POETRY: 'The Truth' by Kabriel Moorehead

The Truth
By Kabriel Moorehead

Smoke in the air paints a hazy canvas
On which a journey will be told
Like a player rising from the dugout
Ready for the final at bat
And dreaming of,
No knowing, that he must swing for the fences
The lack of fear in his eyes proves that after years of preparation
He is finally ready
But As with all men his age there are battle wounds
That tell of days where pure determination
Persevered over the pains of bad luck and wrong decisions
And As this figure gracefully moves through the shrouding haze
The only thing clear to the naked eye is how much he has grown
How the unrefined talents of the child
Were meticulously molded into the resolute character of a man
A figure draped in clouds
Yet one so tangible, one that I know so well
One that I've become

Copyright 2011| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: 'An Origin' by Ivan Mote II

An Origin
By Ivan Mote II

My pen infiltrates the notebook, leaving the paper to bleed with an idea that acts on its own.
Hands start to quake from words and palms begin to sweat with anxiety.
The increase of a heart rate causes the nerves to go on edge.
A brainstorm forms into a tsunami, then the irreconcilable force grows by feeding off the soul.
Tranquil surroundings around me have converted to wave patterns; swishing and swaying to the rhythm of my subconscious.
Then the finale.
A sun sets transverses my eyes, blinding me to the corrupt world, conspicuously coloring in the mistakes of my past with burgundy crayola.
Vitals gradually return to normal, and I have now returned to reality…
I have just written a poem.

Copyright 2011| Ivan Mote II

POETRY: 'Sound and Expression' by The Expressionists

Sound and Expression

By The Expressionists

Kabriel Moorehead

What begins as a cacophony of noises

Ends as a symphony,

A product greater than the sum of its parts.

We attempt to judge

And refine the incomprehensible

Unsatisfied with the simple truth that surrounds us;

The beauty of the human voice

Is that it is not measured in volume or pitch

But in impact and substance

A voice makes no sound in space

But when crafted

And presented in the correct form

A single note can change everything

Because to create is to live, so live to create

To create is to live, so live to create

Robert Drake

This symphony is more than

just a verbal manifestation of our

current thoughts; Who would've

thought that Sound and Expression were

the ingredients for Voice.

We use this gift as a medium

to make contact, to touch beings

of an otherworldly make-up.

Let your words travel safely through those

unbreakable barriers,

let them reach the ears of that lost child

searching desperately for guidance

with an outstretched hand,

let those words be more than a

expression of cool locked inside

a small box.

Let it be the key,

that opens the box containing

your Voice; finally

freeing you from life’s

Instrumental...

Yasmine Richards

Lalophobia. Fear of speaking

Speaking is just not saying things that are irrelevant

It's a vent, It's the echoes of cries that makes the heart cringe

Speech is dominant, the tongue of words are lethal to people's perceptions,

Intercepted by the muffled vibrations that tremble upon the lips,

Instead of overflowing wet tears on flushed cheeks,

And opening a passage way of someone knowing every ,single,detail of your life,

Articulate with conviction to extend the limits of intuition

Reginald Drake

When we speak,

Our words form harmonized holograms that

convey picturesque images of camouflaged thoughts

that transcend the ordinary boundaries of time,

opening a gateway into the heart, mind, and soul in mere moments.

Pupils dilate when the sweet symphony of our voices hit eager ear canals,

And hearts reach out to grasp our concept,

peeling apart the indiscernible wall separating two worlds

that now remain fixated on the same message.

These verbalizations pierce like daggers into the souls of each individual,

creating a common understanding of a shared revelation,

and the ethereal oration of our subdued unconscious is revealed;

to be a public disclosure,

Of a collective heart...

George Abraham

Listen. Hearts beat,

Lips part, lungs respire,

Tongues dance on the rooftops of oral cavities

To utter a single, invisible form of resonating energy.

These waves travel at 340 meters per second in multidimensional space

Only to inoculate audio sense detectors

To disturb the subtle gaseous equilibrium of the hammer, stirrup, anvil

And finally activate transduction in the cochlea

All within a fraction of a second.

And as this goes on, our galaxy spirals

Into the great unknown as we live our daily lives

On the minute hand of the clock

When all there really is to contemplate is

the ability to contemplate.

Pauline Muturi

A voice,

is not just uttering sounds through the mouth

It’s the matter of articulating every expression

unifying statements with creativity.

A concurrence of stimulation within one self,

harmonizing parts,

combinations of spontaneous performances

always on one accord.

Like the beating of ones heart in unison,

boisterous and audible.   

A distinctive vocal utterance, notable to all individuals.

A sound, a beat, a vibration

All speaking the language of verbalization.

A voice.

