Writer’s Quote: The Nail

Writer’s Quote: The Nail

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The poem below is one I feel strongly about. The reason I am sharing this poem is because I believe it is a poem everyone should read at least once, especially with the state the world is in.

This poem holds a message we all should hear and absorb. We can turn off the news, ignore the papers, block out the internet, but it doesn’t change reality.

Although, I am one of those who like to pretend everything is all peaches and rainbows, but as a human being, it is my duty to remember and acknowledge- there are bad things happening in this world, even though it may seem like a myth. It is not, this is happening in reality. Only by recognising, Yes, there is a problem can we come together and find a solution for it.

The Nail by C.K Williams

Some dictator or other had gone into exile, and now reports were coming about his regime,
the usual crimes, torture, false imprisonment, cruelty and corruption, but then a detail:
that the way his henchmen had disposed of enemies was by hammering nails into their skulls.
Horror, then, what mind does after horror, after that first feeling that you’ll never catch your breath,
mind imagines—how not be annihilated by it?—the preliminary tap, feels it in the tendons of the hand,
feels the way you do with your nail when you’re fixing something, making something, shelves, a bed;
the first light tap to set the slant, and then the slightly harder tap, to em-bed the tip a little more …

No, no more: this should be happening in myth, in stone, or paint, not in reality, not here;
it should be an emblem of itself, not itself, something that would mean, not really have to happen,
something to go out, expand in implication from that unmoved mass of matter in the breast;
as in the image of an anguished face, in grief for us, not us as us, us as in a myth, a moral tale,
a way to tell the truth that grief is limitless, a way to tell us we must always understand
it’s we who do such things, we who set the slant, embed the tip, lift the sledge and drive the nail,
drive the nail which is the axis upon which turns the brutal human world upon the world.

 

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Humanity-

Humanity-

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It is we who buy the guns and we who pull the trigger.

It is we who make the bombs, and we who set its timer.

It is we who pay the price, carve the knife, pierce it into another.

It is we who take the drink, drive the car, crash our brothers.

The gun has no brain and neither the bomb,
The drink has no restraint, neither a knife.

It is we who make the choice, choosing evil over the better,

It is we who wreck humans and wonder where humanity’s gone?

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the above image was gotten from PInterest

I said a prayer-

I said a prayer-

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I said a prayer today,
And it went something like this-
Dear Lord,
(With my head on the ground),
Please grant me empathy.

I said a prayer today
I never thought I would say,
Not the praying part of course,
Just that prayer in particular;
For- cynicism and hatred,
Were not in my nature,
(I thought),
But then I grew up and

said a prayer today,
For the world is changing,
And the world has changed me,
And the dreamer within
Is dying-
Like the trees, the earth, the sea
And its beings.
Dear Lord grant me empathy
For cynicism is overtaking.

I said a prayer today,
For the world is bleeding
And I am bleeding with it.

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.

writer’s Quote: Joan Murray

writer’s Quote: Joan Murray

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. I had initially planned on sharing a poem by C.K Williams, titled the Nail, as this week’s submission, but then decided against it today.

Why? Because, I personally have had enough of what’s going on in this world. We are not good to one another. I mean, just look at the ridiculousness carried out by “white supremacists”, in the United States. How did we even get here. From celebrating the first black president just a few years ago, to having to convince people that something as simple as the colour of one’s skin doesn’t make a person inferior.

This has got to stop. And so, I decided for this week, instead of bringing another poem depicting the sad world we live in, I wanted to take you guys along to South Africa, in this poem. Where one woman, against the backdrop of poverty, politics and economic difficulties, displays strength and courage. She plays her part in a society where even the leaders fail to play theirs.

Her Head by Joan Murray
Near Ekuvukeni,
in Natal, South Africa,
a woman carries water on her head.
After a year of drought,
when one child in three is at risk of death,
she returns from a distant well,
carrying water on her head.

The pumpkins are gone,
the tomatoes withered,
yet the woman carries water on her head.
The cattle kraals are empty,
the goats gaunt—
no milk now for children,
but she is carrying water on her head.

The engineers have reversed the river:
those with power can keep their power,
but one woman is carrying water on her head.
In the homelands, where the dusty crowds
watch the empty roads for water trucks,
one woman trusts herself with treasure,
and carries water on her head.

