shayarisms4lovers June18 252 - Family Picture

Family Picture

By LC After Slugg: A Boy’s Life in the Age of Mass Incarceration by Tony Lewis Jr. There’s something missing with this picture As I wake onto a random day In a random hood In a random city In America I listen Listen to the voice of my mother Shouting down the bickering of my Little sister and little brother But there’s something missing So I look Look to find my auntie on the couch With my baby cousin in hand Look out the window to find the neighborhood junkie But he is not the MAN I’m looking for See that man has been gone for years Gone from this family’s struggles Gone from being this family’s muscle Gone from this family’s daily hustle Ironic that I used that last word ‘cause HUSTLE is what got him sentenced To no return, L.I.F.E. So my father is what’s missing with this picture My uncle too And to every other black child In a random hood In a random city In America I’m just like you too.

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shayarisms4lovers June18 184 - Speak Child Speak

Speak Child Speak

By MS For my daughter Speak, child, speak, hold not your tongue because the question that you ask, the answer that it brings may be the solution that saves us all Speak, child, speak Because ignorance is not bliss, it is apathy to the mind. It is the residue of stagnant thoughts that destroys itself fully with the passions of time & stagnation is death to young & old minds. Speak, child, speak, your voice may be the one that touches the world & shapes reality into a paradise that women, men, & children may grow & peacefully live in. Speak, child, speak, Because my voice is old & un-remembered. It is the weeping in the bowels of coffin ships & it is the creak of rope & wind & silent kingdoms swaying in a sultry southern breeze, it is the shackles of falsehoods binding me to inferior thoughts of mental slavery, It is the sound of a fast life lived & lost in court rooms silently weeping in cells trying to escape my self-created hell. Speak, child, speak, Because you are the Grace of God & the Dreams of a Nation. SPEAK, CHILD, SPEAK

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shayarisms4lovers June18 219 - Free Verse: Tame the Fire

Free Verse: Tame the Fire

In this free verse poetry, “Tame the Fire.” In this free verse poetry, I was a six-year-old girl. My family lived on a farm in the countryside of Hayden, Id. It was a perfect Saturday, the weather was cooler, we were heading into fall. It was perfect for burning trash in the old barrel on the side of the old shed. I was watching my brothers burning trash when something horrible happened. Life can change as quickly as a shift in the wind. I’ll describe through words in poetry. Free Verse Poetry: Tame the Fire At five and seven what did they know of fire? Nothing until that day. Sticks and a barrel of flames. Of fire that eats flesh, leaving you like a sun-dried raisin. Running, and laughing with fire, it loves the wind and cloth. It eats cloth. It ate my brother’s leg. He ran screaming, running from the flesh-eating fire. I ran too. I ran to get mother. Mother was “the fire tamer.” Mom threw him upon the ground, like a rolling pin. Rolling him back and forth, like she was rolling out bread dough. Bread she would make every Saturday. Mother snuffed out the flesh-eating fire.

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shayarisms4lovers mar18 118 - Free Verse: Hibernation

Free Verse: Hibernation

In this free verse poetry, “Hibernation.” This poem is from an observance of watching children from day to day and how the seasons play a role in their behavior. I believe the seasons have voices and stir the changes in one’s soul. Watching children throughout the year provide lenses for me to view not only the reactions that have offered inspiration but to experience life through their eyes. Free Verse Poetry: Hibernation Hidden inside the groping, fingers of fall, besides, the old Pinewood apartments we stand to wait for the yellow bus. All year their excited voices rise and fall like the changing leaves. But here, they are quieted and still. On the cusp of winter, cold air penetrates like piercing ice sickles in a foot thick of snow. I insert my hands to the warmth —Melting shivers, to the prickle of the wind, and thankful for how peaceful they are, capable of silence. Sometimes I think there is another place where life, cannot change us. Each day we inhale and stop as the yellow bus rumbles and grinds itself along with pavement. The sun crawls from tree to tree and dances across, the frosty green slivers. The earth spins in the grinding […]

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