| Poetry | |||||||||||||||||||
| Poems written by me. or by some friends, or bvy famous peoples that I really like. all are copy writed, so I wouldnt bother trying to steal em. if ya like em, email me ( my mail is one the opening page) and Ill get or give you permission. tay. thankies. | |||||||||||||||||||
| The Drum- Nikki Giovanni daddy says the world is a drum a drum tight and hard and i told him i'm gonna beat out my own rhythm |
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| Dust- Sara Teasdale When I went to look at what had long been hidden, A jewel laid long ago in a secret place, I trembled, for I thought to see its deep dark fire-- But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face. I almost gave my life long ago for a thing That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes-- It is strange how often a heart must be broken Before the years can make it wise. |
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| Where Do Black Flowers grow? In black hearts and black minds worlds of sorrow worlds of pain worlds where no one knows no one wants to go but no one can stay away Lands of trouble and turmoil lands of bleakness and bitterness Black flowers only grow where tears are shed |
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| Men He takes her heart, in his calloused, rough, strong, hands\ and crushes it. Twisting, breaking and contorting it. And leaves her alone, confused. He takes her heart, in his pale, soft, small hands, and tears it. Slowly, gently, while wispering words of love. Then leaves her broken, confused. He takes her heart, in his large, comfortable, gentle hands, filling it with love. Hope happiness and strength. Then leaves her to delfate, confused. |
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| Choosing Sightlessness Bad things occur, We Choose not to see. Truths are spoken, We choose not to hear People need help, We choose not to walk. We each choose our handicaps, We each choose our way We each fight with blindness, deafness and cripples. We each can change, We each choose to remain. We choose not to see. |
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| Incident- Countee Cullen Once rididng in old Balitmore Heart-filled, head-filled with glee, I saw a Baltimorean Keep looking straight at me. Now I was eight and very small, And he was no whit bigger, And so I smiled, but he poked out His tongue, and called me "Nigger" I saw the whole of Baltimore, From May until December; Of all the things that happened there Thats all that I remeber. |
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| Fire and Ice- Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire Some say in Ice From what I've tasted if desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to persih twice, I think I know enough of hate, to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice. |
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