Um…James was not here for the MYTH that racism doesn’t exist in the northern states of the U.S. I’ve encountered so many White northerners that are like…”what racism?” Seriously. He wrote this over 5 decades ago and it’s still relevant. Many Northern Whites and Whites who live in the U.K. are deep in their denial about racism. Deep. I had a White male photographer (I’m a photographer; I used to chat with a lot of them via Twitter) insist that racism doesn’t exist in the U.K. I was like…how would you know? How? You don’t experience it. Black photographers who live there had another story to tell, however.(via gradientlair)
Expectations shattered by an experience
Finding myself seduced by stanzas that threaten to
Tear me away from my first love.
Shocked, that the creative void in my soul
Usually flooded with sweet sounds and blue notes
Is instead being filled with similes, metaphor and imagery.
No longer so distant
The seemingly pointless exaltations and incomprehensible stream
Of words from an ancient tower of Babel, or some other age which I care less for,
Replaced by topical tales of our own time
And deep descriptions of emotions and experiences that resonate.
Feelings that were only rarely brought on by the so called ‘classics’
Funny how inert words on a page can come alive and speak to you
Now a craft to be honed, rather than a whim to pass the time
To think that a class described as cake
Could help one cake
When trying to bake something to last beyond a regular sell-by-date
End of class date, or graduation date.
The effect of an afterthought that helped me
Express a romantic thought
A sayonara stanza,
To an experience that shattered expectations
I hope it lingers
So when I am chilling in a stylish bar,
I can feel inspired
And write some stylish bars.
I wonder if things are twisted
Whether the blessings that suddenly stuck me so surely
When I laid my eyes upon your visage those years ago
Have been irrevocably injured beyond repair,
Callously covered in cuts and insidiously suffocated
By the very atmosphere that breathed life into our meeting.
To say what has already been said
That if looks could kill, I would long have returned to ashes,
Your smoldering eyes burning through me, set in sweet mahogany.
But Lionel and the gang said you were built like a brick house
And while Martin’s house stands in the distance, I would have to agree.
Yet casting off false idols, I see your humanity
For idolatry is the furthest thing from understanding
Your faults, your fears
Your idiosyncrasies, your imperfections
Your capacity for cruelty.
And yet in spite of this,
You are loved
Maybe… just maybe
We should leave this place.
Wrote this one for my Mum. Assignment was to write a poem about someone who inspires you. My Mum is a G :-)
Your spirit that refuses to be bought or sold
Passionately pushes to overcome the trials and tribulations you face
Yet refuses to bend to anyone’s will
Not even the titan I call father
The debt I owe to thee
For nurturing me and pushing me beyond the restraints
That would shackle and imprison me
Both mentally and physically
The ability you have to inspire and lift me
From the depths of depression and despair that grips me
And help me realize my potential to make my dreams
Reality and taste sweet victory over my limitations
The undeniable fact that you don’t pause to think
Before throwing yourself into battle on my behalf
That you have and will sacrifice anything and everything
For me. That no matter how much I strive for it
I will never be able to repay you.
My hearing is blinded, but my eyes are no longer deaf
The sea of people around me threatens to drown
My senses at first. Or so I thought
There are pockets of air
In which to take shelter from the storm around me.
But is it really so turbulent?
Looking like an imposing brown mountain from a distance
Yet actually a series of diminutive chocolate hills
Merely grouped together to give the impression of
A grand citadel, instead of a myriad of tiny forts.
Like those fish that swim together to become a mighty sea creature
To deter those who would feed on them.
Inside the patchwork buffer, a cocoon of safety
I am nourished by smiles and hear shaking smiles with my eyes,
though my blinded ears would call it laughing.
My eyes feel my watch as time flows on.
Senses come back to me
Oppressive heat seared my shattered nerves
Marked by fatigue I pray not to crumble
Like the broken clay now merely red dirt
Failing to keep form in the situation I find myself in.
Am I doing the right thing?
In desperate dash to deliver
The shards of my confidence to a sanctuary of reconstruction
Had I foolishly dived headlong out of the frying pan and into the fire?
The timing was wrong
This supposed bastion of brotherhood was a ghost town
In which not even a cloud moved with any semblance of life.
Never mind the horror that haunts me as I recollect
The mass of danger that surrounded the institution
Reminding me of those places back home that I avoided religiously
Darkness falls yet the heat persists
Laid back on my bed yet without the comfort that should wash over me
Staring at the blank ceiling I wonder…
What have I gotten myself into?