Sultry Summer's Evening
A frail…old Negro lady
…Born…in Lincoln's day
Who knew the taste of freedom
Only… when… she passed …away
Imprisoned… by the hatred
Which gnawed… within her soul
Agony written upon her face
… From the story…that she told
Of a sultry......summer’s evening
She was but…a child…back when
Her sister…was dragged away…in the dark
…By a group of sullen men
On horseback…silhouetted
Against…a glazed…moonlight
…And White folk...until her dying day
Reminded her…of…the night
When the cabin…in the clearing
Where the slaves called home
Was violated and desecrated
As she stood there…all alone
In the yard…and wept
…And silently…prayed
A vigil…with a purpose
Through the night…she stayed
Returning late…the next morning
……Of a sweltering day
They heaved a box…where she stood
… Without a word…rode away
...Though...they disappeared...forever...
Yet…their faces plagued her mind
…There…beside…her sister’s body…
Lying in the box…
.................................They made
............................................. ......................Of pine
Dedicated to my paternal grandmother, Sallie Virgie Earley 1855 -1948.....who was born into 'Slavery'...during...the 'American Holocaust, ' witnessed this moment...as a young child, and was consumed with a bitter hatred as a result of the experience. 'Sultry Summer's Evening' is a tribute to her memory....with the prayer...that she has...in death...found that measure of peace...which was so tragically elusive....during her sojourn.....on this earth.
poem by James B. Earley
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Related quotes
Sacred relation
"What on earth can be called sacred relation"?
One friend parried a direct question
"Why the query all of sudden"?
I was not prepared to answer even
He had lost mother recently
He was keeping quiet but asked gently
I understood pain from his eyes
Even though the death of his mother was long gone by
Right from the conception she is aligned with child
Her nature undergoes change and remains mild
Everybody takes special care of her
First happy moment is shared by sister
The family is heavily loaded with movement
The child is expected at any moment
Everybody at home is right on toe
Only the word is awaited with the signal "go"
Mother has no more reason to worry
Whole world is on her steps to carry
She has complete time to spend after child
Even after child troubles her or goes wild
Such beautiful mother is heavenly gift on earth
Attachment is such that we don't forget even after her death
The sadness on part of friend was easily understood
I decided to console him and firmly stood by
I knew by folk tales that mother was no less than goddess
You can see entire world in her or on face
If world has to owe anything to any one
Then mother stands the only chance and none else
I too became sentimental along with him and cried
I put maximum words to console him and earnestly tried
He was quiet reasonable but carried away by memory
He felt so sad and had certain reasons to worry
I feel irritated at the news of mother's death
If that really happens to me then what aftermath!
I found no answer and winked at the blue sky
The birds were returning home for next day to fly
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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American Child
I was ten, I was thin,
I was playing first base
With a secondhand glove
And dirt on my face
In nowhere, Virginia
Who'd ever figure that kid in the yard
Would go very far
It was 419 Lakewood ,
had no silverspoons
Just an old beat up upright
that played out of tune
Now I'm singin' and living the life that I love
And when I count my blessings
I thank God I was an American child
An American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild
Born inside an American child
Seven pounds, three ounces,
She's got my nose
And she's into my heart as deep as it goes
With a promise that's more
Than just someone's last name
Anyone's equal, in late August came
An American child
An American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild
Born inside an American child
My grandfather would have been eighty today
But in '45 he fell down beside
An American child
An American child
Oh, an American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild born inside
An American child
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sister of Heart
Sister of heart
Sister of soul
How can I tell you
what my mind knows
To explain my reasoning
Is a distasteful seasoning
Sister of heart
Sister of soul
Sister of mind
that is unknown
When I am falling
It's you I am calling
To ease the pain
You keep me sane
Sister I love
I hurt as well
I cause pain to swell
in your heart
Sister I know
we don't always see
each other perfectly
But try I will
endeavor I shall
The laughs and love
I'll never forget
the day we met
Sister of mind
Sister of soul
It's you I shall always owe
My gratitude
My protection
Sister of pain
I will share mine
and take yours far away
Sister of anger
Hatred is fine
but keep close in mind
also is forgiveness divine
Forever or longer
I will not let our differences
change our hearts
Forever together
sooner apart
Sister of soul
Sister of heart
poem by Sareeah Keelyn
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I Have But One Dream
This poem is dedicated to the late
Martin Luther King
I have but one dream
that one day all men and women
will see there is no difference
between us no matter what colour we are.