The sun does not dissuade her,
not the dried earth that blows against her,
as she carries the water on her head.
In a huge and dirty pail,
with an idle handle,
resting on a narrow can,
this woman is carrying water on her head.

This woman, who girds her neck
with safety pins, this one
who carries water on her head,
trusts her own head to bring to her people
what they need now
between life and death:
She is carrying them water on her head.

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Hands of man-

Hands of man-

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Because children are dying,
And women are dying,
And men and animals
Are dying,
And women are killing,
And men are killing,
And we-
Are the cause,
Of the death in our surroundings.

The climate is changing,
For we are polluting,
Then we complain,
The heat is unbearable;
The land shores are flooded,
And that’s not the problem,
The dirt they flow with,
We had thrown-
with our own hands.

The trees- are cut short,
New ones are not planted,
Animals tortured,
For simply ornaments;
Their forests are burnt out,
The animals homeless,
And yet we are
Mortified,
When they visit our home lands.

Children are dying,
Animals are dying,
At the hands of,
Men and women in our society.

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the above image Is courtesy of My word wizard

Writer’s Quote: Carmen Giménez Smith

Writer’s Quote: Carmen Giménez Smith

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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 featured poem is one I came across only recently, and I haven’t been able to stop reading it. My heart bleeds at it’s verses. The poem is titled bleeding heart by Carmen Giménez Smith, and as I couldn’t stop at just one poem, I can safely say she is one amazing poet.

The poem, bleeding heart, talks about an overly sympathetic individual who feels so much, in fact too much. The poem begins as a metaphor- “my heart is bleeding”, then goes on to describe all the things which make the character feel so much; bleed so much. The suffocating effect of feeling too much can be felt in the line where the writer says, “it becomes the cork of me and I choke on it.”

She goes on to further explain her predicament by referencing, she bleeds so much, sometimes, she is a raisin (a dried fruit). And then immediately afterwards, she lists some more things which make her bleed, Indicating, as long as there is a sympathetic situation, she would always feel, bleed.

I love this poem in particular because it reminds me of the current situation we are living in, so much atrocities going on in different parts of the world, and my heart bleeds for them. It bleeds for the animals being treated cruelly for no fault of theirs, the children getting displaced, the women and men oppressed and abused- my heart bleeds.

Bleeding Heart BY Carmen Giménez Smith 

My heart is bleeding. It bleeds upward and fills
my mouth up with salt. It bleeds because of a city in ruins,
the chair still warm from sister’s body,
because it will all be irreproducible. My heart
bleeds because of baby bear not finding mama bear and it bleeds
to the tips of my fingers like I painted my nails Crimson.
Sometimes my heart bleeds so much I am a raisin.
It bleeds until I am a quivering ragged clot, bleeds at the ending
with the heroine and her sunken cancer eyes, at the ending
with the plaintive flute over smoke-choked killing fields. I’m bleeding
a river of blood right now and it’s wearing a culvert in me for the blood. My heart
rises up in me, becomes the cork of me and I choke on it. I am bleeding
for you and for me and for the tiny babies and the IED-blown
leg. It bleeds because I’m made that way, all filled up with blood,
my sloppy heart a sponge filled with blood to squeeze onto
any circumstance. Because it is mine, it will always bleed.
My heart bled today. It bled onto the streets
and the steps of city hall. It bled in the pizza parlor with the useless jukebox.
I’ve got so much blood to give inside and outside of any milieu.
Even for a bad zoning decision, I’ll bleed so much you’ll be bleeding,
all of us bleeding in and out like it’s breathing,
or kissing, and because it is righteous and terrible and red.

P.s What makes your heart bleed? 

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 world of 2017

The world of 2017

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We live in a world where-

misery is loved,
Violence ignored;

Hope is foreign,
Faith- turned scarce.

Living is dreary,
Dying is norms.

Tears have dried up,
The soil is bloodied.

Wealth is secluded,
Poverty- rampant,

Walls are put up,
Humans are shut out,

Colour is a measure,
Of worth of living.

It’s 2017,
And the life, many are living.

the beautiful image I used above is courtesy of The dream store

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.”