Respect The Intelect
literature, music, art, politics, and love.
Mans greatest fear is not that he is inadequate, but that he is powerful beyond measure.
- Anonymous
- Anonymous
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Back Again!!!!
Hello all! I've been gone for quite some time now, but now I have returned! Hope you all like the new "style". :)
Monday, September 6, 2010
Poem of the Week!
Men by Maya Angelou
When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.
One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.
Maybe.
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.
One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.
Maybe.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Hello Beautiful People!
Welcome, and thank you so very much for visiting my blog! I'm new at this so this page may change from time to time, depending on how I'm feelin'!
For the most part I'm a pretty cool, down-to-earth, funkadhelic, hyper, chill, quite kinda gal.... Alot, huh? Yeah that just how I am! Stay tuned, though! I will be posting a poem of my own, as well as a poem of the week, and song of the week.
For the most part I'm a pretty cool, down-to-earth, funkadhelic, hyper, chill, quite kinda gal.... Alot, huh? Yeah that just how I am! Stay tuned, though! I will be posting a poem of my own, as well as a poem of the week, and song of the week.
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