The air we breathe you and I,
is the same as everyone else.
We are all born of the same colour blood
and we all bleed when we are cut.
There is no difference in our body’s makeup
apart from the shade of our skin.
Yet if you are white in the winter,
you want to look a darker shade
when the summer comes.
If a brother or sister
is that colour all year around
why do we want to look like them
only when summer comes?
If you can answer that question
and understand the meaning of what I say
then racial hatred will slowly disappear
from our world today
and all men and women will live in harmony.
Love will then prevail to set everyone free.
11 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Out of the…is Born a …
Out of the mire is born a gorgeous flower;
Out of the noise is born a dead silence;
Out of the storm is born, calm!
Out of the strife is born a pleasant life;
Out of the filth is born flora, fauna;
Out of the chaos is born clarity.
Out of the exercise is born a healthy body;
Out of the training is born wisdom;
Out of the learning is born a scholar!
Out of the confession is born a soul afilled with grace;
Out of the Holy Book is born the word of God;
Out of the prayers is born answers from God!
Out of the rain is born the verdure shoots;
Out of the sun is born the growing plants;
Out of the dawn is born a lovely day;
Out of the dusk is born a quiet night!
Out of the hunger is born an appetite;
Out of the dainty food is born satiety;
Out of the wine is born inebriety.
Out of the fasting is born controlled senses;
Out of the inhibition is born a civilized person;
Out of the nature’s furies is born forbearance;
Out of the war is born a newer peace.
Out of the mistakes done is born a new resolve;
Out of the struggle is born a long-lasting freedom;
Out of the perseverance is born an accomplishment.
Out of the light is born a new day on earth;
Out of the night is born a starry sky;
Out of the dark clouds is born an aureole moon.
Out of the boredom is born a life of joy;
Out of the trials, travail is born a mind of steel;
Out of the woes is born a content heart!
Out of the parent’s love is born a loving child;
Out of the love of God is born forgiveness of sins;
Out of the mercy of God is born a soul for heaven!
poem by John Celes
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Emancipation Day
The sixties brought a clash of arms—
The mem'ry of it thrills and charms—
While Negro slaves for freedom prayed,
Till Heaven bowed to give them aid.
The God of nations—God of right—
Kept back success within the fight,
Till Lincoln vowed on bended knee,
To set the Negro bondsmen free.
The first of January, see!
In eighteen hundred sixty three,
The first Emancipation Day,
When mad oppressors lost their sway,
The sun of freedom rose that day,
The night of bondage drove away,
When sainted Lincoln did decree,
That slaves forever should be free.
As years of time have come and gone,
For each the Negro race has borne,
Abundant fruit in freedom's name,
That will not bring the nation shame.
Emancipation Day, so great!