Desirae Lee

It’s time to break a leg

that statement is simply a synonym of commencement

to show the world

that there is nothing that can stop the sound

flowing through hieroglyphics called letters

making words to support a voice

collective thoughts becomes a masterpiece

dancing across a stage of airwaves

beautifully transforming into an invisible monstrosity

seen only through listening ears

they pound at the ticket booth entrance doors of eardrums

breaking through to the theater of the mind,

assembling the props to set a scene of mental focus

pull back the heavy curtains of unexpressed silence,

because it’s Showtime...

Knight

And here we are,

standing on the edge of reason

looking across the vastness of dreams

through a fog of self-doubt and criticism

declaring our right to write,

our right to speak,

embracing sound in each breath;

in each word a universe of complexity,

a life’s passion

carved out in verse;

We look out at the world,

the void of emptiness,

filled with a mantra

destined to exist forever,

to echo through the ages:

“to create is to live,

so live to create.”

our truth, in multiple syllables,

spread across a blank sky

enshrouds scores unwilling to speak;

we know to express is to live

and to live is to wonder

with certitude, with conviction,

with creativity...

never left to question what could be,

always celebrating what is...

being what we are with absolute promise

with hope and resoluteness as our beacons of light. 

Copyright 2011| The Expressionists

'Journal Entry #1' by Ana Hagins

I don’t know what to say. Normally I can think straight enough to put my words in poetic form, but at this point I have too much to say, and I’m lucky to even be able to put it in words. So where do I begin? I’ll start with a confession: I am in love. I hear people tell me that love hurts, and it’s so true. But, see, normally in those situations it’s a two-player game, but this time it’s just me. I care about him and he knows it. It doesn’t matter to him though, and that’s what hurts more than anything. He has a pattern…It’ll be me and him at the beginning of the summer; then around October – Novemberish he finds somebody else to be with, but he always comes back because he knows that I will be here with my heart and arms wide open. It’s all pointless because I’m trying to hold on to something that isn’t there. I try not to be driven by my emotions because I always end up in the same spot, torn apart, in a corner crying.

It makes everything scary. My biggest fear is getting my heart broken, being betrayed by the one person you give everything to because apparently it wasn’t enough to keep them satisfied. Maybe it’s a sign from God telling me that relationships can wait; there’s no rush, but I already know that.

I am scared of emotions. They make you vulnerable. They hurt. They expose you, leaving you naked and cold for the world to see how feeble you really are. I would love to be completely open about the way I feel without doubting their intentions. I have best friends, but not close friends because there is such a thing as betrayal, and who worse to let you down than the ones closest to you? That’s why my biggest fear has become a reality; I have let him in, and he has seen my passions. I opened myself up like a book and he read every word but has yet to understand the contents written on the pages. It’s almost as if I’m unwritten; so now I only have a front and back cover to show but nothing in the middle to share with anyone else.

I am an open sore. When I am in the process of scabbing over he comes and peels it away.

I know it’s hard for some people to believe that Ana Hagins would cry over a boy, but what can I say? I’m human. I’ve had my mentor and wise counsel tell me to let him go, and I try so hard, but there’s something about Bru…

I mean…there’s something about him that I can’t get over; it’s so frustrating because I don’t know what it is.

Dear God, please help me…

POETRY: 'The Ink-Stained Souls' by Jazelle Handoush

The Ink-Stained Souls
By Jazelle Handoush

Tongues are tied of tales to tell
And we stain ourselves with stories.
The ones with written remembrances
Who paint pictures of past
of present,
of tomorrows yet breathed.

Our fingertips are black and blue
And words scatter on skin
Of things unsaid, yet to be told,
of adventure, of love, of sin and glory.

We bleed black, yet savior yet drop
Bottled up for later use.
For what we tell is a part of us
For what we tell shall be
part of you.

Writers rewrite realities,
Then edit and revise the world.
We provide roundtrip vacations to preferred
And open blind eyes to light by words.

We are the cursed of the Ink-Stained Souls
For we see all, try to tell, but go ignored.
We bleed black and barter realms unknown
For an escape from the chaos of our "home."

But here's the secret so whispered well,
A secret generations of the cursed endear:
The novel of fabrications you leave unread
Will be bona fide to life by the end of the year.

Copyright 2011 | Jazelle Handoush

POETRY: 'Treasured Gold' by Ana Hagins

The day is coming…

It’ll be like the precursor to Judgment Day.

It’ll feel as if God himself has declared war upon you,

and you can only grieve because you know there’s no chance of victory.

I could take it upon myself to take vengeance, but revenge is only a vision with empty promises.

You may have fooled me for the past 5 years but now my chance to watch you suffer is at hand.

I will wait…

Wait until you feel the betrayal that I feel.

The heart break that comes to self-protective people like me isn’t taken lightly.

You should be glad that God hasn’t given me a hell to put people in ‘cause goodness knows where I’d put you.

