love –
The Grieved – are many – I am told –
There is the various Cause –
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes –
There’s Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –
A sort they call “Despair” –
There’s Banishment from native Eyes –
In sight of Native Air –
it hurts everywhere #ParisAttacks #Beirut #iNeedFeminismBecause Warsan Shire
“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”
― Warsan Shire
Akua Lezli Hope RESIGNATION Rattle.com
RESIGNATION
I cannot justify making students cry,
the disorder is in the system.
Too small to span the keyboard, hands shake trying
behaviors far beyond them in the curriculum.
The disorder is in the system.
They cry with frustration. They must attempt
behaviors far beyond them in the curriculum,
scored on wildly inappropriate assessments.
They cry with frustration. They must attempt
poorly written tests. Their shoulders slump. Some misbehave.
Scored on wildly inappropriate assessments,
teachers are regimented, punished if they deviate.
Children hunt for letters they must attempt
but cannot read. Disorder is in the system.
“How the River” by Julia Runcie
Beautiful view of city and backlands. I like the poem better starting in the middle. The whole poem is at the bottom.
Julia Runcie
HOW THE RIVER
…
I know the city is not less simply
because I want less of it.
But how different it is, now,
to wade across the tumbled creek
when once I crossed
the out-flung arms of bridges
and was speechless at their beauty
and never for a moment thought
of how the river lay
beneath the bridge.
.
.
The whole poem:
Julia Runcie
HOW THE RIVER
Strange that for so many years
I walked among the peopled buildings
and did not think of mountains.
I took my comfort
in the streetlight
and the stoplight.
I lay not wakeful
for the owl’s low hooting in the canyon.
I know the city is not less simply
because I want less of it.
But how different it is, now,
to wade across the tumbled creek
when once I crossed
the out-flung arms of bridges
and was speechless at their beauty
and never for a moment thought
of how the river lay
beneath the bridge.
Pamela Sneed Say Her Name Black Lives Matter
I had just begun to relax
celebrate the marriage equality ruling
I had just begun feeling with Obama I was
watching Ali in trouble off the ropes
delivering to his opponents the rope-a-dope
my fathers eyes
excitement
I was just beginning to breathe air
feel exhilirated at images of
Joe Biden and President Obama running
down halls of the White House with rainbow flags
like boys with kites-soaring
I was just beginning to forgive deaths of my brothers
to Aids
not forget
there should stil be tribunals
for them and every woman abused
by the medical system
I had just begun to turn a corner on Mike Brown, Freddie Gray
Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, The massacre at AME
not think of it all everyday
Then the police kill this young Black girl in custody in Texas
claim she committed suicide
I remember we’re a war nation
in war times
I imagine how James, Bayard, Nina felt
seeing a nation turn its dogs, teeth, gas, hoses, bullets,
on children, adults, humans
I cant stop thinking about Steve Biko
his battered face
they say he hung himself too
the worlds outrage
who will pray now
for us
America
celebrate the marriage equality ruling
I had just begun feeling with Obama I was
watching Ali in trouble off the ropes
delivering to his opponents the rope-a-dope
my fathers eyes
excitement
I was just beginning to breathe air
feel exhilirated at images of
Joe Biden and President Obama running
down halls of the White House with rainbow flags
like boys with kites-soaring
I was just beginning to forgive deaths of my brothers
to Aids
not forget
there should stil be tribunals
for them and every woman abused
by the medical system
I had just begun to turn a corner on Mike Brown, Freddie Gray
Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, The massacre at AME
not think of it all everyday
Then the police kill this young Black girl in custody in Texas
claim she committed suicide
I remember we’re a war nation
in war times
I imagine how James, Bayard, Nina felt
seeing a nation turn its dogs, teeth, gas, hoses, bullets,
on children, adults, humans
I cant stop thinking about Steve Biko
his battered face
they say he hung himself too
the worlds outrage
who will pray now
for us
America
Political Language
Never Again, arbeit macht frei
remember, remember, we’re all in this together
labour isn’t working, yes we can
lest we forget, ich bin ein berliner
remember pearl harbour
half the sky
new labour new danger
arbeit macht frei
long live the indissoluble union
of the working class, kolkhoz peasantry, and national intelligentsia!
educationeducationeducation
we’re all in this together
ain’t no black in the union jack
are you thinking what we’re thinking
taking our country back
labour isn’t working
smite the leftists and save israel!
one heart, one mind, one korea
i’ve never voted tory before
ich bin ein berliner
Never Again
“I hear only the quiet earth, thawing underneath” Obi Nwakanma
“I hear only the quiet earth, thawing underneath”
Obi Nwakanma
“My Prince” by Nathalia Bernstein (hat tip Rattle.com)
MY PRINCE
My prince is not coming on a white horse
but on a turtle.
