The stamp Black Heritage of Anna Julia Cooper
I received a letter from my Attorney saying the case is now scheduled for merits hearing next year,
I relaxed totally but the stamp on the envelope pushed me into some kind of research?
I love History though I am not a Historian.
She must be a prominent figure of the land of opportunity.
I know nothing except the Sun rises in the West and sets in East?
Anyway I hope my spiritual Teacher Sandra Fowler would supply me some ingredients into this void.
I have an old poem here 'The color of my dream' which I dedicated to Maria de Jesus the Brazilian authoress for her 'Child of darkness'.
And I decided to add there Julia's name too.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Boy who Sees His Dark Face After a Long Time
A market place where nearby
The old Railway station
Under the hot Sun,
The shoeshine boy
Not yet ten
With his holey satchel
Who shines the old retired
Bachelor Station Master's shoes
And he sees on the toe his dark face
After a long time since the day
Broke the mirror
And kicked his Mom away
By the drunkard father!
(To the Brazilian authoress Carolina Maria de Jesus
for her diary 'Child of Darkness'.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Piccaninny and her ramshackle pianoforte
Her consumptive father is a shoeshine in the particular railway station
And her infidel mother goes out late in the evening,
Dilly-dally in the dim-light streets.
The child prodigy who plays her shaky piano, Mom has picked from a junk yard on a full moon day.
You could hear faintly in the twilight when sun hides,
The sad theme in low pitch of the bursting ghetto.
The darkness, hunger, poverty, penny-pinching, malnutrition, malpractices, hooliganism and et cetera.
Her transparent soul plays well as a maestro.
It's not a miracle if a kind-hearted drunkard politician peeps to the scenario who loves the classical music.
*Dedication to the Brazilian authoress Caroline Maria de Jesus who wrote 'The child of darkness'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Parabola
My younger days I dream of Paragliding.
And I had a strong desire to be a Pilot.
But this paralysis decaying body in my old age,
I have to quit my old dreams.
I repent now as the youth is a gift
That passed through my bony fingers secretly.
* I dedicate this poem to my friend Sandra. Fowler, I am being grateful to your wise comments really pushed me to the six hundredth poem.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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So you have to force yourself out of a comfort zone and really try to figure out what are the key ingredients, the key skill sets, the key perspectives that are necessary, and then figure out a way to attract the very best people to fill those particular roles.
quote by Steve Case
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I found your old Christmas card in my bookshelf
I love that water color painting
printed on your precious card!
In 2009, far away Salem church appears
with snow flakes
and a woodpecker rests
on a cypress branch.
Your boisterous flowing hand tells
' Thinking of you as Christmas
and wishing you only the best
in the New Year! We keep you in our prayers
Take care! '-Sandra & family.
Yes Madam! I am really worried of your long lull
And thank God! Your prayers worked out.
My colonoscopy results were good
The polyps they found in my large intestine were benign tumor
and not Malignant?
I am happy as I could scribble further
If my old friends appear soon?
Neighborhood birds started singing
in the absence of Virginian nightingale?
And I kept a bowl of rice & water on the window sill.
Hope you're well and please give a little shout
from Lie-Ving road, West Columbia!
[Kindness is a language the dumb can speak and the deaf can hear and understand.]-Christian Bovee
for my life-school teacher Sandra Fowler in gratitude!
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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We Are 'All' Sunset Travelers
We are 'all' sunset travelers.
Some arising in dawns long past,
Now to find our afternoons...
Rushing to caress an horizon,
Beginning to crest the West.
With assorted memories blessed.
We are 'all' sunset travelers!
And yes,
Some of us do prefer those dawns,
Remembered.
But the rest...
Have come to enjoy,
Such an enlightened ride.
Inspired and Dedicated:
Sandra Fowler
United States
'We are all sunset travelers.
Sandra had stated to me.
And I agree. Thank you Sandra.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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When Love Never Ceased
A beautiful sunset sets to my west
A subtle rainbow rises from the east
And I dream of love, when love never ceased
Tried, I, to keep it, tried my very best
Alas, the love has gone and has been gone
Far too many weeks, far too many years
Replaced only with doubt and childlike fears
Trust that has been entirely undone
A beautiful rainbow fades to the east
The sunset gives way to a hazy dusk
I am left alone, a man out of luck
And I dream of love, when love never ceased
If only rainbows and sunsets could cheer
A heart that's been hardened so many years
((June 29th,2009))
poem by Danny Speicher
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For My History Teacher
I’m sitting in class,
My eyes about to close,
I hope teacher don’t see,
I hope she don’t see me.
