You must comment on at least one poem. Your comment should be insightful, original, and develop conversation. If you aren't sure if your comment matches this criteria make another. A trite comment that can be made by anyone and is unoriginal is not worth credit. I challenge you to write something worth reading unlike anything you've written before. Also please include the poem or a link to the poem in your post- and poem title and poet name.
Websites: poets.org & poetryfoundation.org Textbooks: I will bring in my poetry books & various books in my room are availabe.
Directions: Find an African-American poem you like/love and would be willing to read out loud. Tell me why you like the poem and why you would read it.
Mrs. Stansbury
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Nothing to Do
ReplyDeleteby James Ephraim McGirt
The fields are white;
The laborers are few;
Yet say the idle:
There’s nothing to do.
Jails are crowded;
In Sunday-schools few;
We still complain:
There’s nothing to do.
Drunkards are dying—
Your sons, it is true;
Mothers’ arms folded
With nothing to do.
Heathens are dying;
Their blood falls on you;
How can you people
Find nothing to do?
I like this poem because its 100% true about our life today. I would read it because it inspires me to never say "I'm bored" again. always have something to do. We can clean our world up of violence.
Anissa Holcomb 3rd period
dylan price:
ReplyDeleteMinstrel Man by Langston Hughes
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You do not think
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter,
You do not hear
My inner cry?
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing,
You do not know
I die?
this poem means even if your singing happy songs and dancing to happy songs dosent mean your not EXTREMLY HURT INSIDE.
We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks
ReplyDeleteWe real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
I like this poem. In my opinion it's sending a message that if you act stupid towards yourself and make the wrong decisions, you will live a short and uneventful life.
Dream Variations
ReplyDeleteby Langston Hughes
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me--
That is my dream!
To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.
I really enjoy this poem, because I love the way he describes his dream, & his use of personification. I believe that the poet is describing just his every day dream, or that he may just be saying he's tired of how his life really is, and that he wants to just relax. Either way, I enjoy Langston Hughes and his writing style.
Women by Alice Walker Pg.707 African American Literature
ReplyDeleteIt's about how they faught for their freedom as Women and as Afican Americans. Its about how they didn't care about their lives they cared about the freedom of the other women.
Tucker Heaton
ReplyDelete5th period
I am a fool to love you by Cornelius Eady:
Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don't want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That's how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it's the only leverage
You've got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man's kisses
A healing.
This poem is about falling in love with the wrong people, or being punished for love. Life is full of false love, or mistakes. Finding that one true love is difficult to find and especially these days, The common goal is don't listen to anyone about what you choose and make sure it is what you want. Only you know what love is in your heart.
"Crash"
ReplyDeleteBy:Elizabeth Alexander
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=182783
I would read this poem because i feel white people don't need to treat other colored people different. This poem is about how there was a plane crash and the white people did not trust the black piolet to land the plane safe, although in the end she did. Whites need to trust people better it's like we are scared of other people then whites we are all the same get over it.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteNailyn Davila
ReplyDelete6th Period
Tell all about the truth but tell it slant
by:Emily Dickinson
Tell all the truth but tell it slant-
Success in circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lighting to the children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind-
I like this poem because is about tell the truth and is truth about what the autor said in this poem.This poem is talk about how to tell the truth but sometimes is not easy to tell someone the truth more if is that person adult.That is something really good thas why I like this poem.
"where the sidewalk ends" BY shel silvestein
ReplyDeletethe poem is used to tell about how there is a better place to go, she may have used it to describe how good it would feel to have equal rights. but to me it represents getting out of the bad flow and getting into a better life.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-sidewalk-ends/
Dreams
ReplyDeleteLangston Hughs
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Don't let go of your dreams.Do whatever you can to accomplish your goal.Never give up and never give in.This poem is simply stating that if you let go of your dreams,you'll never know what could've been.I'd read this aloud because when you think about it, once you let go of your dreams, what do you have to live for?
-Jade Darnell ,3rd period
Tammy Manley
ReplyDelete3rd
For Poets
Al Young
This poem says not to be alone all the time and stay away from everything in the world and go out and experience things.
"Hay is for horses" By Gary Snyder
ReplyDelete"I'm sixty-eight" he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that's just what
I've gone and done."
I belive he is saying that if you do somthing and don't like it right off the bat, you can't help but do it again,over and over until you like it even though you wish that you didn't.
Poem:My love
ReplyDeleteBy:June Jordan
The poem is about a women that fell in love with a guy so deeply that she is looking for an answer or way that help her understand her love situation.She thought that she could avoid the love but she could't. But also she is describing a black men waiting for womenly mirage which I think is her new love waiting for her. She also felt amazed of her peaceful sence. In conclusion she is in love with a guy that brings her peace to her life.