With joy we meet to celebrate,
The Sun of Righteousness we hail,
Who died that freedom might prevail.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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One Winged Angel
A goddess with grace
A demon with strength
Will be born
A child of faith
A child of wisdom
A child of might
The child will know the way to fight
The child will soar the skies above
The child will know a once true love
The child will sing a loving tune
The child will die a once full moon
A child of good
A child of bad
This is a child that cannot be sad
A wing of an angel on the left
A wing of a devil on the right
This is the story of the monster of the night
He walks through the day a normal man
Through the night he's one you cannot stand
Once a child of beauty and grace
Now a fiend of wicked and waste
He walks through the forest seeking all
Creatures of size big and small
In the night he finds a place
With a man he'd like to taste
Closer up he begins to walk
While the man begins to talk
A song he sings
The monster does hear
Calms the beast while so near
The beast begins to change its face
And once again the child of grace
As the child stands in wait
An arrow strikes to seal his fate
In the moonlight a child has died
On horseback the hunter rides
Closer to see his kill
In his mind for just the thrill
As he sees the fallen angel
A puddle of blood with body mangled
He cries in tears for what he's done
It's now time for the sun
The child rises from the ground
With a halo so very round
As the angel takes it's leave
The man now he so believes
Of the one winged angel.
poem by Cody J Walker
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By Starlight.
She'd tell you
which group of stars
were what
in the evening sky
as you stood outside
the church after
choir practice
of a Friday night
and her finger
would lift up
and point it all out
and her words
would drift
on the night air
like cigarette smoke
and you held onto
her every word
as she spoke
not for what she said
of night sky
or constellation of stars
but for the sound
of her voice
how it disturbed
the universe
made the deadly silence
less deadly
how they could bring
you in close to her
could embrace you
as she did
when no one
was looking
or you were both alone
some place standing
or sitting face to face
and that particular night
as she pointed up
and out
her other hand
grabbed yours
in the evening dark
and gave a squeeze
and hold
and then let go
how deep
that love was back then
is hard to figure
but love it was
you know.
poem by Terry Collett
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Not Yet Dust and Ashes
I’m sitting at the table
in the living room
with my sister, her daughter and husband
and her friend Sarah
everyone gathered for a
Rosh Hashanah dinner
Even though the holiday
falls late this year,
October 3rd and 4th,
the weather is still hot
and we talk about
the brutal summer
perhaps a hint of what is to come
and how if the Polar caps melt
all of Florida will be underwater
which includes my sister’s son
who just bought a house there.
The doorbell rings
My sister gets up to answer.
Sarah says, “Well, Steve,
whatta you recommend for depression? ”
“Still got that, ” I say stupidly.
“Data entry all day is
driving me insane.”
My sister is talking
to someone at the door.
Howard, her husband,
gets up to see what’s going
on, who’d be interrupting
the Rosh Hashanah dinner.
“Menopause
doesn’t help any, ”
says Sarah.
My sister returns,
her face strained,
I know her well enough—
something happened
at the door.
“Claire wanted me to
hook up her bra,
said the girl who cares for her
forgot to do it,
that she had an appointment
at the beauty parlor for nine,
all dressed up she was,
ready to go out.”
“Now? ” I said.
“She must have dozed off
got up
then thought this was nine
in the morning.
I told her
Claire
this is at night
She was so embarrassed.
“She’s losing her mind, ” declared Sarah.
“No! ” my sister said,
“No! ”
Well my sister had every right not to
want Claire to disappear
after all she’d been living
next to her for fifty years
and Claire’s husband
dead at eighty-five
less than six months ago
now alone
two children, yes,
but alone
so morning and evening
day and night
life and death
for each essence
in motion
all one. Then suddenly
“SHE’S STILL ALIVE, ”
my sister shouted,
then more quiet
even serene
“that’s all that matters.”
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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I Was The Child of The Night
I was the child of the night
Dark is my father
The moon is my mother
Star of stars was my sister
I was the child of the night
My father is a symbol of fear and helplessness
My mom is the charm
My sister is the beauty of the night
I was the child of night who afraid of the dark night
Mom, please tell to father i would not like the darkness
But my mother said, need not be afraid, my daughter, my light will always protect you from the dark night.
I always give you a glimmer of light in the darkness.
And see your sister, she was very beautiful among the dark of night.
My daughter, the darkness is tranquility.
Many people would like stay in it although it will make them are scared and helpless because
They are find peace in the darkness.