Bored out of my mind,
Falling so behind,
Cannot concentrate,
I came to class too late.
Although I was on time,
My body was I mean,
My mind is still outside,
From class trying to hide.
What does all this mean?
I haven’t used it yet,
How can I retain it,
When already I forget?
And then she walks over,
That teacher of mine,
A smile in her eyes,
A gentle one at that,
She puts her hand on me,
And sets me kind of free.
Now here I am in class,
Learning about the past,
About history,
And what it did for me.
How we can learn,
From mistakes of old,
Of people so different,
Some so very bold.
Some stood against oppression,
Some stood against the wrong,
Some said it with dignity,
Some said it with a song.
I owe it to them,
And teacher here to hear,
What they did for us,
And no longer fear.
That knowledge is so dull,
No longer hurts my brain,
No longer hurts my skull,
It will surely keep me sane.
The past is the future,
Unless I stay awake,
So I can benefit,
There’s much more at stake.
Than I thought before,
Before I got to class,
Thank you History teacher,
For bringing to life the past.
I never got bored in History class, because I had a wonderful History Teacher. This is for her.
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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The road named Blunder
Who knows if the brake is applicable or not along this greasy zigzag road where he drives his tumbledown car?
The color blind pedestrians carry heavy bundles of hopes and they cross here and there without an aim.
The poor driver too doesn't know his destination well
But he has a fair knowledge from where the bright Sun rises and sets mysteriously?
* This poem is dedicated with love and gratitude: to my beloved wife, daughters and their loving partners too.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Opurtunity
Opportunity
Loss it seems is the worst kind of sorrow
Loss of a dream
Loss of a person
But what of the loss of opportunity
Opportunity for a dream
Opportunity for time with a person
Can not having the chance of loss
Be worse than loss itself
More prominent
More painful
An aching sense that if only you’d had the chance
You would at least have memories
Good
Bad
Would it matter as long as you could remember
Loss it seems is the worse kind of sorrow
But worse still is the loss of opportunity
poem by Abigail Hauschild
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My old satchel
Still I carry your heavy fragrance in the old satchel over my slanted shoulder.
Life flies away from me day by day.
And our golden school stands still with new students.
In that narrow flowery path they walk to our nostalgic school
And we are too old to stand at the gate.
I imagine the music teacher's sensitive finger tips touch the reeds
And gives the melancholy song of life again.
Dedication to one of the prominent poetesses in the site Sandra Fowler
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Appalachian Gray
I think the dusk has slipped beyond all words.
You speak spring with an accent never heard.
A poem on an Appalachian pane
Is bringing April back via the rain.
Pale trillium on the hill above the creek
Is delicate beyond the will to speak.
A gray coat of old feelings wraps my frame.
The landscape flickers like a candleflame.
Friend, frozen tears of trees mirror the sky
Within the confines of their inner cry.
The light fades us into its elegy.
Music is pictured though no sound need be.
2007, Copyright Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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Prominent Men
Through all of the highways, the byways Ive travelled
Through all of the sidestreets and alleys of sin
Through all thats been heard nothing sinks quite as low
As the prominent statements of prominent men
Prominent men tell prominent stories
Prominent men tell prominent lies
Prominent men kiss the ass of dame fortune
Prominent men will tear out your eyes
The streets that have life with the cats underbelly
Aligned with their tracks of a thousand good-byes
A poor woman screams with the heat of disaster
As the prominent men sit and strengthen their ties
Oh, the prominent girls of the prominent people
Make prominent dresses and prominent hair
Oh, their prominent wealth and their eyes blazed with shadow
The prominent horrors with the ghost millionaire
The shiny stained window now cracked at sunset
They shiny red dawn of the heart soon must fall
This simply occurred at the seat of the cauldron
Those prominent men hadnt been there at all
Prominent men tell prominent stories
Prominent men tell prominent lies
Prominent men kiss the ass of dame fortune
Prominent men will tear out your eyes
Oh, the prominent child of these prominent people
Seeks prominent schools with the finery of age
With a prominent pink of a tasteless red orchid
The prominent men casts a prominent heir
The child of the agent walks barefoot upon grass
He screams with a power that terrors green eyes
His knife harshly glistening, stabs noways and always
But those prominent men in nowhere in sight
Prominent men tell prominent stories
Prominent men tell prominent lies
Prominent men kiss the ass of dame fortune
Prominent men will tear out your eyes
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dry Eyes In The Pouring Rain
Stand there and
Watch and
Feel me disintegrate
The core of me
The train hurt me
I am no more
I've run
Please run
Don't be led on
Who do
You see, you do
Think you've known me
I wish I knew
At any point knew
How life should be lived
I came
I saw and came
To know I'm lost
If you ever
Knew me whenever
Come find me someday
I was alone
Am all alone
Still searching for the one
Hey fate
Remember me? Do you fate
Do me good?