I have a fire burning deep inside me that’s yearning to consume you, to melt the flesh off your bones as I breathe in the smell of your destruction.

If I could I’d annihilate you and what you stand for.

It’s not a matter of you moving on.

It’s all about how you slide your way into my head when I don’t want you there.

Then you take over and get me all messed up and then decide to leave.

Well, let me make this clear…

Stay away from me.

Remove my name from your mouth.

Forget that I existed.

You are a liar and hypocrite, and I’d be DAMNED to ever let you live this down.

You are dead to me and there is no hope for redemption.

There’s a day coming when the girl that you are head over heels for is going to take you for everything you have.

And I hope I’m there, not just to watch you hurt but to see you finally understand what’s it’s like to be played.

I want you to see what it’s like to not move on in hopes that this person will catch up with you, but they refuse to move.

I want you to see what it’s like to give in to someone and they not give back.

I want you to see what it’s like to put aside your insecurities only just to have them manifest your deepest fears.

Maybe it is by the grace of God that we never happened.

I don’t know what upsets me more…you lying to me or me believing you.

I’m not one to admit pain but what else can I say?

You got me;

I am heart broken, and it hurts like hell.

But that’s okay because one day my sorrow will be turned in to treasured gold.

POETRY: This Is My Testimony. By Cheryl A. Baldwin

My Love, I can’t love you unless I began to love myself.
Internally conflicted because im not perfect,
My Thoughts always lead me to think im worthless.
I feel like I should just give up
But my Lord you have said, “That’s enough!”
My Head feels like its going to implode!
So much confusion I just can’t take the load.

This is me…
Without the Lord I would be nothing.
Saved by Grace, But my mental state is still adjusting,
To the challenges I face, in this world full of disgrace, and there’s no time to embrace the love of a MAN.
Teach me oh Lord help me to see,
That nearer to you is were I wanna be.
My heart belongs to you Lord.

POETRY: 'Substance' by Kabriel Moorehead

Substance
By Kabriel Moorehead

As I gaze upon images of my youth
I wonder where that toothless smile has gone
That pure confidence
That defined my childhood
Has it been replaced with a ambition for excellence?
A hunger that shields and deflects my true intentions
In hopes of portraying a better image
A fine China figurine meant to stand in place of a aged statue
A symbol that never should have been altered
Because only dreams can stand the test of time
As my status among the elite grew
That monument to my youth faded into obscurity
It was only years later, when I myself was but a forgotten symbol
Were the ashes cleared
And I again felt the grace of that toothless glow

Copyright 2011| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: 'The Honorary Hourglass' by Jazelle Handoush

Honorary Hourglass

By Jazelle Handoush

Just a second.

A single second.

A solitary, single second

and a step.

Just one, makes all the difference in the world.

Just one, just one would have meant your death.

Just a minute.

A momentary minute.

A minuet, momentary minute

and a mic stand.

Just one, makes all the difference in the world.

Just one, just one, and your voice would have gone unheard.

An hour.

A horrifying hour.

A high-strung, horrifying hour

and an hour-glass.

That we retort for twenty-four.

and an hour-glass.

A high-strung, horrifying hour

A horrifying hour.

An hour.

A day.

A doltish, decelerated day

and you.

Just one, makes all the difference in the world.

Just one, just one, and I'll last a year.

A year.

A youthful year.

A yearned-for, youthful year.

A year of yesterdays with you.

Copyright 2011 | Jazelle Handoush

Poetry Slam Info

Yooo Everybody there will be a Poetry Slam October 26 by the Gazebo during both lunches.

Five people will be able to compete on a first come, first serve basis.

For those who don't know what a poetry slam is, its basically a poetry competition and each participant will be graded on style, deliver, and content.

For any more in depth info see Mr. Knight

POETRY: 'Love Letter #1' By Kabriel Moorehead

Love Letter #1
by Kabriel Moorehead

What's your motivation?
My drive is to be greater than all those who came before
And yet I feel like I'm in reverse
My actions are lagged behind
Opposite of fine drinks, just decaying with time
All because of this scantron
I bubbled every letter thinkin I could never fail
Without measuring the cost of excellence
How was I supposed to know that youd show up so elegant
Unaware that I never meant to remain static
Rather I became someone else
Prince charming dissolved into the nightmarish Romeo
All in the name of a good time
A opportunity of some sort
That now has me afflicted with the sins of my father
Patiently awaiting the moment
When in your eyes I'm baptized again
And ready to join you in my rightful place on the throne

Copyright 2011| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: Teenage Me By Cheryl A. Baldwin

Boy oh boy what do I have to do today
Gotta get up, get out of the bed and pray for a brighter day
Gotta expedite my shower
Gotta quickly get something to eat and devour it down
Cuz hurry I gotta be ready in an hour
Gotta get one more look at myself before I say goodbye
Gotta make sure my lip gloss is poppin, make sure my hair look fly
Then sigh cuz I look gorgeous!
Gotta go to school and sweep through the day
Go home and sit, relax, do my homework, play, pray
huuuuuh ........then finally ................sleep.

