Writer’s quote: Langston Hughes

Writer’s quote: Langston Hughes

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Hello and welcome to writer’s quote Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors.

I know I haven’t posted in a few days, but you didn’t think I’d miss Writer’s quote, did you? This week, I am sharing one of my favourite authors whose poem I have shared previously before too. It’s Langston Hughes, one of the poets I do not tire from reading his poems.

It’s amazing to see that in every generation, through every cycle of oppression, there’s always someone using whichever means they have to speak out against it. It makes me happy to read works written by writers and poets, which clearly would have put them at odds against the authorities during those times. But they wrote. They used the one weapon they had, the pen, and its makes me proud to be writer.

Below is the poem, it’s a fairly popular poem so you may have come across it. I hope you enjoy it.

I, too by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed–

I, too, am America.

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Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem is titled “to the young who want to die”. In all honesty, even though this poem was written by a truly spectacular writer, Gwendolyn Brooks, it’s not among my top favourites.

The reason I am sharing it today is because, it is a poem this generation needs to read and ponder upon. It talks about an issue, which although we shy away from, it is prevalent all around us. Thank you Miss Gwendolyn for speaking to the young.

On the note of gratitude, I just want to give a shotout to fellow blogger Michael Medlen(Flawed masterpieces), for reblogging a poem of mine yesterday. It was very decent of you to ask if you could share it, and then reblog it. I appreciate it.

TO THE YOUNG WHO WANT TO DIE By Gwendolyn Brooks

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait, will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.

You need not die today.
Stay here – through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here: See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

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To my dark sister-

To my dark sister-

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It does not befit-
The ancestors who went through
Ocean and lands,
Sweat and toil,
Blood and sacrifice,
To look down the pigment,
You have been endowed,
And utter the words-
I do not like it.

It does not befit,
The mother who went through,
vigorous nine months,
Housing a young you,
Within her 120 pounds,
While earning her coins,
With menial jobs,
To look down your skin,
Wishing it wasn’t yours.

It does not befit,
The creator- who fashioned you,
Body and soul;
A creation with genes,
Only you have been granted;
A beauty to stand out
Against the universe’s background,
To look down your skin,
Saying- black isn’t pretty.

It doesn’t befit
Your state of mind.
To wish you were something,
Other than what you are.

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Writer’s quote: Friendship

Writer’s quote: Friendship

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem talks about friendship, with lines which melt the heart, written in brief verses with sequential rhymes. Talking about friendship, WordPress here, has one of the most supportive online community.

Well, a fellow blogger did something totally unexpected two weeks ago, which touched my heart. Its fellow blogger and poet, Jade M Wong. She also does these writer’s quote Wednesday series and that week, she shared one of my poems as an inspiration. Thank you very much Jade and I felt honoured with your gesture. I have written long before this blog, so I wouldn’t say I am in need of validation with my writing, but acknowledgement brings about such a wonderful feeling.

Still on the note of friendship, a dear blogger, Colin of a dog’s life, recently released his poetry book- just thinking. He has been such a support system for me here, so I’d appreciate it if you guys could take a minute to check his blog and his book too. The funds raised from the book would go towards an amazing cause. Check out this link to find out more: Just thinkingAll that being said, (I hope I didn’t ramble too much), below is the poem:

The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

The boy by the sea-

The boy by the sea-

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His talk was as loud as,
His silence while crying;
He’d mastered the art of,
Concealing his downfalls;
When the moon graced
The sky,
You’d find him,
Under the starlight.

His smile was as bright as,
The darkness he kept hidden;
And no one would reach out,
None knew he needed healing;
When the sky turned a shade,
He could live without concealment,
You’d find him by the bank,
Alone with his reflection.

When you sight him,
By the sea,
In reply to, “how you’re feeling”.
He’d smile,
Praise his lord and add,
“I cannot count my blessings”.

In spite of the darkness,
In spite of his heart bleeding,
It could have been worse,
Is the mantra he keeps repeating.
His talk was as loud as,
His silence while crying,
His strength is reflected,
In his hope to keep on living.


P.S what had happened was, my days got mixed up yesterday. I thought it was Wednesday already when it was actually Tuesday (yes, I am that eager for the weekend to come) and hence, I accidentally posted the writers poem Wednesday, yesterday instead of today.

Writer’s quote: Erin Hanson

Writer’s quote: Erin Hanson

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Hello, and welcome to writer’s Quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poet is a 22 year old Australian,
Erin Hanson, who is hands down, my favourite poet from among millennials. Read her poems and you will find out why.

Marilyn Monroe once said, “Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are“, and that, right there is truth. We forget sometimes, that the soul within our body and the heart encaged by our ribs are enough to reflect who we are. Everything else are just bonuses, beauty, hair, size, wealth, they are just extras.