Oh I
Been a lot less than I
Now I'm void
Who are you
In the mirror, do you
Blame me
White was white
Now black is white
And darkness light
The sun rises
Sets and rises
Watch it set my life
Failure's here with his friends
Mistakes, regrets, and their friends
My days are frayed
I'm wrong
Done wrong
What's right I write
I'm soft inside and outside hard
Life is hard, on both sides hard
But like a crab, I'll be fine
Until that day when the sun sleeps in
the east
And the sun wakes in the west
This pain...I mean rain... will end.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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January Mist
Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament.
Dark notes that seem to second moon's descent.
Cold is the color of a deep regret,
An etude perfected by winterset.
The world was music and it turned us round.
Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound,
You gently sketched a snowflake on my face
Which shall be mine till light has left this place.
Such solace has the power to outlast time,
To lock a small bird's elegy in rhyme.
Somewhere beyond the January mist,
The magic of our landscape still exists.
Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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My Heart's Corner, , , ,
moments of laughs spent together, ,
moments of smiles spent together, ,
moments of fights spent together,
moments of busy ness spent together, ,
somethings discussed together, ,
some solutions found toghether,
way of living discussed together, ,
discussed and decided to be together..
will always be remembered in this life and even after, ,
may you always b happy even after me, ,
well i hope u always reign to b seen after me,
high up in the bright sky, ,
ur name flutters, ,
i know you u want the whole sky to be urs, ,
may u ask 4 all n get more then wht urs, , ,
the sun rises, , the sun sets, ,
the moon rises, the moon sets, ,
the stars sparkle, , look cute,
i admire them in totally a silence soo mute,
my heart throbs with each of ur word said,
what if you never said,
how much you loved me, ,
but still feel u around me, ,
set even my mind according to it, ,
well ill always need my heart to remind me of it, , ,
cos u r the corner of my heart, , ,
who's never ever apart! ! ! ! !
luv ya, , , , , my life, , ,
poem by Pooja Mehta Shah
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Dream Land
Dream Land
Dream Land
What a wonderful place many have seen
But can’t be.
Dream Land
Dream Land
What a horrible place many have seen
And hoped never to be
Dream Land
Dream Land
Many who saw merriment in thy land
Wished never to wake
But wake they must
And when they do
They’re overwhelmed by
Such a sorrowful joy like never before
Dream Land
Dream Land
Struggling they do
Profusely they sweat
And “Jesus! ” they exclaim
When they finally turn their eyes
From the horrors they saw in thy land
Dream Land
Dream Land
What and where are you?
Some think you exist
While others hope you don’t
Do you really exist?
If you do
Where then are you?
If you don’t
Why then do you show thyself to us?
O Dream Land
While do you show thyself to us?
While we sleep
Can’t we see you with our eyes open?
Or are you a world for the blind?
Dream Land
Dream Land
O Dream Land
Where can we find you?
poem by YoungBen Ulebor
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A Poem To My Teacher
Here we sit
Hearing you
Explaining the lessons
With love and with dream,
Although you may not realize it
But I can
I know your desire to lead us
With your blessed hand
Into an unseen life bridge
Teacher…
The day may be dark
But you’ll not
Cause you yourself
Is an unshaped light
Holding our hands
Befriending us
Through this darkness
And here we wait
Teacher,
We may have done too much fault
Especially to the person
Befriending us till now
Without feeling dejected
Especially to you…
We might have disappointed you
We might have lied to you
And we might never think of you
But you…
You wait us with smile
Saying it’s all done
And asking us to face the future
Nobody would be
The very best guide I’d ever met
Like you
Teacher…
The road is almost finished
Soon, sun will come
But I’ll never forget
I’d ever seen a much more brighter light from you
The one guiding us with love
To reach his own dream
He’s my teacher
poem by Clara Odelia Ciutara
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From The West
How did this come about?
Of your opportunity and my opportunity;
For a child is born with a special name,
And like the interpretations of my love.
Forty years in the wilderness and of the vast difference,
But come here to see things for yourselves;
For you will need money like honey for your body and,
Molasses like the love of your mind on this lake.
I'm from the West and i want your love,
But you are the East and you've seen my face;
For the pot that calls the kettle black is around us.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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