Lost In Faith
i cried late nights a
long time ago but no one
came to save me each night
i prayed but none of my
prayers was heard
i alone knew where i stood
i alone knew the capability
of this beast...i strech out
and reach for your hand
but fell short when no man
grabbed up on to me
i fell for decayeds back to back
and stood after all in my dreams
i found peace and joy
but now of this can follox me home
and for that my faith is few
poem by Robert Roberts
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Two Seasons
I
The stars were wild that summer evening
As on the low lake shore stood you and I
And every time I caught your flashing eye
Or heard your voice discourse on anything
It seemed a star went burning down the sky.
I looked into your heart that dying summer
And found your silent woman's heart grown wild
Whereupon you turned to me and smiled
Saying you felt afraid but that you were
Weary of being mute and undefiled
II
I spoke to you that last winter morning
Watching the wind smoke snow across the ice
Told of how the beauty of your spirit, flesh,
And smile had made day break at night and spring
Burst beauty in the wasting winter's place.
You did not answer when I spoke, but stood
As if that wistful part of you, your sorrow,
Were blown about in fitful winds below;
Your eyes replied your worn heart wished it could
Again be white and silent as the snow.
poem by Galway Kinnell
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On A Picture Of The Finding Of Moses By Pharoah's Daughter
This picture does the story express
Of Moses in the bulrushes.
How livelily the painter's hand
By colours makes us understand!
Moses that little infant is.
This figure is his sister. This
Fine stately lady is no less
A personage than a princess,
Daughter of Pharaoh, Egypt's king;
Whom Providence did hither bring
This little Hebrew child to save.
See how near the perilous wave
He lies exposëd in the ark,
His rushy cradle, his frail bark!
Pharaoh, king of Egypt land,
In his greatness gave command
To his slaves, they should destroy
Every new-born Hebrew boy.
This Moses was an Hebrew's son.
When he was born, his birth to none
His mother told, to none revealed,
But kept her goodly child concealed.
Three months she hid him; then she wrought
With bulrushes this ark, and brought
Him in it to this river's side,
Carefully looking far and wide
To see that no Egyptian eye
Her ark-hid treasure should espy.
Among the river-flags she lays
The child. Near him his sister stays.
We may imagine her affright,
When the king's daughter is in sight.
Soon the princess will perceive
The ark among the flags, and give
Command to her attendant maid
That its contents shall be displayed.
Within the ark the child is found,
And now he utters mournful sound.
Behold he weeps, as if he were
Afraid of cruel Egypt's heir!
She speaks, she says, 'This little one
I will protect, though he the son
Be of an Hebrew.' Every word
She speaks is by the sister heard.-
And now observe, this is the part
The painter chose to show his art.
Look at the sister's eager eye,
As here she seems advancing nigh.
Lowly she bends, says, 'Shall I go
And call a nurse to thee? I know
A Hebrew woman liveth near,
Great lady, shall I bring her here?'
See! Pharaoh's daughter answers, 'Go.'-
No more the painter's art can show.
He cannot make his figures move.-
On the light wings of swiftest love
The girl will fly to bring the mother
To be the nurse, she'll bring no other.
To her will Pharaoh's daughter say,
'Take this child from me away:
For wages nurse him. To my home
At proper age this child may come.
When to our palace he is brought,
Wise masters shall for him be sought
To train him up, befitting one
I would protect as my own son.
And Moses be a name unto him,
Because I from the waters drew him.'
