Purging Thru Poetry

Check out my new blog Purging Poet.

Moving at a standstill
stop
and continue on
Look
but fail to see
beneath what covers hide
yet plainly show
Masks unveil
to deceive the eyes
A facade
intricately woven
make-believe
twined with reality
Simply complex
Truth never revealed
lost within
a facade
Fools believe
but me you won’t deceive

I skipped posting my poem yesterday I know so today you get two!

She Wants

She wants to be beautiful
a floating dream
feet never touching the ground
She wants to be perfect
beauty and grace
bone and strength
A vision so alluring
you must look away
She wants to be this
but she is me

April is national poetry month yay!  I know I’m late getting started on this but every day this month I am going to challenge myself to write a poem and I suggest you do it too!  If you would like to submit some work to be posted on my site please send your emails to justjessi@rocketmail.com

You say she’s fallen
no longer pure and pristine
A woman
long before you were ready
to deem her so

You say she’s fallen
not the way you taught her
to be
She was to be better
after all perfection doesn’t cause grief

You say she’s fallen
given in to unholy sin
Unthinkable
So wrong and completely against
the way she was supposed to go

You say she’s fallen
but you hide and refuse to see
the person
that lies within the child’s face
Its easier to cower behind idyllic belief

You say she’s fallen
out of step and hopelessly
off key
You say she’s fallen
I say she’s the human you’re afraid to be

Written 2/15/2005

 Langston Hughes is a celebrated American Poet whom I could easily call one of the best poets of all time. 

Born in 1902, Hughes grew up with his grandmother in Lawrence, Kansas whose first husband participated in abolitionist John Brown’s raid of the federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry in 1859.  Hughes’ grandmother instilled within him a strong racial pride that can be seen in many of his works.

Hughes began writing in school and was even nominated class poet in grammar school, something he attributed to the fact that he was black, “I was a victim of a stereotype. There were only two of us Negro kids in the whole class and our English teacher was always stressing the importance of rhythm in poetry. Well, everyone knows — except us — that all Negroes have rhythm, so they elected me as class poet.”

Langston Hughes held many odd ball jobs from bus boy to crewman on the S.S. Malone.  Only happy writing Hughes produced hundreds of poems, screen plays, and short stories. Best known for his poem The Negro Speaks of Rivers most of Hughes’ work can be identified with the Harlem Renaissance, Hughes’ home for most of his life.

Stars
by Langston Hughes

                          O, sweep of stars over Harlem streets,
                          O, little breath of oblivion that is night.
                                  A city building
                                  To a mother’s song.
                                  A city dreaming
                                  To a lullaby.
                         Reach up your hand, dark boy, and take a star.
                         Out of the little breath of oblivion
                                  That is night,
                                  Take just
                                  One star.

Writer’s Block

A modern notion
an imposter
take a deep breath
retreat to the confines
of your dreams
a phenomenon involving
inspiration and creativity
the first step in freeing your
imagination
There are common causes
but no lack of meaning
believing, questioning,
challenging what doesn’t exist
living above mediocre words

I’m having a serious case of writer’s block…its resulted in a lot of cartoon surfing.  This one had me rolling…but maybe its just me.

The Lively Leprechaun
by Betsy Franco

I caught a lively leprechaun
With stubble on his face.
He promised loads of buried gold
And led me to this place.
But when I let him loose to dig,
He leaped and led a chase.
That lively laughing leprechaun
Had left without a trace!