POETRY: Cynically, My Faith Gets Stronger by Cheryl A. Baldwin

Id like to be in love one day, just like anyone else.
Id like to bask in the effervescent emotions,
Id like to feel the presents of someone who adores me,
Feel the essence of his warming hands when there was no one around.
Hearts connected, Guiding my mind, body, and, soul, Oh how earnest!
Not feeling the slightest bit of pessimism,
I bow down
Let loose, and
Let free,
Obsequiously, to the lyrical melodies of his voice
Feeling so reverent and high as a kite, as my mind fades back into reality.


Yeah, id like to be in love one day, but even at the slightest delight of my fantasies my brain becomes over barren, questioning the basic sincerities and goodness of life.
Appalled, agitated, annoyed, and aggravated by the world, only because I know I cant control this cynical thinking.


Lord…. I just feel so lonely!
Its hard not having anyone to love,
Anyone to hold,
Someone to hold me…..


I wish that I could just have that one person in my life.
That person who I could trust with all of my personal thoughts,
All of my dreams,
All of my prayers.
That person would see me through the eyes of a lover and a friend,
That person who I could tell all of my internally craving fantasies,
That person who could also make those fantasies come true.


But I now know that my life right now was inevitably going to happen.
Its just apart of life!
And as I began to lose hope in this indigenous love life, my faith only gets stronger.

POETRY: Counting Constellations by Jazelle Handoush

Counting Constellations
By Jazelle Handoush

Someday...you'll be written in the stars.

Not a single sparkling stud, twinkling in and out of fame.

No, you'll be the in-betweens. A dazzeling constellation against the darkest canvas.

You'll be a story, instead of solitary.

Never alone in the expansive space. Not worried of shining in spotlight for seconds, until eyes gaze upon a brighter bulb. No, you'll be an illustration to enlighten.

Someday I'll search for you in the sky.
Trace a finger through your hair,
Point out the sparkle of your eyes,
Show the world who you are from every edge.

"Look, there she is!"

Stepping in circles until you're found overhead.
And I'll tell them your story.

The girl no one knew, now knowing all. Sketched into the stars.
You'll never fade into the dark.

We ask, who wrote the stars up in the sky? As Zeus did Orion's tale, yours will personified.
We'll map your movements. Trace your shape with fingertips.

Soon.

Someday.

For now, I'll sketch the stars upon your sleeve.

So your constellation I'll always see.

Because you shine the light on me.

Copyright 2011 | Jazelle Handoush

October 10th Meeting Notes

- There is a courtyard performance this Thursday October 13th, the theme will be "Tolerance" as we will be helping the Young Democrats present their goal of the month. Please read the poem below by Egal Bohen for inspiration and come prepared to perform at lunch on Thursday.

When we are angry at mankind
Or rave at some depravity of mind
When we would curse behaviour of a kind
To argue, rather than to view benign
It is with our own self we battle wage
When choosing not to understand, nor to engage
With that from which we isolate our self
With anger sent, to where, perhaps is needed help
Lest fearful, reason may just find the time
With tenderness, to enter in our mind.
And so it is perhaps from loss of our own face
We are so quick to shout of their disgrace
But we should not lose sight of our own sins
Though, in different colours dressed, appear they in
For is not all, of nature in this life?
The good, the bad, together, love, and strife
As nature, this is how such things will be
So it is not how loud we shout, but what we see
And seeing do, to help, to liberate
To free with tolerance, not shut the gate
That is
How it should be

Meeting Reminder

Just a reminder to all current members, there is a meeting this Monday at 2:50 pm in Mr. Knight's room. That's Monday afternoon at 2:50, please make sure that you have a ride home.

BULLETIN: Topic Writing Assignment #1

Here is the first of many topic writing assignments:

TOPIC: Sound and expression

LINES: Please keep it to 10-15 verses (NO MORE THAN THAT)

DUE: 10/3/11 @ the next meeting

TYPE SPECFICATIONS:

1. Your poem MUST be typed and printed
2. You must use Times New Roman or Ariel font
3. You must include your By line (ex: By Larry Knight)
4. NO RHYME!!! Free verse only...
5. Check work for grammatical errors, mixed metaphors, slang, etc.

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT TO INDICATE THAT YOU HAVE READ AND RECEIVED THIS POST.

POETRY: Viscid Vine of Lies by Jazelle Handoush

Viscid Vine of Lies
By Jazelle Handoush

What a tangled web we weave of words.
With, or what we say
is woven in the lies you tell
of sparkling sticky sorries.

Sorries so silly.

So sticky saddened sweet.

I might trace a finger from the center so small
Watch it whirl from inside out
Until too large to handle its own weight.

