Category Archives: Poetry

Amanda Gorman: 2017 National Youth Poet Laureate

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This 22 year old read her own poem at President Joe Biden’s inauguration. Watch her on Youtube or read her words yourself. Impressive and inspiring indeed!

When day comes, we ask ourselves where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry, a sea we must wade.
We’ve braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,
and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.
And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken,
but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine,
but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
This effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith, we trust,
for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared it at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour,
but within it, we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So while once we asked, ‘How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?’ now we assert, ‘How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?’

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be:
A country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change, our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the west.
We will rise from the wind-swept north-east where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked south.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
In every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country,
our people, diverse and beautiful, will emerge, battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

Fall, Snow, Fall

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Fall, snow, fall; sunlight wither and die
Away to warmth geese fly
Fire crackle in the hearth
Snow drifts on the sleeping earth
As cold blows by, an icy branch quakes
My wet tongue catches falling flakes
The buffeting wind speaks to my soul
As my frostbitten toes rest by hot wood coal

by Jamie
September 2016

Rain Light

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by William Stanley Merwin, Poet Laureate

All day the stars watch from long ago
my mother said I am going now
when you are alone you will be all right
whether or not you know you will know
look at the old house in the dawn rain
all the flowers are forms of water
the sun reminds them through a white cloud
touches the patchwork spread on the hill
the washed colors of the afterlife
that lived there long before you were born
see how they wake without a question
even though the whole world is burning

Yes, I saw him recite this poem on PBS the other day and was really affected.

You can see it too by clicking here
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/poetry/w-s-merwin/

Autumn

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There’s a certain elegance in the colors of fall,
A breath of joy in the cold, dry wind.

Watching children fly about on the first day of school,
Whether you’re with them or not it’s enough to make you grin.

Apple cider’s on the stove,
Chestnuts on your open fire.

Fall is here and so are you,
So cheers to happiness!

You start feeling sentimental,
Thinking of seasons past…..
But memories are made of this,
So enjoy it while it lasts.

All the geese are flying south,
Whether south is here or there.
Apples in the orchards falling down,
down, down, down.

Make it last forever more,
Or at least ’till seasons end.

Happily we walk, crunching leaves where the sidewalk ends.
Don your hat and grab your scarves
As the wind blows forever on!

by J-me
March 2015 

The Babes in the Wood

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My dear, do you know,
How a long time ago,
Two poor little children,
Whose names I don’t know,
Were stolen away
On a fine summer’s day,
And left in a wood,
As I’ve heard people say.

Among the trees high
Beneath the blue sky
They plucked the bright flowers
And watched the birds fly;
Then on blackberries fed,
And strawberries red,
And when they were weary
‘We’ll go home,’ they said.

And when it was night
So sad was their plight,
The sun it went down,
And the moon gave no light.
They sobbed and they sighed
And they bitterly cried,
And long before morning
They lay down and died.

And when they were dead
The robins so red
Brought strawberry leaves
And over them spread;
And all the day long,
The green branches among,
They’d prettily whistle
And this was their song-
‘Poor babes in the wood!
Sweet babes in the wood!
Oh the sad fate of
The babes in the wood!’

by Anonymous

This poem comes to mind when searching in an old graveyard for long forgotten ancestors.  Genealogy can be one way to remember them.

Colors

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Colors wake you up in the morning and put you to sleep at night.
You wear them, see them and even use them when you draw.
Green is the color that makes grass, yellow makes the sun.
Red looks angry, but really, it is beautiful.
And blue can be anything it wants.
Brown is a table, a dog or a horse.
Black is a clock or a dock.
Purple is amazing with such power.
And so has pink; they go together.
Orange is a brick, or maybe even light.
Together, they shine the world. : )

 

by Ray chill
January 2015