POEM
ReplyDeleteI, Too
by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
I like this poem because it talks about how people were embarrassed of him and made him eat in the kitchen. And at the end he says that they'll see how beautiful he was.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteJose Alcala Caro 5 periodI
ReplyDeleteI like this poem cause i like to hear about scary stuff LIKE goes and bad spirit and i will read it loud is so cool i like it
Southern Mansion
Poplars are standing there still as death
and ghosts of dead men
meet their ladies walking
two by two beneath the shade
and standing on the marble steps.
There is a sound of music echoing
through the open door
and in the field there is
another sound tinkling in the cotton:
chains of bondsmen dragging on the ground
The years go back with an iron clank,
a hand is on the gate,
a dry leaf trembles on the wall.
Ghosts are walking.
They have broken roses down
and poplars stand there still as death
Rwanda: Where Tears Have No Power
ReplyDeleteby Haki Madhubuti
Who has the moral high ground?
Fifteen blocks from the whitehouse
on small corners in northwest, d.c.
boys disguised as me rip each other’s hearts out
with weapons made in china. they fight for territory.
across the planet in a land where civilization was born
the boys of d.c. know nothing about their distant relatives
in Rwanda. they have never heard of the hutu or tutsi people.
their eyes draw blanks at the mention of kigali, byumba
or butare. all they know are the streets of d.c., and do not
cry at funerals anymore. numbers and frequency have a way
of making murder commonplace and not news
unless it spreads outside of our house, block, territory.
modern massacres are intraethnic. bosnia, sri lanka, burundi,
nagorno-karabakh, iraq, laos, angola, liberia, and rwanda are
small foreign names on a map made in europe. when bodies
by the tens of thousands float down a river turning the water
the color of blood, as a quarter of a million people flee barefoot
into tanzania and zaire, somehow we notice. we do not smile,
we have no more tears. we hold our thoughts. In deeply
muted silence looking south and thinking that today
nelson mandela seems much larger
than he is.
I like this poem simply because it portrays what happens sometimes on a daily basis in different parts of the world. This poems focus is specifically on the disasters that are seemly meaningless to some people and makes it important through poetry.
Little Black Feet In The White House by John. A. Smith
ReplyDeleteThe wicked carried them away in captivity, to cruel and far away lands.
In cotton fields and on plantations they would toil, with old and young black hands.
The stripes on their backs formed tree shaped reminders; the chains kept them in place.
Many leaped from the ships into a cold abysmal coffin, refusing the oppression they would surley face.
Through the middle passages the others sailed, settling for the slower route to death.
The task master's whip flickered like the tongue of a viper, his harsh words spewed like the dragon's breath.
Enslaved by the ignorance of their captors and bigotry that binds them, a life of bondage they received.
Terror by night and terror by day that was so unyielding, but the blacks were stronger than they believed.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Through the dark of night went the relentless pursuit, for a land of promised redemption.
Wading in the water the way Harriet taught them, each with the same task with no exemption.
The sound of the blood hounds rang in their ears, yet all they heard was that bell of freedom.
Mrs. Tubman's face reflected blood, sweat and tears; still they followed where she did lead them.
Journey by journey, through the perilous path, though their feet and their will grew tired.
Inch by inch, step by step, they forged ever forward, to the freedom that each one desired.
To the North there's a place where chains sometimes melt; when a voice said hurry don't delay.
Humble by nature, born with the love of God, yet striking down anyone that stood in their way.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Civil war between the North and the South came, but the motive is still not yet clear.
Freeing a people without releasing their minds; only makes them merely slaves to fear.
Treating the Freedmen like they were less than human, was the norm in this anti-bellum world.
Leaving them lost in that freedom, if that's what it was, with no country and no flag to unfurl.
Unwanted by a nation; on your labor was built, caused enough tear that would fill up the Nile.
Knowing no other life but a life of bondage, enslaved from when you were a child.
The prayers that were prayed, had a long way to travel, because the years of suffering were many.
No hope and no help became their constant shadow, no equality rendered; no not any.
Then along comes a King with a dream in his heart, and a voice that rode on the wind.
An assassin's bullet cowardly silenced the voice, before the awakening could begin.
His words are still engrained in our souls, while the King watches his people from above.
Martin's lessons were God sent and easy to understand, his main focus was brotherly love.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Now with years after his fall; forty-five to be exact, our people are still not yet free.
But there is a new one who will take us to the birthright of all, he has a face just like you and me.
From the threads of two races he was woven into one, who will prove that we are all the same.
A black father and white mother; the vessels that bore him, his goal is universal love; not fame.
A warrior of the best kind, his steps are sure, he's much, much smarter than they think.
A new world peace is what he envisions; a great era is now on the brink.
You know who I speak of so I won't call his name, Ok, I'll give you a hint just for fun.
Some call him a savior, others say he God's gift, I think I'll just call him "That One".
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in
the White House.
STILL I RISE
ReplyDeleteBY:Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I like this poem and I think Maya Angelou is a good poet.
WESLEY
6th
I like how she wrote about her life. That maks her a great poem. I would like to read more of her poems.