And so it

fails
        and
                  falls.

My fingertips are viscid with the tangled vines of lies.
My ears long bled with beliefs.
My tongue has told of chances past.

Last chance.
Unweave your web.
Or lie in your lies.
What a tangled web we weave.

Copyright 2011 | Jazelle Handoush

POETRY: 'Flutter' by Jazelle Handoush

Flutter
By Jazelle Handoush

Flutter flutter. Flutter flutter.

Thrive in darkness. Find solace in it. Survive.
The stars are a path towards home. An unknown.

Flutter flutter.

All is night.

Flicker flickk.

A dazzle in this space. For an instant only. The brightest, even beyond the unreachable moon.

Flutter flutter…Flicker.

Again. Stunningly in shines. Almost longer, the light.

Flutter. Closer. Reaching closer still. But unknown.
Spots cover the gaze. Blinded by it. Was it here? Or farther still?

Flutter. Flick.

Beyond the brightest star, morning’s sun, it shines. But no on again, off again.
It remains.
It burns.
The single hope in the lone of the night.
It kills.

Flut—.

Lamp’s light. A stricken death.

Flicker.

Copyright 2011 | Jazelle Handoush

POETRY: 'Transcendence' by Larry Knight

Transcendence

By Larry Knight

How can we define the invincibility of humanity?

Is it in the deeds of the brave, their actions

Marked by the unselfish concern of heroism?

Is it in the indefinite nature of our fragile selves,

How we hide sorrow behind facades of strength?

Is it in our tears, a deluge never quite washing away pain?

How can we show resilience in baleful hours,

In days, months, and years marked by hurt?

We embrace life, its promise, the existence of joy,

Moments defined by degrees of elation

Then juxtaposed to the heartache of a bitter truth:

We are mortal.

Our flesh and bone and blood

Are not immune to the certainty of temporality.

Our breath pushed from lungs into space,

Never to be reclaimed, is without substance...

But not our love. Not the altruism we possess,

our unyielding commitment to life,

the light in the eyes of our children.

We are not promised immortality,

Only the assurance of remembrance accompanying

Our selflessness, our faith, our fealty to love.

Despite the limits of race, or gender, or wealth,

Or religion, our acts define us;

they encircle earth inspiring lives unfamiliar,

illuminating souls shrouded by misfortune's pall,

making us as vast as forever.

Copyright 2011 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.

'A Chaldean' by Ana Hagins

You captured my heart

And kept it as yours.

My countenance fell

Like Jerusalem did to Babylon.

And I lamented like

The prophet, Jeremiah.

For I had none to comfort me.

“I am gone into captivity

Under affliction

And hard servitude.”

My heart finds no rest

Because “my persecutor

Overtakes me in dire straits.”

You gave my love away to other women

And yet I let you in.

But you destroyed my temple

Taking every golden treasure

I had to offer, and giving it to idols.

At one point in time I reigned

As a “princess among the provinces”

Of your heart.

But now “I have become a slave.”

My mother “sent warnings”

But I “despised her words

And scoffed” at her teachings

Like Israel did God

As you transformed from my lover

To my enemy

And annihilated the sanctuary of my soul

“Till there was no remedy.”

Quotes from Jeremiah 12

'In Jesus' Name' by Ana Hagins

I held their hands,

But I didn’t feel the power that they felt.

He prayed ever so fervently

And everybody else agreed by saying,

“Yes.” But to what?

I watched them hold his hand,

That still man’s hand,

My granddaddy’s hand.

I watched tears pour

Down their cheeks, but

I did not cry.

Did that make me less passionate?

“Dear Father,” he said

“please let your man servant make it

Through this trying time.”

And again, they said, “Yes.”

But I didn’t. He lay awake in

The bed but I knew it hurt to do so.

He always tried to remain strong for them

But remaining strong only made him

Weaker. They prayed for God to give

Him rest. That was what he needed.

Rest.

I said, “Yes” to that unconsciously,

For I, myself, prayed for him to find rest.

And they prayed for his life also.

Why his life?

I saw their contradictions

And I resented them for their indecisiveness.

They prayed for God to save his life,

But his life does not bid him rest.

Which do they want? Can’t they see he can’t have both?

He prayed to himself fervently

Not for his life, but for relief.

They’d been praying for months but

God did not lend them his ear,

Let alone a healing hand.

But they continued to pray nonetheless

As people reached forward laying

Their hands on him as if they

Possessed a healing power that God himself

Didn’t.

“In Jesus’ name,” he said.

“In Jesus name,” they echoed.

“In Jesus’ name,” he said louder than before.

“In Jesus’ name,” they called.

They called for Him, but he didn’t answer.

As they began to depart, grandmamma stopped

And said, “Get some rest, honey.”

I ran my hand over his face to shut his eyes.