poem by Charles Lamb
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my little sister's GONE: (
She was five when her sister left
And with her gone she felt like she experienced death
She was too young to even know what that meant
Apart for seven months is what they spent
Her older sister was her best friend
She always looked up to her
Her smile she would always lend
She witnessed drugs
Barely given a hug
Barely shown any love
And just when she lost hope
Her sister would always show up
At the most needed time
Her sister never knew it
But she always completed her inside
And then her sister would go away again
And the same thing would happen
Then suddenly her sister stopped coming around
For a better life is what she thought she had found
A better life that didn’t include her
But she never knew that every day
Her sister thought about her
She always wondered where her sister went
And why she always left without their lives together spent
One day she gotten taken away
To a family friend
And for a while she would stay
But she was still mistreated
Barely eaten
Always hit
But she never told her sister this shyt
When her sister would call
She’d say I’m okay
Cause her sisters on speaker phone
What more could she really say
Her sister always promised that she would visit
And every day she waited
Hoping she’d keep it
But then she realized she was stuck
But knew that her sister still had love
It was just hard for her to see her face
And she felt like in this world she had no place
One day her sister came for her
She went to church and looked for her
She asked where is my little sister
And they all replied GONE
That’s when I soon discovered what exactly had been done
I always promised my sister Shilah that I would come and see her
And she waited until she finally gave up
And now she’s gone and I know it’s my fault
If I had only come sooner
She would still be here
She would still know that I cared
She waited for me to keep my promise
And I did but it was too late
and now i feel dis-honest
poem by Shilesha Johnson
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THE QUICK BRUISE AND RUN Of LOVE by Marjorie Evasco
(for Mary Ann & Marc)
I.
Summer twilight slices into two
Halves of a sweet cantaloupe;
At table, the speckled stargazer
Opens its fragrant petals windward;
At my foot, our old cat dreams.
Nothing here betrays the grace
We speak of at each meal, together
Or alone. Today, while one of us
Sits under the tamarinds,
And another wades the golden river,
I alone sit at table, a mother
Attending to the core of fruit
Cleaving to the knife, the fuchsia
Flower sundered by summer’s heat,
The cat purring its ninth life away.
II.
Yesterday night after dinner, we told
An old story, pausing at a part
We did not love but could not
Gnaw off. It is your hurt fathered
Into child’s shape, vulnerable
To faithlessness. As the story twists
In the telling, you speak of a new-
Born child, whose limbs could break
Or neck snap. were one of you to hold
The tender heels and swing against a wall.
We need to put this story right.
III.
Long, long ago on a fevered night,
A mother sat by her child’s bed,
Damp cloth soothing flame of forehead,
Limbs. in her vigil she vowed
On pain of death, to beg the life
Or health back into those cheeks.
The fever broke, she held her kind
And knew the gods had ears.
Son, Daughter, take this story-child
With care. In the curve of your arms
Your father’s fruit survives the fall,
Becomes your bruised but living grace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In a Boast Stayed Boosted
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.
Eyes on demise!
With fire and brimstone in their sights.
And tantillized by cries of crisis.
To observe with a wish not to grow from it.
That validates misfits witnessed!
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.
Proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And gloom is a boast stayed boosted.
That feeds upon such limitness,
Of those who love it on their minds and lips.
And...
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
To observe with a wish not to grow from it.
That validates misfits witnessed!
And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And giving up more attitude...
To those who view them useless,
And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!
And ready to be roosters noosed...
Plucked to be served after roasting,
With a juice or good brew!
And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!
And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The 1st Mistake I Made
I aint got no claim to nothing.
I dont mess with anyone.
I walk my way living in a masquerade.
And one day I looked behind me at all the things Ive done.
Thats the 1st mistake I ever made.
I was born to a lonely women in a town called buffalo.
Never knew the man who never stayed.
With my 12-string on my back I discovered every track.
Thats the 1st mistake I ever made.
With a million hearts Ive broken.
I never kept the score.
Memories of good love hate to stay.
But I still remember someone who loved me so much more.
Thats the 1st mistake I ever made.
So, when nothings worth the living and in the night I look above.
Prayed, about a million times I prayed.
I know my story ended when I lost my only love.
Thats the 1st mistake I ever made.
I was born to a lonely women in a town called buffalo.
Never knew the man who never stayed.
With my 12-string on my back I discovered every track.
Thats the 1st mistake I ever made.