We shouldn’t let them define our worth or give them more value than the fickle nature which they truly are. What happens is, when we value them more than should be, when we let them define us, we lose ourselves and we lose our identity with their loss and it shouldn’t be that way. We are much much more than than that. We have an identity behind the clothes and the cars and the jobs, we are a person first. Those things, should always come second.

Below is a poem which talks about letting ourselves be defined by all the things we are NOT.

Not by Erin Hanson

You are not your age,
Nor the size of clothes you wear,
You are not a weight,
Or the colour of your hair.
You are not your name,
Or the dimples in your cheeks,
You are all the books you read,
And all the words you speak,
You are your croaky morning voice,
And the smiles you try to hide,
You’re the sweetness in your laughter,
And every tear you’ve cried,
You’re the songs you sing so loudly,
When you know you’re all alone,
You’re the places that you’ve been to,
And the one that you call home,
You’re the things that you believe in,
And the people that you love,
You’re the photos in your bedroom,
And the future you dream of,
You’re made of so much beauty,
But it seems that you forgot,
When you decided that you were defined,
By all the things you’re not.

Writers quote: Maya Angelou

Writers quote: Maya Angelou

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Last week, I went down with fever and after a few doses of injections, I am back by the grace of God as right as rain and ready for writer’s Quote/poem Wednesday. This week’s featured writer needs no introduction, it’s the phenomenal woman Maya Angelou. I knew I wanted to share a Maya Angelou poem with you guys, but I also didn’t want to share one of the more popular poems. It came down to two selections which are completely different in pattern and theme- alone and woman work.

I have decided to go with the poem, Alone. It’s got a pretty straightforward message with depth hidden within. It begins with the character lying and contemplating, about her life, others lives, and the world at large; and it ends with the conclusion that we cannot survive this world alone. Even with our wealth, for the few who have them, we’d still need company to survive and not isolation.

Alone by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

What do you think about Maya Angelou’s conclusion? Can we make it out here alone?

The breaking-

The breaking-

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It wasn’t just one experience, it was a multitude of them. One after the other like the crash of a carefully assembled dominos cards; in succession. I slid slowly and then rapidly, hitting a few bumps along the way, like I wasn’t already on my way to the bottom. And I learnt on that downward journey, I learnt the bitter truth that rock bottom does not guarantee you won’t still get hit.

I watched the solid parts of me break into pieces, the liquid of my essence dissolve and gaseous parts evaporate. I was losing who I had ever known myself to be.

It took watching my whole life vanish before eyes for me to realise what life had been trying to teach me for quite some time. Sometimes, you have to shatter into pieces in order to mould into the “you”, you were always supposed to be.

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

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Hello again, to another Writer’s Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems with you guys written by other authors. If you’ve been following my blog for a while now, you’d know I read a lot of Charles Bukowski’s works. I love them and I admire the realism in them, the lack of conformity with classical poetic style and the harsh truths he throws in every now and then. He is one poet who says things as they are with little sugar coating.

Below is a poem from one of his poetry books, Love is a dog from hell. I feel it reflects the situation of this world in recent times, even though this was written decades ago.My favourite lines from the entire poem are these:
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

And that is just the truth.

Charles Bukowski- Love Is a Dog from Hell

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.”

Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

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I found the above quote while scrolling through my twitter feed and had to share it. Why? Because the atrocities going on in this world are so much that we may sometimes forget there is kindness in this world,

Because, young girls are dying and children are dying. Because, the current generation which are the future are grieving; they’re mourning; their innocence dimming as they see murder  happening around them everyday, it may as well be classified as normal. Because the upcoming generation, and not just those growing up in Syria or Iran or Kashmir, but all around the world- in Nigeria, in Turkey, in Bangladesh, in Palestine, in the United Kingdom, in the states, deserve to have a sky devoid of air strikes, a crowd devoid of bomb blast. They deserve to have peace.

I hope to convey my emotions by sharing the following poem by Ella wheeler Wilcox as my writer’s quote/poem Wednesday submission. I may not be in the North-Eastern part of Nigeria where the boko-haram insurgency has crippled their inhabitants, I may not be in Syria and Palestine where their lives are under constant terror and little seems to be done about it, I may not be in the United Kingdom where a coward of person takes the lives of innocent citizens. But in the words of Ella Wheeler, I echo your cries and I echo your sorrows.

The little white hearse by Ella wheeler Wilcox

Somebody’s baby was buried to-day–
The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,
And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.

Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest,
White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,
And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,
And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed
With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,
Under the coffin lid–out through the door;
Somebody finds only darkness and blight
All through the glory of summer-sun light;
Somebody’s baby will waken no more.

Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep:
I know not her name, but I echo her cry,
For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep,
The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep
In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.

I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;
While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,
And back to my heart surged that river of woe
That but in the breast of a mother can flow;
For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-little-white-hearse-by-ella-wheeler-wilcox