Writer’s Quote Wednesday – Rainer Maria Rilke

Smile, it’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday :). Don’t be shy, Join us:

writers-quote-wed-20151

http://silverthreading.com/2015/01/21/writers-quote-wednesdaypoet-victor-hugo-2015-4/

This week, I quote Rainer Maria Rilke:

WQW

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)

MTE5NTU2MzE2MzU4MDg0MTA3“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.”

Guest Feature – The Prophet

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips

– The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Love me not Hypocritically

jerrika-photoshoot-6-jerrika-hinton-34881213-206-309

Do not share my joy when I’m whole
And not have compassion on these holes
Cuz
I’ve seen some wars and I admit
Some of these memories are like scenic routes to civil wars
Some of these
Bruises are footsteps soldiers left on my self-esteem
Some of these
Birthmarks led to scripture
You see
Some of these injuries are walking Deuteronomy’s
do not love me
Hypocritically
Do not praise my sunshine without offering me shelter when it rains
Cause trust
I’ve been left out in the cold
That
Forming crease in your face, yea I’ve seen it before
Do not
Love my sun rays just cause you aint seen my floods
Do not accept my heart until you know that there are earthquakes
that left its cracks in my skin
Till you can understand that
Tornadoes left destruction lying desolate in my memories
Do not weep for me
Hypocritically
If you can’t share my joy
And my pain too
Do not praise my strength
then abandon me in those moments I aint too strong
Don’t mutter my lyrics and throw rocks at my song
Do not love me whole
Without having compassion on these holes
Unconditionally
Do not love me
Hypocritically ……

400 years…

saggy-pants

Corner entrepreneurs stand guard unknown to gay innuendos like
pants sagged below assets of homosexual down lows
with
packs stuffed between squeezed butt cheeks and stiff gym socks
New Millennium kids
going all natu-ral
with no real knowledge as to the dred locs
see I’m thinkin outside the box
trying to contemplate the mindset of the end of days,
a cursed people, who walk around as if with no brains
from
video games to spinning rims
from the hottest Jordan’s to the newest timbs
corner entrepreneurs…. introducing, the black SIMS.
you see this is a place where success stories are only filled with those who are known around the block as the ish,
hood thugs lack motivation……except to be hood rich
and
black girls have graduated from turning the biggest tricks
slapping high fives screaming that’s my (laugh)
kitty fights scratching finger nails sprayed mace and sharp knives
no ambitions of a family
baby mama over wives
heroin addicts too proud to scratch away that last itch,
whoring has no fingers to point,
no preference of where it may sit
sick
sickness embedded in the depths of men’s bones,
spiritual zombies spend cash to sport skull and bones
t-shirts
they are aware
they have no spiritual home
independent black women who pretend not to be alone
400 years,
400 years how long?
how long will you continue to bring to life stereotypes of song singing cotton pickers
transformed into blonde, weave wearing, pants sagging, hood niggaz?
we shall overcome,
but only when some white man has pulled the trigger
and who you’ve mistaken as your own
is referred to as nigga, by the “nonviolent” civil rights leaders?
ya leaders
ya leaders have pulled the trigger.
but when will you take it back?
take back what’s yours
until there are no more
Niggaz.
400 years…

Guest Feature-We Love Like the Sun Rise

jeff_hall_silky_smooth_love

We kiss like the night
But we love like a sun rise
We love
like were far out there
Like
halos and moon rocks, and cosmos and jelly fish
We love
Like gravity
We love like autumn
the season where everything learns how to fall and we do
Fall
In love that night
You know, one day I’ll understand the earthquake crack from your pulse
I am the rhythm to any love song that made you want to exist.
So when the sun rises–anxious as it always is—
begins to yawn over the cusps of day
I will be here
may the wind lay us back onto our bed spreads where we can hold,
where we can touch,
where we can love
like the sun rise…

– Brook Yung, (excerpt)

In Case You Missed It: Top PBS Poems of 2014

I’m excited to do this for you. I was curious as to which poems you liked most and I found these. Feel free to take another read or read for the first time. They are listed in the order of the most views and feedback. I only included those you seemed to really enjoy:

Give Me Life
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/23/give-me-life/
This Hair Will Not Apologize
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/26/this-hair-will-not-apologize/
Never Having Been a Girl
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/26/never-having-been-a-girl/
Diamond in the Ruff
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/28/diamond-in-the-ruff/
Live Words
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/01/live-words-2/
These Women
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/28/these-women/
The Relationship: My Love Affair With Poetry
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/08/24/the-relationship-my-love-affair-with-poetry/
Un-Pretty
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/11/un-pretty/
Insomnia
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/08/21/insomnia/
Too Much Truth
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/05/too-much-truth/

The First Time
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/19/the-first-time/
I am
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/03/i-am/
His Birth Pains
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/03/his-birth-pains/
When We Were Colored
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/27/when-we-were-colored/
Cousin
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/08/26/cousin/
Mr. Black Man
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/30/mr-black-man/
The Unknown Woman
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/03/the-unknown-woman/
Courage
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/17/courage/
Lines
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/23/lines/
Princess
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/30/princess/
Language of the Broken Hearted
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/09/23/language-of-the-broken-hearted/
You Can’t Leave
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/09/29/you-cant-leave/
The Broken Tongue- She Was Not A Poet
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/12/11/the-broken-tongue-she-was-not-a-poet/
Genuine
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/24/genuine/
Memories
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/10/01/memories-2/
She Rebels
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/10/she-rebels/
Consequence of a Lonely Heart
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/17/consequence-of-a-lonely-heart/
A Private Symphony
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/14/a-private-symphony/
Dear Poetry
http://atomic-temporary-72317077.wpcomstaging.com/2014/11/12/dear-poetry/

Guest Feature – Barter

Rose-for-your-words-poetry-33064141-400-291

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

“Barter”
by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)