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orleans
My sister was named Orleans
After the town where she was born,
Dear Orleans, my best friend,
A little girl with hazel eyes,
Dear Orleans, please don’t cry,
Hold my hand and stay with me,
And never say good bye.
My sister grew up beautiful
Like so many little girls do,
My sister Orleans, late one night,
Danced with a man named Lou.
Dear Orleans, please come home,
Mama and daddy and I
Are waiting here for you.
My sister never came home that night,
And daddy called the law,
Mama paced the floor till dawn
And wrung her hands till they were raw,
Dear Orleans, we waited till
The police came to our house
And told us what they saw.
My sister had been ravished bad
And left to die alone.
The man called Lou had fled the town
And by morning he was gone.
Dear Orleans, thank God you lived,
Though you’ll never be the same,
At least you’re safe at home.
My sister Orleans grew a life
Conceived through hate and fear;
We tried to hide it from the town
But soon it became clear.
Dear Orleans, hid her shame
As day by day she swelled
And the baby’s birth drew near.
My sister thrashed and cried in bed
On the day the sun was high;
She begged for mercy and release
Till we heard the infant cry
Dear Orleans, reached out for him
I wrapped him in a towel
And watched her baby die.
poem by Caroline Misner
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Unwed Mothers Pain
she was so young and mistook infatuation for love
and to her boyfriend she gave herself freely.
to her shock and gloom -a child was in her womb.
she told her boyfriend of what she discovered.
to hear him say 'it must be from another'
i am too young to marry
this problem you'll have to carry.
her friends turned their backs in dismay
they did'nt know just what to say.
when she told her family-they responded coldly.
' why did you make this mistake-now its far too late.
love is not the opening of your thighs.
now you'll have to hide that baby which you carry inside.'
abandoned by friends and family, when they were needed most.
she kneeled and prayed to the FATHER, SON, AND HOLY GHOST.
she recalled the words which were told to her.
'abort or abandon'
is this what you have to say?
but! my child there is no other way!
in her heart she knew that it 'could not be'
that god wanted her to abandon this baby
so with determination she began to pack
she would go elsewhere-there was no turning back.
she knew that she did not have enough education
to do what she wanted to do.
but she promised this child that
'i'll make a life for me and you'
sitting at a bus stop-bags in her hand.
she met this woman all dressed in blue with soft tender eyes.
she told her -her story, and then began to cry.
this woman put her arm around her and said
'fret not my child-you can stay with me for a while.'
with hope in her heart-she went with this lady.
found a job and continued with school.
and promised herself that no one else would
take her for a fool.
nine months later she did give birth
to a baby girl with beautiful blue eyes, and her skin so white.
and above her head was a shining bright light.
so she named her after this woman who took her in.
i'll name you Mary with the beautiful white skin.
time went by quickly and graduate she did.
she gave this child the love that was always in her heart
and her career became a very big part.
she thanked God for this lady who gave her -her start.
this beautiful lady with a kind tender heart.
the years passed quickly and mary started to grow
more beautiful than you'll ever know'
she came home from work on a cold snowy day
to find that lady mary had passed away.
she honored this lady the best way she could.
by opening her home to unwed mothers and anyone
in despair'
and named this home 'marys lair'.
and now when she tells the story she says
'mother mary always dressed in blue
my doors are open because of you'
so always keep faith in your heart and mind.
God listens! it just takes time.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Lady Of Solitude
All summer long she touched me
She gathered in my soul
From many a thorn, from many thickets
Her fingers, like a weavers
Quick and cool
And the light came from her body
And the night went through her grace
All summer long she touched me
And I knew her, I knew her
Face to face
And her dress was blue and silver
And her words were few and small
She is the vessel of the whole wide world
Mistress, oh mistress, of us all
Dearly dead; queen of solitude
I thank you with my heart
For keeping me so close to thee
While so many, oh so many, stood apart
And the light came from her body
And the night went through her grace
All summer long she touched me
I knew her, I knew her
Face to face
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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