The Lass
A young irish lass, not yet fourteen, came to us, wandering past the desert. Despite her stature and age, she was a woman in every sense of the term. Her small, pale feet were not yet caloused. She facinated with toys of our children, small pink dolls and wooden swords. She spoke little but said much. In the light of dawn, she cried. She did not tell us why. Eventually her tender feet were covered with boots, and winter came. She stayed with us longer. Two light green eyes grew weary from too many dawns. Her brown skirts, which had been pulled up into tops of gray and blue, unruffled and unfurled. Though her skirts loosened, her lips did not. We did not ask this fair traveller, fair traiveller, why she had come. She did not tell us. She worked and toiled through our soil in order to pay her way. She was not a nuisance, this she made sure. When the day’s work was done, her unfurled skirts would retreat to her place with what little food we shared with her. It finally happened one day. She made no fuss. It was the first day of spring, and she planned to work. Her skirts refurled and a brown bundle accompanied her that day. We said nothing as this young irish lass, not yet fourteen, went out to our fields and worked harder than she ever had before. The next day, she took her pay and she left. We did not know her name.
S
This poem is so great when it’s read out loud… The infliction and volume change to be like a storm, the eye, and the end of a storm. I like the effect.
Wrote this one for Poetry Society in an exercise where we wrote a poem about a random picture we found from a pile. Mine was a picture with some gorgeous rollin’ stormin’ gray clouds on it.
Is it gray or grey? I say gray because “say gray” rhyme and therefore end in the same letters.
Can’t wait to upload the video for this one.
Stormin’
A storm on the horizon is a-risin’ A storm So strong So long So fierce So bold So wise So old So wet So cold It can hardly be contained When it rained and it hailed and it Wailed! up it’s complaints to the Highest power and Shook! the rooftops within it’s shower and Struck Down! the Old man and the Flower
alike The gray clouds drizzle down Hour after hour and Prove their power to the old man and the flower that it is Strong and Long and Fierce and Bold and Wise and Old and Wet and Cold and has so much Power that it can easily overlook the Old man and the Flower
and so it does.
the gray clouds drizzle out.
Occuπ
OCCUPY A slice of pie A warm glass of milk given to a policeman on a cold night in Lon-don and Our revolution’s getting un-done and Built up again and the policeman is our friend Our Ally They’re on our side As we’ve cried they’ve also cried They are workers as well so don’t give them hell These men and women in riot gear Are so near because they are one of us and There’s no need to fuss Over details because these men and women in riot gear are on our side As we stand outside On the streets of New York Cairo Lon-don and other recent revolutions getting un-done They are helping us out There’s no need to shout For you know that as soon as these men and women Take off their badges and Take off their sheilds They are workers like us and they will yield To the protestors on the streets because a couple feet away from us Right here Right now Stand our brothers and sisters Hand in Hand We must work together or know the reason why
We
As a whole
Must
OCCUPY
CC
So this one was another assignment. We had to make an artistic response about… I forget. Something about modern-day slavery. I focused on the Ivory Coast chocolate child labor slave buzzwords blah. It’s a serious issue, though. I recommend you research which brands use anything less than 100% free trade and boycott them like me. Good news- Ben and Jerry’s is 100%!
So I totally did this assignment about a week after it was due. And so I saw everyone else’s poems, and how they usually took the victim’s (slave’s) point of view. So I decided to take the role of the “villain”, the slaveholder, who are truly still victims of the system.
On a completely unrelated note, I really try to avoid using the “brother/mother” rhyme as much as possible and I have now used it twice on this blog. I promise it shall be the last.
Chocolate Children
These children won’t work fast enough To meet the demands of Those fat americans who clamor and rave for Their stupid chocolate and I’m not the villian here I’m only a person trying to make a living and That living is provided by americans who want cheap chocolate so Parents and I make mutual lies of “down payments” Because “slaveholder” is such an ugly word and These children won’t work fast enough but They’re small enough and young enough and strong enough so I buy them in the night from shady characters and Most of them cry But I’ve seen thousands of children cry and I stopped crying with them long ago because These children won’t work fast enough and No one stops to think that I’m making money for my family My aging mother My sickly brother but I can’t make enough because These children won’t work fast enough and I guess I’m kind of rough but These children stopped being children and started being slaves, A commodity The second their feet hit the pavement of this modern day plantation and I’m not a villain here I’m just a person trying to get you Your cheap chocolate.
MBaH
mmmm….. BAH!
That’s what I think about this poem.
My mentor, Lewis, told me that every poet has one poem about a sappy old love story gone awry, I guess this was mine? It seems really preteen-y in retrospect. Well, at least I got it out of the way.
Tashi! Roomie! Remember that time you walked in and I was really intensely writing a poem and you asked what I was doing and I said I was really intensely writing a slam poem? (Me neither barely.) Well this was that poem.
Mind, Body, and Heart
I’m hard on my body and hard on my mind But when it comes to my heart that’s where I draw the line Cause I find that with my mind the challenge is accepted and I find that with my body the challenge is accepted and I’ve pushed my body to the outer limits and benefitted and gone farther and harder than I ever thought possible and I’ve pushed my brain til it’s gone insane and gotten smarter and better than I ever thought possible But when it comes to my heart that’s where I draw the line cause My heart is mine and nobody else’s No one will ever steal my heart Cause my heart is my fortress so Please do not even address my heart Look at my mind and my body but please not my heart Cause I’ve pushed my heart to the very edge and all it did was
break.
CR
This was just a simple response to a school prompt. I was challenged to connect all the core classes (environmental studies, peace studies, global issues) into a single artistic piece. I’m not entirely happy with the outcome, but I got a good grade on it so I thought I’d share.
