“Do not write poetry only for its music unless you wish to get lost in the song. Instead, see to it that life gives to life so that you are truly a deliverer, and not just a tool.”
Tag: poetry
Not Another One
No
This is not another one
Not a sex poem,
not a hood poem
Not a “I’m black and I’m proud!” so let’s try to be real poem
Not another marching
No more killings
(and please let’s do something other than sit in)
not another “We shall overcome.”
No not another one
Not a slow one
Not one 2 bore you
I’m not that one
Rising from my falls
I am that one,
but don’t you worry,
cause not another dialogue
No not another one
Not another long-winded one
nor will I give you a fast one
No not another fast one,
you see my words no need 2 map it
So what am I a rapper or a poet?
Not another one
yet just another one
these words I encourage your minds 2 freeze it
Just freeze
Cause this is not another one about Jes-
Us
not another one about Just
Us
Not a kemet poet
and can you believe I have a twin but this is not another Mary Mary Duet
Not another Allah, Buddha, Osiris and Horus,
not another number 2 define me no matter what the score is
For only the Truth knows what my sentence is
She with the gun in her hand you mistake for the pen
Keeping the laws that my father gave
and promises kept sacred from the grave
Watching this pen bleed life onto a lifeless page
Sent from the mighty one,
but don’t you worry
this is not another
“So like, I’ll just leave my footprints in the Sun” one
No,
she’s definitely not another one
yet just another one..
Black Beauty
**A little History on this Poem**
This is a 12 year old poem. It has since been revised but this is the original copy that I wrote back when I was a sophomore in High School. It was entered into a contest and it won. I was then to fly to Rio Nevada for the award ceremony but I could not afford to go. I have since performed it many times throughout my High School career at assemblies and talent shows. For me it was my first poem. It was the first poem I wrote that really spoke about something deeper than my personal adolescent issues and reached beyond the childhood perspective I was used to writing about. It was also my first Spoken Word poem, the first poem I ever shared while standing before an Audience. Today I would like to share it with you. (Keep in mind I was only like 15 when I wrote this so bear with me lol):
BEAUTY
Wake up Black beauty!
Look up black beauty!
And see the mountain range
Stand up Black beauty, know your name
Be the Sun that shines,
I clothe in your sweetness, I see in your eyes
I notice your strength and weaknesses that lies
Time has gone and we have grown,
into these skies of disguise
we are Earth’s insects, its flies.
Walking this ground with our black feet,
sitting at tables eating our black meat,
it is beauty we see.
Working our black railroads
While listening to stories retold
Watching as oceans and seas travel for miles and miles without smirks or smiles,
licking greedy lips,
waiting for boats and ships to please its hips
we are the ground walked upon
We sing and cook with soul offering any hungry person a bowl
We realize the importance of education
that we had before civilization
that we had before coming into the truth of our very own nation.
A nation of many different colors and sizes,
all of various secrets and surprises
We are the proud combination of dark skins,
from small twos to plus sized tens,
we are ALL beautiful.
Poetry like Jazz
“Poetry, like jazz, is one of those dazzling diamonds of creative industry that help human beings make sense out of the comedies and tragedies that contextualize our lives.” – Aberjhani
They Had It All
When it came to progress reports and GPA’s there could be some acknowledgement
But when it came to c-cups she was incompetent
Forced to be ashamed of her good girl,
turned off abstinence like it was an accident
bought clothes by the way they fit,
if pants didn’t hug thighs
and waist bands didn’t advertise hips,
and if these English words couldn’t intellectualize the gloss on these lips…
then they stayed on the shelf
because see this bad girl was a good girl
but because they had it all she was ashamed of herself.
had no real desire for Timberland’s but you see she rocked ’em
cause she had to
hid pretend air force one tags deep down in her shoe
so nobody could ever know that this quite girl
was trying to fit into a world that gave her the flu
cause with dark skin kinky hair
no one had the slightest idea she was there
so confidence slid into empty chairs
and she pushed set-apartness to the side
and wished for positive comments this time like they were prayers
forget water
a trip to the mall was like walking on air
and as long as footlocker existed so would this love affair
‘cause popularity called her bluff,
and although it never existed for her kindness wasn’t enough
you see A’s and B’s were fruitless and college ambitions got no recognition
unknown to her that good grades and popularity both had stock in the elite
or that invisibility would not be defined by other people’s views of herself
no more than the Jordan’s on her feet
and that no matter how hard she tried
neither Master Degrees or Apple Bottom jeans could make her complete
and despite how long she struggled through school
it was truth that offered her the first seat
knowledge,
wisdom,
and understanding she did receive
cause they had it all
and she had nothing
Guest Feature – “Alla my stuff”
somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
not my poems or a dance I give up in the street
but somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
like a kleptomaniac workin hard & forgettin while stealin
this is mine / this ain’t yr stuff /
now why don’t you put me back & let me hang out in my own self
somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
& didn’t care enuf to send a note home sayin
I waz late for my solo conversation
or two sizes too small for my own tacky skirts
what can I do wit something of no value on
a open market / did you getta dime for my things
hey man / where are you goin wid alla my stuff
I see ya hidin my laugh
I want my stuff back
my rhythms & my voice
this is some delicate leg & whimsical kiss / I gotta have to give to my choice
now you can’t have me less I give me away
– Ntozake Shange, For Colored Girls
Writer’s Quote Wednesday – Rainer Maria Rilke
Smile, it’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday :). Don’t be shy, Join us:
http://silverthreading.com/2015/01/21/writers-quote-wednesdaypoet-victor-hugo-2015-4/
This week, I quote Rainer Maria Rilke:
There are two books I always carry with me: 1). The Bible and 2). Letters to a Young Poet. Don’t laugh, but I thought Rainer Maria Rilke was a woman before I saw his picture! It was Sister Act 2 when I first heard his name, so I looked into it to see if Sister Mary Clarence really knew what she was talking about. Here’s my diagnostic of this quote.
Primarily, Letters to a Young Poet has some of the most inspiring quotes concerning life and love. There is such profound truth here. We tend to go through life expecting to be given the answers to every question in the momentary whim to which we seek them. It never occurs to us that we are not in a position to handle the answer to that question. But if we focus on living, and we live, we will stumble upon the answer at a time when we are wiser and more mature. We will understand it then, though we may not understand it now.
This book itself began as letters Rainer wrote to a young man who was interested in the art of poetry. These letters have been combined into what can be easily mistaken as a book of poetry itself, as it reads.
About the Author: (from Wikipedia)
“René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926) — better known as Rainer Maria Rilke) — was a Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist, widely recognized as one of the most lyrically intense German-language poets writing in both verse and highly lyrical prose. Several critics have described Rilke’s work as inherently “mystical”. His writings include one novel, several collections of poetry, and several volumes of correspondence in which he invokes haunting images that focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable in an age of disbelief, solitude, and profound anxiety. These deeply existential themes tend to position him as a transitional figure between the traditional and the modernist writers.”
The PBS Blog 