Headpiece Filled With Straw

Lift Every Voice And Sing

By James Weldon Johnson

Lift every voice and sing,
till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith that the
dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod,
bitter the chastening rod,
felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
yet with a steady beat,
have not our weary feet
come to the place
for which our fathers died?

We have come over a way that with tears have been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
out from the gloomy past,
till now we stand at last
where the white gleam
of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
thou who hast by thy might led us into the light,
keep us forever in the path, we pray.

Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee;
lest our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee,
shadowed beneath thy hand,
may we forever stand,
true to our God,
true to our native land.

Link: Lift Every Voice And Sing Lyrics - Lyrics - James Weldon Johnson.

Link: Lift Every Voice and Sing - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Pied Beauty

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things,

For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow,

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow and plough,

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange,

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;

Praise him.

Link: Poets' Corner - Gerard Manly Hopkins - Selected Works.

For the Boy in Bayou Blue Who Spoke in Tongues

By Jack Bedell

When he was twelve, he made the national news
to his parents’ delight and filled the pews
of the Living World with gaggles of girls and
tourists eager to hear the sermon he’d planned
for A Current Affair. His long, curly hair
and sparkly eyes glowed when he’d share
his witness with the congregation. He’d shout
and swoon and lash his tongue while rows fell out
rolling in ecstasy around his raised
pulpit. It pleased the deacons when the crazed,
fainting crowds filled their baskets with money,
but no one wondered when his eyes rolled a funny
white back into his head if he were reading from
cards inside his skull, or if the Spirit would come
and improvise the whole show for him
while his mouth spewed syllables like phlegm.

from At the Bone House (Texas Review Press) © 1998 by Jack B. Bedell.

Yo Jack! If you should find this, I just have to say I seem to remember a version of this poem from back in the day, and I loved it back then too! I just had to run with it!

Chris

Link: storySouth / Poetry by Jack Bedell.

Mrs Schofield's GCSE

By Carol Ann Duffy

The poem Carol Ann Duffy penned in response to her work being removed from a GCSE curriculum

 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife,

said Portia to Antonio in which

of Shakespeare's Comedies? Who killed his wife,

insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch

knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said

Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy?

Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt's death?

To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark - do you

know what this means? Explain how poetry

pursues the human like the smitten moon

above the weeping, laughing earth; how we

make prayers of it. Nothing will come of nothing:

speak again. Said by which King? You may begin.

 

Link: Poem: Mrs Schofield's GCSE, by Carol Ann Duffy | Books | The Guardian.

Did I Miss Anything?

By Tom Wayman

Question frequently asked by
students after missing a class

Nothing. When we realized you weren't here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

     Everything. I gave an exam worth
     40 per cent of the grade for this term
     and assigned some reading due today
     on which I'm about to hand out a quiz
     worth 50 per cent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

     Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
     a shaft of light descended and an angel
     or other heavenly being appeared
     and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
     to attain divine wisdom in this life and
     the hereafter
     This is the last time the class will meet
     before we disperse to bring this good news to all people on earth

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

     Everything. Contained in this classroom
     is a microcosm of human existence
     assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
     This is not the only place such an opportunity has been gathered

     but it was one place

     And you weren't here

     --

Humor for the holiday: Jewish Haiku

No offense is meant in posting the poems below, which were forwarded to me with no authorship noted, by a friend. The spirit feels to me lighthearted and fun. If anyone is offended, I welcome and respect your comments below.

  Lacking fins or tail

  the gefilte fish swims with

  great difficulty.

  *****

  Beyond Valium,

  peace is knowing one's child

  is an internist.

  *****

  On Passover we

  opened door for Elijah.

  Now our cat is gone.

  *****

  After the warm rain

  the sweet smell of camellias.

  Did you wipe your feet?

  *****

  Her lips near my ear,

  Aunt Sadie whispers the name

  of her friend's disease.

  *****

  Today I am a man.

  Tomorrow I will return

  to the seventh grade.

  *****

  The sparkling blue sea

  reminds me to wait an hour

  after my sandwich.

  *****

  Like a bonsai tree,

  is your terrible posture

  at my dinner table.

  *****

  Jews on safari --

  map, compass, elephant gun,

  hard sucking candies.

  *****

  The same kimono

  the top geishas are wearing:

  I got it at Loehmann's.

  *****

  Mom, please! There is no

  need to put that dinner roll

  in your pocketbook.

  *****

  Seven-foot Jews in

  the NBA slam-dunking!

  My alarm clock rings.

  *****

  Sorry I'm not home

  to take your call. At the tone

  please state your bad news.

  *****

  Is one Nobel Prize

  so much to ask from a child

  after all I've done?

  *****

  Today, mild shvitzing.

  Tomorrow, so hot you'll plotz.

  Five-day forecast: feh

  *****

  Yenta. Shmeer. Gevalt.

  Shlemiel. Shlimazl. Meshuganah

  Oy! To be fluent!

  *****

  Quietly murmured

  at Saturday Synagogue services,

  Yanks 5, Red Sox 3.

  *****

  Hard to tell under the lights.

  White Yarmulke or

  male-pattern baldness

Please Call Me By My True Names

By Thich Nhat Hanh

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
    learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
    in order to fear and to hope,
the rhythm of my heart is the birth and
    death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the
    surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes,
    arrives in time to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the
    clear water of a pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who,
    approaching in silence,
    feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
    my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly
    weapons to Uganda.

I am the 12-year-old girl, refugee
    on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after
    being raped by a sea pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable
    of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with
    plenty of power in my hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his
    "debt of blood" to my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes
    flowers bloom in all walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it
    fills up four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
    so I can wake up,
    and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

 

 

For Whom the Bell Tolls

by John Donne

From Meditation XVII

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

Further in Summer than the Birds

By Emily Dickinson

Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.

No Ordinance be seen
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.

Antiquest felt at Noon
When August burning low
Arise this spectral Canticle
Repose to typify

Remit as yet no Grace
No Furrow on the Glow
Yet a Druidic Difference
Enhances Nature now

Drink Your Tea

by Thich Nhat Hahn

Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis
on which the world earth revolves - slowly, evenly, without
rushing toward the future. Live the actual moment.
Only this moment is life.

Link: Cup of Tea and a Blog: Poem: Drink Your Tea.

Link: Nhat Hanh - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.