It was a loud cry
When I was brought to this world
Been loud ever since
—Jill Scott, The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I will write
Ina way that will surprise you
Shock you and offend
Ignite and impregnate
It is the cause and the purpose my sweets
Poets must think and re think
I will write
Ina way that will make you love me
Well some of you
I am thinking
You must not always agree
You must not believe me higher
I am a poet
This is my job
I will wite.
- Jill Scott
The prerequisite for writing is having something to say.
—Langston Hughes (via soulfulpeach)
It is amazing how sometimes our minds are racing with thoughts, ideas, and mere concepts based sometimes on mere notions. It is this that gives us the passion and drive to pick up a pen or pencil or even begin to type. This quote reminds me of the difficulty that I have sometimes when I try to write and I have nothing to say. I am forced to conjure up fake inspiration. I am forced to make my eyes a microscope and see the deeper meaning and beauty in those basic things which surround me. It is an active process that requires time and energy, but like Langston says and in my case the prerequisite for writing is having something to say not finding something to say. How one gets to the process of having something to say is a whole other issue, because sometimes, a lot of times our minds are blank canvases because daily routines are so ingrained in us that we become like robots going from one activity to another without even thinking about it. So if I have nothing to say then how pray tell how will I be able to write, even something fractionally good.
a passionate physical and emotional love based on aesthetic enjoyment; stereotype of romantic love
a love that is played as a game or sport; conquest; may have multiple partners at once
an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship, based on similarity
love that is driven by the head, not the heart
obsessive love; experience great emotional highs and lows; very possessive and often jealous lovers
selfless altruistic love; spiritual.
Make it make sense to my tired mind
Write it down
Spell it out Correct grammar please
Do this for me because I need to understand how it is
How it is
That the words we live through
Those words written in script erstwhile
Sacred and brilliantly satisfactory
Are now void and defunct Explain that!
Make it make sense to this tired mind!
Write it down
Spell it out
Correct pronunciation please
Do me a solid
Explain how it is
How it is
That the church where we bow our heads
Is nasty vile Filled with liars on pulpit
And destroyers of innocence
My mind says that we are all but men
Fault full and pitiable
Yet my heart knows we are as great as we deem
However we excommunicate our conscious for this single day
This exorbitant pay
But the day can be more colorful and peaceful
I know and can’t prove
But by living And offering up this soul You have kindly given to me And I know I should be patient but still I get so angry
We are falling deeper
Into Sadness and desperate personalities
Needing salvation in a pill, a bottle
That just stands up quick
And infects with precision
God bless my mind
Make me understand
Make it make sense
Write it down once again
Correct and simple grammar please
Explain to me how it is
How it is
Sometimes you have to stand alone to prove that you can stand
I find it interesting how the people you really want to be friends with never seems to work out and the people you are friends with you don’t remember how it even happened.
This is the very rough first draft at my attempt at playing with repetition.
Sometimes you love someone so deeply that you are intricately linked to them in ways you can’t even explain.
Merely saying when you cry, I cry does nothing to convey the depth and strength of this bond.But, know this, when I pray you are first on my list and for all the happiness I wish for me I wish you ten times the amount of peace.
Because sometimes you love someone so deeply that you are intricately linked to them in ways you can’t even explain.
I avoid your eyes when I am sad, because you can always see the pain, hurt, and sad without words. You speak to me with your eyes and every once in awhile that’s just too much.
Because sometimes you love someone so deeply that you are intricately linked to them in ways you can’t explain.
Silence is loud and painstakingly annoying, but never with you. In the waves of the air I hear deep, thoughtful conversations about topics big and small that only stand to speak volumes about the golden silence that we have.
Because sometimes, you love someone so deeply that you are intricately linked to them in ways you can’t even begin to attempt to explain.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Sometimes we look at couples walking by us and we wonder how did SHE get him. I think that this poem describes the inner power, strength and beauty that all women have that enable them to get any guy, handsome, rich, or powerful. This poem speaks of everything that makes women truly beautiful.
“He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.”
—Bob Marley” —http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/25241.Bob_Marley (via mackiesh)