The pool players. Seven at the golden shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Epilogue: The Wife of Noble Character
Serenity by Laurie CooperA wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands
She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar.
She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her servant girls.
She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
She makes covering for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he take his seat among the elders of the land.
She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands
She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar.
She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her servant girls.
She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
She makes covering for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he take his seat among the elders of the land.
She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
-Proverbs 31 vs. 10-31
This Belly Rumbles
He reaches out and places his arm around her back, holds her shoulder. Whispering sweet some-things into her ear, she smiles, giggles, laughs. His lips brush her forehead in a kiss doubled over. Her face reveals the security she feels within his arms; soft smiles – a sort of peace.
My belly rumbles in hunger.
Sitting together, they make great effort to test each other's warmth. Arm kissing arm, leg brushing leg, they long to feel. Her fingers reach to point, he grabs them, holds on. Fingering the edge of her palm until she slowly open her hand and lets him in. In caution, fingers gently grace each other - not wanting to set off any unneeded emotions in such a public place. In understanding, her head leans onto his shoulder. In satisfaction, his head leans over her head.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
My belly rumbles in hunger.
So I sit.
And I watch...
them being them, them loving them, me feeling them…wanting them to be me.
No, not completely understanding what it is I see but needing to be in that mix.
My lips flip
upwards in a smile for them. Wondering when I'll find myself comfortably positioned between the lap of a man so sweetly kissing my cheek, wrapping his arms around me. Me loving him, he loving me...
This belly rumbles in hunger.
So I sit.
And I watch
patiently
Spaghetti. He feeds her. She feeds him. Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. You hear that? Yes. You hear that. Small talk. They make small talk that un-doubt-ably will force beautiful imprints on her mind – and they'll last forever. She'll lay in bed one evening far from now and think of this irrelevant moment. Through her heartache, through her pain, through her hate and confusion, she'll close her eyes…and smile.
You remember
This belly rumbles in hunger.
Eyes watch them. Eyes analyze. Eyes try to make it work, try to make it match, try to understand. Eyes watch. What they have…the potency of it - whatever it may be - makes them careless and unaware of the world around them, of the eyes that surround them. No. It's just them. See. It's just them. Their world – who else belongs? No one.
They won't let me in – and I just want a taste. Be it bitter or sweet…just a taste.
So I watch, and
My belly rumbles in hunger.
You hear it, don't you.
You hear it.
Cause my belly…this belly…it's yours too.
Our belly.
Mmmm.
Yes, it rumbles in hunger.
By: Dorlette Pierre-Louis
My belly rumbles in hunger.
Sitting together, they make great effort to test each other's warmth. Arm kissing arm, leg brushing leg, they long to feel. Her fingers reach to point, he grabs them, holds on. Fingering the edge of her palm until she slowly open her hand and lets him in. In caution, fingers gently grace each other - not wanting to set off any unneeded emotions in such a public place. In understanding, her head leans onto his shoulder. In satisfaction, his head leans over her head.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
My belly rumbles in hunger.
So I sit.
And I watch...
them being them, them loving them, me feeling them…wanting them to be me.
No, not completely understanding what it is I see but needing to be in that mix.
My lips flip
upwards in a smile for them. Wondering when I'll find myself comfortably positioned between the lap of a man so sweetly kissing my cheek, wrapping his arms around me. Me loving him, he loving me...
This belly rumbles in hunger.
So I sit.
And I watch
patiently
Spaghetti. He feeds her. She feeds him. Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. You hear that? Yes. You hear that. Small talk. They make small talk that un-doubt-ably will force beautiful imprints on her mind – and they'll last forever. She'll lay in bed one evening far from now and think of this irrelevant moment. Through her heartache, through her pain, through her hate and confusion, she'll close her eyes…and smile.
You remember
This belly rumbles in hunger.
Eyes watch them. Eyes analyze. Eyes try to make it work, try to make it match, try to understand. Eyes watch. What they have…the potency of it - whatever it may be - makes them careless and unaware of the world around them, of the eyes that surround them. No. It's just them. See. It's just them. Their world – who else belongs? No one.
