Tag: Poetry

BY MARGARITA ENGLE On an island of musicin a city of drumbeatsthe drum dream girldreamed of pounding tall conga drumstapping small bongó drumsand boom boom boomingwith long, loud stickson big, round, silverymoon-bright timbales. But everyoneon the island of musicin the city of drumbeatsbelieved that only boysshould play drums so the drum dream girlhad to keep

BY BERNADETTE MAYER My heart is a fancy placeWhere giant reddish-purple cauliflowers& white ones in French & English are outsideWaiting to welcome you to a boatOver the low black river for a big dinnerThere’s alot of choice among the foodsEven a tortured lamb served in piecesEn croute on a plate so hot as a rackOf

By kathryn starbuck Who is that creature   and who does he want?   Me, I trust. I do not   attempt to call out his   name for fear he will   tread on me. What do   you believe, he asks.    That we all want to be alone, I reply, except when we do not; that the world was open to my sorrow and ate

BY PAUL MULDOON I’ll be the Road RunnerTo your Wile E CoyoteI’ll take you in my strideI’ll be a Sancho PanzaTo your Don QuixoteYour ever faithful guide I’ll stand by you in the listsWith our market strategistsI’ll be your sideman, baby,I’ll be by your side I’ll be a Keith RichardsTo your Mick JaggerBefore he let

BY ALICE MOORE DUNBAR-NELSON I sit and sew—a useless task it seems,My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams—The panoply of war, the martial tred of men,Grim-faced, stern-eyed, gazing beyond the kenOf lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death,Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath—But—I must sit and sew.

BY AUDRE LORDE For those of us who live at the shorelinestanding upon the constant edges of decisioncrucial and alonefor those of us who cannot indulgethe passing dreams of choicewho love in doorways coming and goingin the hours between dawnslooking inward and outwardat once before and afterseeking a now that can breedfutureslike bread in our

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance or nature’s

A beautiful piece by Hanha Hobson a well known author, speaker and founder of transparency ministries.The transparency ministry is a community used to empower women to conquer fear and self doubt so they can believe confidently who God has called them to be. They say that wildflowers grow in the wild, that they aren’t intentionally