ReplyDeleteJames Morrison 6th
Why by:David Farrar
ReplyDeleteWhy are we ignorant
To the things that we do
Like Black on Black crime
From the violence we brew
Why do we wear
Our pants hanging low
Like ghetto-ish bums
In a circus freak show
Why do we curse
And cuss like we do
And talk in Ebonics
Like the slaves use to do
Over four hundred years
Of shame and disgrace
We use the "N" word
Like no other race
Why do we leave
Our young ones alone
No family like structure
No house to call home
Why can't we prosper
Like Immigrants do
Who came here with nothing
And pave their way through
Why do we live
Such drug hungry lives
With gangsters and thugs
Packing guns and sharp knives
We seem to enjoy
Life on the streets
We work those slave jobs
Where pay is dirt-cheap
We live a life style
Of roach broken homes
Where trash and graffiti
And rats seem to roam
We don't get involve
In political laws
Nor do we vote out
Laws that have flaws
We're exploiting our music
With our sexual drive
Degrading our women
And destroying their lives
Our schools become jails
That we seem to fill
Like thieves in the night
We learn how to steal
So why can't we learn
Constructible skills
And walk the right path
To conquer all hills
Why can't we start
A new kind of trend
As Doctors and Scholars
And Builders of men
Why can't we sharpen
Our minds and technique
And show the whole world
That we are unique
Why can't we come
Together as one
So No one can say
That we were born dumb
Why can't we break
This bondage we keep
This hole that's been dug
So low and so deep
Why must we feel
It's been too many years
Wearing these chains
Of blood sweat and tears
And why can't we send
Our kids off to college
Its always been known
That strength comes from knowledge
We are destine to lose
This destruction of doom
The road of dead ends
These shadows of gloom
I prayer we could change
These things we do wrong
For it's tough being Black
And hard to stay strong
This poem is describing the life of the African American public and the ways that we live life now. His beliefs are that we should do right by ourselves and change our actions and views upon the world so that we can lead better lives. By doing so, other people wont be so bias and stereotyped against us. He wants the black community be more about knowledge and to come together to show the world that we're unique
Dreams
ReplyDeleteBy:Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
To me this poem is expressing the importance on having a dream and knowing or atleast having a idea about what you want to do in life.
I Wandered Lonely As A cloud
ReplyDeleteby William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
this poem makes me picture a field on a summer day where it's not to cold, but not to hot. There is one cloud looking down at everything down below, the field is full of daffodils and its very peacefull. It makes me wanna take a nap.
Dakota Shutt
ReplyDeleteMinstrel Man by Langston Hughes
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You do not think
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter,
You do not hear
My inner cry?
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing,
You do not know
I die?
The poem means even when you are thinking happy thoughts and listening to happy things you can still be really hurt inside
Tell all about the truth but tell it slant
ReplyDeleteby:Emily Dickinson
Tell all the truth but tell it slant-
Success in circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lighting to the children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind-
I believe that telling the truth will help in every means of life, sometimes the truth isnt always best. This poems says that the truth can help people better themselves, because if you are able to show honesty others are able to feel comfortable and can trust you. Thats how i live and let die....
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood
ReplyDeleteAnd sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood and I
I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference
I really like this poem because its telling yu to follow your own dreams and not let somebody else tell you what to do.
You and your whole race.by Langston Hughes
ReplyDeleteYou and your whole race.
Look down upon the town in which you live
And be ashamed.
Look down upon white folks
And upon yourselves
And be ashamed
That such supine poverty exists there,
That such stupid ignorance breeds children there
Behind such humble shelters of despair—
That you yourselves have not the sense to care
Nor the manhood to stand up and say
I dare you to come one step nearer, evil world,
With your hands of greed seeking to touch my throat, I dare you to come one step nearer me:
When you can say that
you will be free!
Poem that Langston wrote speaks to me becuase even if your different race, say what u feel like saying,but when you finnlly come and kill me I'll be free from every shamful thing u said and done to my or anyones race
BY Justin Ferranti 6th
Nothing to Do
ReplyDeleteby James Ephraim McGirt
The fields are white;
The laborers are few;
Yet say the idle:
There’s nothing to do.
Jails are crowded;
In Sunday-schools few;
We still complain:
There’s nothing to do.
Drunkards are dying—
Your sons, it is true;
Mothers’ arms folded
With nothing to do.
Heathens are dying;
Their blood falls on you;
How can you people
Find nothing to do?
I chose this poem because it makes me rethink telling my mom there's nothing to do.
When in reality there is so much to do like cleaning the neighborhood, volunteering. There's always something to do whether it's fun or not or if it's with friend or alone.
So I agree there's never nothing to do.
-A.Grooms
6th Period
January 22.10
"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost
ReplyDeleteIs just like my family would I be more like my mothers side and be more british or my father's Italian side but have chosen yet but way your wants u go like the other, chosen to what i want and set my own prinplies
By Justin Ferranti 6th
the poem 'nothing to do' shows that you always con help and you need to try to lend a helping hand because you can make a difference.
ReplyDelete