That is why it will take so long
before we are together.
Heather Bell I HAVE THIS FANTASY- heheheheh. Yes! And thank you for sharing.
Heather Bell
I HAVE THIS FANTASY
I have this fantasy
that I am dressed in a leather jacket
smoking a cigar
just standing there
holding Kafka or Adrienne Rich
by the spine
when an old boyfriend walks up with his
yellow-haired wife and says
Hey, remember me? Sean.
And I reply, casually
Sean? Maybe. The Sean with the big dick or the Sean with the small dick?
And his eyes dart around because he wants to say
Big dick.
but then he’s admitting to me seeing his dick at all
with his wife standing right there
who is holding a ratty looking purse
and what I think is a dead raccoon or
maybe her jacket
So he says
Sorry, I might be mistaken.
but damn, I look so good standing there in my cheetah-print leggings
and puffy hair and the sort of eyeliner that looks professional
that he repeats
But I really think we might have known each other at some point.
And I grin a little, lean in,
and whisper just loud enough for his wife to hear
Small dick, eh?
And I go home and I put on my pink bathrobe and sit on the couch and
I feel triumphant and my kids are running around with scissors
and the leggings are thrown over the loveseat
like a flag
—from Rattle #46, Winter 2014
Jazzonia by Langston Hughes. “oh, silver rivers of the soul” #BlackLivesMatter #BlackHistoryYouDidntLearnInSchool #blackpoet
Jazzonia by Langston Hughes
Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve’s eyes
In the first garden
Just a bit too bold?
Was Cleopatra gorgeous
In a gown of gold?
Oh, shining tree!
Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
In a whirling cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
.
From: The Oxford Anthology of African-American Poetry.
NEW and USED: Abebooks.com The Oxford Anthology of African-American Poetry
NEW at independent bookstores: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780195125634
The Little Dandelion by Lula Lowe Weeden #BlackHistoryMonth #BlackLoveMatters #BlackLivesMatter #thisisluv #BlackWomenMatter
The Little Dandelion by Lula Lowe Weeden
The dandelion stares
In the yellow sunlight.
How very still it is!
When it is old and grey,
I blow its white hair away,
And leave it with a bald head.
.
.
The african-american poet Lula Lowe Weeden started writing poems as a child to immediate success. Her poems are intricate and direct.
.
“Caroling Dusk: an Anthology of Verse by Black Poets.” Edited by Countee Cullen.
NEW and USED: Abebooks.com Caroling Dusk
NEW at independent bookstores NEAR you: Caroling Dusk
All women on women: love and sex 3/4. #ValentinesDay “Her sweet weight on my Heart a Night”
My breasts are like martinis
[…]
When I have a migraine and she reaches for me, I say
Josey, my breasts are like martinis. She nods, solemn:
People should keep their goddamn hands off yours. How
could we tell these jokes to the bartender? We can’t. He’ll never know.
I say it after scrubbing the kitchen cabinets, and she gets it:
dirty and wet. Walking in the wind, Josey says My breasts
are like martinis and I hail a cab, know she means shaking, ice cold.
All women on women: love and sex 4/4. #ValentinesDay
Spring is short
what is there that has eternal life
I said and
made her hands seek out
my powerful breasts
[trans. Janine Beichman] Akiko
Willa Cather. The Hawthorn Tree
ACROSS the shimmering meadows–
Ah, when she came to me!
In the spring-time,
In the night-time,
In the starlight,
Beneath the hawthorn tree.
Up from the misty marsh-land–
Ah, when she climbed to me!
To my white bower,
To my sweet rest,
To my warm breasts,
Beneath the hawthorn tree.
Ask of me what the birds sang,
High in the hawthorn tree;
What the breeze tells,
What the rose smells,
What the stars shine–
Not what she said to me!
Awesome poetry from all over. 