“Yes,” I said. “In Jesus’ name.”

'Lady Like' by Ana Hagins

They surround me,

leaving no room to think of the

nextstep,

let alone

breathe.

I reach out

but no one takes my hand.

I cry for help but they can’t hear me.

“Can anybody hear me?”

I yell to them,

but they stand there and

watch.

Watch as if this is the day

they had been waiting for,

my down fall.

Now I’m trapped in a glass box.

I can see them

but my cage is ever so delicately

tinted that no one can see

inside.

I bang.

I scream.

I scratch.

I yell, but they can’t hear me.

The tears don’t just fall

they pour down my face,

but none come to comfort me.

Well, at least that’s how it is in my head.

I sit here quietly watching what’s going on,

Smiling and laughing when I’m supposed to

because its lady like to suffer in silence.

'Speak' by Ana Hagins

They are tortured by fear,

as the knowledge of those

who believe in the

Status of majority rule

pours into the minds of

the innocent. They

object to their theories

knowing that it can’t be right.

Intimidation has their voices

chained to the walls of silence,

so they become hoarse temporarily.

Yet understanding that in order to

bring the world out of darkness

they must be the light.

But they remain captives voluntarily,

listening to the cunning words of

intelligent fools, knowing that

these chains could be broken

if only they would

speak.

'Outsiders Came In' by Ana Hagins

We were once blind to all outsiders, strangers and foreigners

And their teachings.

It was just us.

We thought we possessed a dominating power

That couldn’t be conquered, but then they came,

the others.

They came with their books, different looks

and foreign languages and taught us about the forbidden and the unknown .

They assimilated as we conformed, and then we all transformed

into an intellectual empire. We adopted our neighbors

who we once saw as relatively close aliens, And showed them

a different nation behind these walls, and they immigrated.

We erased the word “unfamiliar”

from our vocabulary, and embraced it.

We identified them as one of us as

different shades began to disrupt the pattern,

checkering the pages of our year books.

We were once blind, in a sense,

to where we could only see ourselves,

but over the years we have only grown

blind to color as we finally let

the outsiders in.

'Rhythmatic Mobility' by Ana Hagins

The rhythmatic mobility

With the spitting of words

Was once an immaculate

Thought, but as the generations

Go by these treasures to society

Begin to lose their worth.

They no longer have meaning.

At a point in time flow was

A gift for the elected

But now in present times

Anything goes. They hardly

Use talent anymore,

But instead they synchronize a

Noise and call it music.

The simple bobbing has now become shaking,

Gyrating and all types of vibrating

As if they have no type of control over

Their body. There is no talent in that.

What happened to the time when

Music was made to help build humanity

But instead it fills the

Ears of the young

With all sorts of vanity

Like money, cars, and clothes.

Music is power.

So what will become of us

If we use it to devour

Those who take heed to

What is said? At a point in

Time people couldn’t live without

It but now it brings no benefit to man.

There have always been rebels to the

Way things use to be, but now they

Run the music community as the artists

From human history begin

To die out. Who will take their place?

For I have yet to see in

This day and age any one capable

Of reaching their standards. But they aren’t

Trying because we live in a time

When people settle for the worse

Even though it use to be better.

So what do we make of it?

What do we make of those few

Who have potential, but let it

sit in vain?

Music is power.

So what will become of us if

Musicians no longer shower our

Ears with words of healing?

Instead they use explicit lyrics

With reveling content,

A talent that’s so far bent

Out of shape that it’s no

Longer recognizable. Beats

Always had the strength

To create images, but now

Their beats are just pornography

Written in words.

Music is powerful

When there is something to sing

About. But cats these days

Are too content.

So they forgot how to use it.

'Imagine' by Ana Hagins

imagine...

imagine that knowledge is power

because it takes us to different heights,

levels of achievement that not even your

1960’s rocket scientist ever dreamed of.

imagine that we could be motivated to do better

because we understand that “good enough”

is never enough to satisfy the world’s hunger for change.

“Too often we underestimate the power...

the smallest acts of caring, all of which have the potential

to turn life around.” (Leo Bucaglia)

imagine that hard work pays off in the end,

that those who labor diligently need never despair.

Good things come to those who wait,

which means there’s nothing so hard that diligence can’t master it.

imagine that honesty, a by-product of integrity,

is telling people the truth without addition or subtraction.

Integrity, a way of life,

is telling yourself the truth

no matter how bad it hurts.

imagine that it’s possible to be more than men of success.

we can be men of value,

regardless of what others may say or think about us.

Sitting and thinking about such possibilities

only shortens the time for progression.

the sky is the limit, which means

we know no limits to what could be.

Anything’s possible, you just have to

make it happen.

'Maybe (Are You Ashamed?)' by Ana Hagins

You’ve condemned the idle minds

that choose to conform.