They won't let me in – and I just want a taste. Be it bitter or sweet…just a taste.
So I watch, and
My belly rumbles in hunger.
You hear it, don't you.
You hear it.
Cause my belly…this belly…it's yours too.
Our belly.
Mmmm.
Yes, it rumbles in hunger.
By: Dorlette Pierre-Louis
When It Was Just Yesterday...
Do you remember yesterday?
Yesterday when the world thought you were beautiful? When the world looked into your eyes and found himself lost; smiled a smile of confusion but remained because nothing could amount to the moment of right then.
Do you remember yesterday?
Yesterday, when the moon approached you while you slept and asked you to wake. When the moon wanted to know you; perused your character, your attitude, your you and claimed to have fallen into your pool – your love.
Do you remember yesterday?
Of course you do. Yesterday you were beautiful. Yesterday you were the sun’s aphrodisiac. Yesterday. Yesterday. Yesterday, every aspect of the universe turned and watched you as you walked by. Yesterday stars decorated your ears, your fingers, your wrists. Your hair swung wonderfully and shined in the light of your moon, your sun, your world. Yes. Yesterday you were crowned.
Yesterday. Yesterday.
Today.
Last night, thoughts of the moon – not yet yours – kept you from sleep. So today, today your eyes are decorated with the nights darkness, your lips peels from constant talk of wishes…false promises. Those stars flee from your arms and wish to adorn that of another. So. So you dress yourself in rags hoping that yesterday’s universe will embrace you in all your natural essence today.
But today.
Today, Today, Neptune’s orbit is still outside of Pluto’s, Saturn shares his rings only with himself, and Mars promises life to no one. Today, the world works as it usually should, not as it wonderfully had. Today your eyes draw who in? Your beauty entrances what amazement? Your character intrigues…no one.
Yes,
Today you’re just you
and nobody’s interested.
by: Dorlette Pierre-Louis
Reflections of a Queen - Monica Stewart
Yesterday when the world thought you were beautiful? When the world looked into your eyes and found himself lost; smiled a smile of confusion but remained because nothing could amount to the moment of right then.
Do you remember yesterday?
Yesterday, when the moon approached you while you slept and asked you to wake. When the moon wanted to know you; perused your character, your attitude, your you and claimed to have fallen into your pool – your love.
Do you remember yesterday?
Of course you do. Yesterday you were beautiful. Yesterday you were the sun’s aphrodisiac. Yesterday. Yesterday. Yesterday, every aspect of the universe turned and watched you as you walked by. Yesterday stars decorated your ears, your fingers, your wrists. Your hair swung wonderfully and shined in the light of your moon, your sun, your world. Yes. Yesterday you were crowned.
Yesterday. Yesterday.
Today.
Last night, thoughts of the moon – not yet yours – kept you from sleep. So today, today your eyes are decorated with the nights darkness, your lips peels from constant talk of wishes…false promises. Those stars flee from your arms and wish to adorn that of another. So. So you dress yourself in rags hoping that yesterday’s universe will embrace you in all your natural essence today.
But today.
Today, Today, Neptune’s orbit is still outside of Pluto’s, Saturn shares his rings only with himself, and Mars promises life to no one. Today, the world works as it usually should, not as it wonderfully had. Today your eyes draw who in? Your beauty entrances what amazement? Your character intrigues…no one.
Yes,
Today you’re just you
and nobody’s interested.
by: Dorlette Pierre-Louis
Reflections of a Queen - Monica Stewart
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
By: Paul Laurence Dunbar
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
By: Paul Laurence Dunbar
a portion of Nelson Mandela's Inaugural speech
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous"
Actually,
who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are meant to shine, as children do.
We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
Its not just in some of us, it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fears our presence automatically liberates others.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous"
Actually,
who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are meant to shine, as children do.
We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
Its not just in some of us, it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fears our presence automatically liberates others.
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