poetry of the harlem renaissance
06/08/2004 11:07 p.m.
I love it. plain and simple.

Fruit of the Flower
by Countee Cullen


My father is a quiet man
With sober, steady ways;
For simile, a folded fan;
His nights are like his days.
My mother's life is puritan,
No hint of cavalier,
A pool so calm you're sure it can
Have little depth to fear.

And yet my father's eyes can boast
How full his life has been;
There haunts them yet the languid ghost
Of some still sacred sin.

And though my mother chants of God,
And of the mystic river,
I've seen a bit of checkered sod
Set all her flesh aquiver.

Why should he deem it pure mischance
A son of his is fain
To do a naked tribal dance
Each time he hears the rain?

Why should she think it devil's art
That all my songs should be
Of love and lovers, broken heart,
And wild sweet agony?

Who plants a seed begets a bud,
Extract of that same root;
Why marvel at the hectic blood
That flushes this wild fruit?


From the Dark Tower
by Countee Cullen

We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made to eternally weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.


Cross
by Langston Hughes

My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder were I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?


and this one is exactly how I feel about life all the time.

Dead Fires
by Jessie Redmon Fauset

If this is peace, this dead and leaden thing,
Then better far the hateful fret, the sting.
Better the wound forever seeking balm
Than this gray calm!
Is this pain's surcease? Better far the ache,
The long-drawn dreary day, the night's white wake,
Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath
Than passion's death!





I am currently Amazed
I am listening to nothing

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excuse me if I laugh
06/04/2004 08:09 p.m.
when history shits on men like it's done to women for as long as people have been around, when women routinely make more money than men for the same work, when more women than men have high-paying powerful jobs, when women get men pregnant and then take off without paying child support, when men decide that brains are a more important quality in a mate than tits, when all that shit happens, then - and only then - you can mention misandry and expect a straight face from me. sorry.
I am currently Troubled
I am listening to Lauryn Hill

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alone in my anger
06/04/2004 05:12 a.m.
and it's really sad. I wasn't always this way. there was a time when at least one person understood. but now I'm just alone in my anger. just one stupid little girl running around talking about kicking asses... oh no, I'm avril lavigne. no. can't be. I'm going to deny that now.

but that fact makes me even more angry. that I'm alone. that he has all these pretty, happy feelings for him now and I'm just here going, "you asshole, you fake, you liar, you... salty dog... right? ...right??" and I look around, and I'm all alone. it's stupefying. I have no idea if I spelled that right or not. but that's what it is. it's nuts. and I'm left here by myself feeling, as always, like a psychotic.

it really serves to fizzle a feeling, you know? and I want to hang on to being mad at him. I'm not sure why. I broke up with him. or, ok, maybe that's why. because I know I'm to blame here. I know I'm the one that he should be writing angry poems about or whatever. but he didn't really. and that is sort of insulting, I guess. I always assumed, well, he's not writing any love poetry for me, maybe if I break his heart, I'll get his attention. and well, look at that. not even that did it. so. I don't know. weird things going on.

but I always thought Koye would be on my side. I always thought I could count on him to be angry with me. but, that being said, I know I created this oddness. I know I created a weird situation where he can't really be expected to "choose sides." Simeon talked to me about this in the beginning. he said if we broke up that would lead to uncomforableness with me and Koye. and that I wouldn't be able to ask to Koye to be on my side. the other party is Koye's friend too, and just as deserving to ask him to be on his side. so I created this stupid thing. still... I wanted him to be with me over here in angry land. it would be nicer if he were here. it'd be like a vase with flowers in it on a table somewhere in hell. what a terrible analogy.

it's late, and I'm rambling. and I don't even know what I really expect. I want to forget about him. I want to erase him from my past. it's that fucking song we picked. it's stuck too well.

and I want me and Koye to go back to the way we were. bring on the fucking Babs song. maybe when I get back home and we're able to talk, things'll even out. I hope so.

I want to go home. I want to be brainwashed. I want to start over. or at least take an eraser to my memory. ugh. oh well.
I am currently Frustrated
I am listening to Conan O'Brien. yes.

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writing about not writing
05/29/2004 09:50 p.m.
Summer is traditionally a bad time for me as a writer. Anything I do write ends up reflecting my physical hibernation that happens as a result of living in a near-tropical climate. I don't go outside, so my writing takes on the bare walls of the indoors and the dry cool of air conditioning. Themes of poems I do write are often swiped from TV shows or music. I always want to write about things I'm learning in school. That's dry these days only because I figure what is a poem about female genital mutilation going to say that's profound? The cruel practice itself stands alone. In any case, I met a boy in my Intro to Africa and it's Diaspora class who writes poetry. His name is Eric (oddly) and he occasionally talks into my chest. But he regularly asks if I've written anything. I feel stupid every time I have to throw out an excuse for my lack of inspiration. It's just that my emotions aren't being tried in any real way. I invent problems to jar my emotions, but nothing can effect them like the real thing. I've put on Tori Amos regularly for the past few days, hoping something would strike me as important enough to write about. I haven't found anything yet. I need a cause that I feel strongly about. I haven't had anything like that in so long. All the big steps that can be taken have been. So I'm in a weird place.

ugh.
I am currently Apathetic
I am listening to Tori Amos' DVD, Welcome to Sunny Florida

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justice & the future
05/23/2004 06:44 a.m.
I LOVE Divine retribution. the truth is, John Richardson probably didn't notice that his graduation was the only one I have not attended since my own. the thought probably never crossed his mind. I still think it's an interesting turn of events. too bad I missed Jonna and Shea. not like I was really missed, though.