And you understand that there’s

an emptiness that comes with self denial,

or rather,

self sacrifice. Yet,

you allow others to adjust and readjust your standards.

Is it because you know that you are not like them?

Are you ashamed?

Are you ashamed that there

may only be one person in the world that knows the real you?

But no,

instead of embracing the realest love that’s out there,

let’s substitute your truth for theirs.

That way everybody wins.

Are you ashamed of the differences between you all?

If so, walk like them.

Conform, and be the true leech that you are.

Suck out all the blood that you can from them

so that you can maintain your social life.

Talk like them.

Look me in the eyes and lie.

Speak words that tickle my fancy

and entertain my heart.

Preach a doctrine that you know you won’t follow

since they aren’t really looking for a leader anyways.

Be them,

since being you isn’t good enough.

See them.

Breathe them.

Live them.

But the more like them you become

the more foreign you become to me.

Or maybe that’s just it.

Maybe you aren’t ashamed of the differences.

Maybe there are none.

Maybe you’re just ashamed of me.

'Truth' by Ana Hagins

If actions speak louder than words,

then its not enough to just WANT to be different.

Aligning one’s cognizance to the paradigms

of society only abates the realization of

the contemporary social anarchy.

It’s like accommodating in order to revolutionize.

TRUTH: you’ll stand as a contradiction

amongst others and yourself

if you claim to live above banal standards,

and continue to walk in the ways of the pedestrian.

'What Will Be' by Ana Hagins

Finally the day has come when we have to make a change.

We stand at the door that leads to

alien principals such as autonomy and self-reliance,

slowly stepping out of the realm of dependency

into the world where self-sufficiency is required in order to maintain.

But do we look back to what is familiar because we are scared of what is unknown?

No. For living in the past only pauses the present and stops the future.

One of the biggest mistakes we can make in life

is looking to the past as a source of comfort

for the hardships that lie ahead.

Don’t rest on old things

even though that’s all we know.

We are merely human, and subject to imperfection,

but errors lead to discoveries,

and mistakes make experiences.

So stumbling isn’t the sin,

it’s refusing to get back up after you’ve fallen,

and justifying your faults,

that makes you a failure.

It has been said that

“we are scribes of our own stories,”

so let’s not dwell on what was,

but rather, what will be.

'Adam Lives In Theory' by Ana Hagins

Adam lives in theory

Taking his man made doctrine

and using it to help

uplift his pride to a distant

hierarchy,

creating his own wisdom

and implanting it into the

minds of the eager.

He’s so far gone in a daze

that he begins to

rely only in his self-proclamations

and turns a deaf ear to understanding.

Ranking high in his own social status,

he takes independence to a

whole new dimension

because he’s self-portrayed

and self-proclaimed,

saying to himself, “I AM.”

Since errors are a sinners daily duty

Adam takes his gospel,

a doctrine of dark illusion,

and baptizes with past confusions.

Because he has more degrees than

a thermometer it shows he is

the WAY, the TRUTH, and the LIFE.

No one comes unto knowledge except through him.

Adam lives in theory

trying to turn stone into bread,

feeding the hearts of the curious

with his unleavened loaves.

Yet they still hunger.

So he shares his knowledge

and they adhere and believe

that because knowledge is infinite,

it has infinitely fell on him.

But Adam no longer is the only one

to plant deceptive seeds.

For indeed, Eve too

ate the fruit of the tree.

Inspired by Lauryn Hill, Unplugged album

'Resented Truths' by Ana Hagins

What people tend to not like most about others is normally an insecurity they hate about themselves. It’s the fact that someone out there can portray the one characteristic that they are ashamed to admit they have. It’s a type of jealousy that you can’t explain. So when you see it portrayed there’s a type of enmity that grows inside towards them, or so you say. It’s a self-hate that begins to transpire because you can’t bring yourself to admit such a truth.

It’s like somebody I know.

She’s a man hater.

Her experiences have brought her to the conclusion that most men are pirates that only dig for a woman’s treasures and then leave.

So from now on every guy she meets has to go through the twelve trials of Hercules just to get her first name.

“No man can be trusted, even if you’re married to them,” she says.

No one can be trusted because a previous cat let her down.

She has no shame announcing the blockade she has built around her heart, and that’s what I don’t like about her.

I look at the other girl and just wonder…

How can someone take pride in not being able to trust someone who may honestly care for them?

Why would you want to drag them through Fort Knox and every other type of hell just because the last guy messed up?

Maybe it’s the idea of her putting her all into one thing and him not reciprocating the same affection.

Maybe it’s because being vulnerable in a “dog eat dog” world is hard enough without having somebody taking advantage of you.

Maybe it’s because she fears love- an intangible yet strong entity that hates her, that turns friends into enemies, relatives into strangers, and lovers into resentful fighters.

Maybe it’s because she knows that loving someone doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them.

But what I hate most about that girl is that when I look into the mirror…

I understand her all too well.

POETRY: 'Knock Knock' By Daniel Beaty

POETRY Questions By Danielle Gaskins

Questions by Danielle Gaskins
Do they really know?
Can they really see?
Do they think i care,
what they really teach.
I come cuz' I'm forced,
No just for fun.
So don't ask me question,
and i wont ask you nun'
questions running through,
so many at a time.
Give me space to breath
I cant take it anymore.
Can you tell yet?
Do i need to draw it out?
Stop asking questions,
and I wont ask you nun'.

copyright 2011 Danielle Gaskins

POETRY: 'Sympathized Men' By Ana Hagins

My sympathy lies with men, for in women’s attempt to be equal they have assumed their positions and robbed them of their masculinity. How did a sect of a population accumulate so much power within the last century and then show their gratitude through hypocrisy? It makes no sense to fight for equality and continue to play the role of the weaker vessel.

There is power behind a woman’s ability, but oh, we are such contrary creatures. We want all the rights and duties of a man, who was ordained by God Himself to be the head of households, our protectors and our leaders, but not the responsibility. How can we blame them for wanting to turn back the hands of time when we undermine their judgment and authority? Every creature has a role in life and when men and women occupy the same niche in the area manhood then that leaves one station in neglect- the house.

We play the role of “Mr. high and mighty,” of “Mr. Hey, you, get off of my cloud” because we don’t take pride in our roles as homemakers and housekeepers, which is nothing to be undermined. Women like this independent feeling because according to somebody being submissive is for those who cannot provide for themselves.

Certainly not!

This aura of self-reliance filling the air of feminists has dulled their senses, and filled them with a sense of arrogance that gives them the audacity to put their hands on a man. But let him retaliate, and then the world stops. All of a sudden we are the weaker vessels again- the victims. Domestic violence is a two-way street, but I sympathize with men who suffer in silence because they fear being patronized or ridiculed for not being able to control a wilder beast aka the weaker vessel, but in the eyes of a feminist this is progress.

A sex-oriented civil war, a battle of the sexes is fought by the men because they seek redemption from the pit of shame their women have buried them alive in, but little do they know that it’s too late. We women have already divided and conquered.

Lowly maidservants have become queens. Candaces, Cleopatras, and Queen Victorias are reigning supreme, commanding men everywhere to bow down. During this age women are no longer minorities, but populous, strong individually and collectively…dominant. We have dethroned Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great and Louis XIII and made them lower than peasants, and barely considering them worthy to be counted amongst the grains of dirt beneath our toenails. The men who once wore the pants have been reduced to running shorts. Yes, and women chase them away from the face of glory saying, “Behold men, your superiors.” And this is just the beginning.

I sympathize with men.

POETRY: 'A Virgin's Condemnation' By Ana Hagins

If I actually knew why things were the way they are then I would tell you.

I would love to explain why I desire the forbidden

or why what I can’t have wants me.

To experience affection so foreign would be beyond extraordinary;

it would be fulfilling.

The idea of being embraced

by one whose heart only belongs to you

is unfathomable.

Soft whispers with tender touches and kisses

seem to only be a kind of tease

when you know that there’s more in store.

But let’s be clear on what is desired.

It’s not the actions in and of itself

or the true meaning behind them all;

it’s the attention,

the fact that out of it all

someone takes the time to embrace me.

There are so many other things to do,

but no,

at this moment in time,

for now,

right now,

I am the center of their focus.

I have something at the moment that no one else does

and it intrigues them;

it’s hard for them to turn away.

I am noticed,

finally appreciated

for a brief second in a 24-hour day,

and no one can deter them from me.

I am a Siren.

It doesn’t have to be intimate,

most of the time it’s not.

It’s the casual conversation,

the giggles and smiles

that leave imprints on all participants.

If only you could understand

the since of royalty I feel when they listen,

when they stop and hear my voice carry

through their ears with a melody

like soft rain gently tapping on a stream’s surface.

They respond in ways that make me feel as if my words,

my voice caress their eardrums.

At that present moment I am uplifted.

I am revered

as if to be some holy figure,

an angel.

Attention,

that’s all I want.

The care and warmth

is all I want.

The embracing of their time and space

is all I want.

It doesn’t get any more intimate then that,

but intimacy is a sin for a virgin.

Well I am a sinner,

condemned because I yearn for the tabooed

and thirst for its love.

Do you condemn me, Lord?

If it is truly a sin then please, by all means, cleanse me of it.

Dear Father who art in Zion,

I ask that you would forgive me

for I want what virgins can’t have.

Blot out my iniquities, my fleshly desires,

but if it’s not…

if it is not a sin

then bless me.

Bless me

with intimacy.

Bless me

with affection,

for in the end attention

is all I want,

and that’s the true meaning behind it all.