Eric wants to get married in the fall of 2006. we'd only be 22 years old. the statistics would definitely be against us. I can feel most of the boys in my senior class all rolling their eyes and groaning about my stupidity right now. but, you guys, believe me, I want to wait. I do. the problem is that I am ready to leave my parent's house. once I get my master's degree (which would be in the summer of 2007), I don't want to go back home. I want to get on with getting my PhD so I can start teaching, and in general just start my life. it would be ideal to wait until after I finished all of my school to get married, but Eric pretty much only plans to get a bachelor's degree and then start working.

life is confusing. very.
I am currently Exhausted
I am listening to Kanye West

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a random act of sex
05/18/2004 09:54 p.m.
so I'm watching Maury, and I very confused. I don't think I ever realized how insane these paternity show are. I mean, these people are just meeting each other and randomly deciding to fuck. it's so thoughtless. some of these people don't even like each other. strangers who can barely stand each other getting together and having sex. it's retarded. and then they don't bother to use birth control?? don't these people realize that they could bring a baby - a real, live person that they're responsible to raise to be good people - into the world? and then they're going to fight over it, call each other assholes and sluts and all kinds of stuff IN FRONT OF THEIR CHILDREN?!? what is that about? I don't understand how a person can have sex with someone he or she doesn't love enough to be faithful to or be honest with. people are SO stupid. that all being said, I have recently met someone who acts exactly that way. even though she's not having intercourse with guys, she just goes around handing out oral sex like Hallmarks. it's crazy.

I'm certainly not claiming to be the most sane, reasonable person in the world, but I'm not THAT stupid, geez.
I am currently Frustrated
I am listening to Maury

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love stuff
05/03/2004 03:45 p.m.
I wrote this last night after watching Something's Gotta Give and talking to Eric on the phone.

When I watch a romantic movie or hear a love song, I realize how lucky I am. Other girls say, "oh, that's so romantic. I wish a boy would say that to me." I have a love like that. There is a boy who would follow me to Paris to get me back. I have been told that I am beautiful, sexy, amazing. But you see, he has seen me with a runny nose, throwing up, sweaty, no make-up, unshowered, mean, angry, crying, selfish, vindictive, stupid and crazy. And he still believes I am beautiful, sexy, amazing. We have hurt each other, but we're still together. I have everything I ever wanted. Any line in a movie I cooed at, every love song melody - I have them. And it all makes me realize how fortunate I am that God answers prayers. The only thing I've ever asked God to give me personally was a man that truly loves me. And that is exactly what Eric is. Maybe my parents are skeptical or disapproving, and maybe society isn't totally accepting of interracial couples, but it seems perfectly obvious to me that God is not skeptical or disapproving, and completely accepting as He arranged it all. I wish I had this much clarity every moment of every day.

I'm a lucky girl.
I am currently Romantic
I am listening to crumb cake baking

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the poem that is not a poem
05/02/2004 10:55 p.m.
do you have any regrets now? ... and do you still remember taking my hand in yours? I wonder what thoughts you were thinking taking such a risk. or I suppose you didn't think it risky, did you? cause why would I have minded? I didn't see it then, but I do now - how you played with me because you knew I loved you. and even now I don't so much mind, because part of that love can't be erased.

ah, but he knew all of that already, didn't he? or maybe he chooses not to remember. as I said, he hates all the movies we watched just us.

I want this to be the last line of poetry I ever write about him, but I don't know if I'm that strong:

"the stars fly apart and compose the song of your eyes"

I am currently Nostalgic

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an older ghost
04/29/2004 05:31 p.m.
I wrote a poem - or something - about him yesterday. Eric had gone to Garrett's to study and I was in my very bare room with nothing to really do but listen to music and write. and I hated it. I yelled at Eric when he called. I used to love times like that with just music and writing. regardless, I sat and thought for a while about wells. deep holes. Heather told me and Eric something she'd learned in some class about holes. apparently, we don't back away from holes or cliffs because we're afraid of heights, but because we know that if we stand close to it long enough, we'll be compelled to jump in. it felt like a punch in the stomach when she said that, and I didn't know why. so I was thinking about it. and I wrote a poem about it. and I wish I had it with me right now, so I could post it. I don't really know why I'm talking about this... this poem was for someone else. but eventually it lead to him. I was thinking about someone else, and he just appeared. so I talked to him. and it doesn't really read like a poem. it reads more like a barage of questioning and reasoning... things I would say if I had the courage, or if it were possible to take words back after you'd said them. I don't know if I'll post it or not. it's certainly not very good if it is a poem at all. but I'll post the well one eventually. hm. this journal entry hasn't accomplished a thing.
I am currently Reflective
I am listening to clicketyclickclick

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yes.
04/23/2004 10:47 a.m.
I am stupid for letting myself think about it. for so many reasons. what a bitch. and anyway he hates all the movies we watched just us. I don't remember them. I just remember him.

I thought this feeling was gone. I thought it was gone years ago. but as I said before, I'm stupid.
I am currently Reflective
I am listening to mtv

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