[Lisah] The Little Black Boy

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noon day.

"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love,
And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a could, and like a shady grove.

"For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear;
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear his voice,
Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'"

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy:
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,enthincity

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like I'm, and he will then love me.

-William Blake

[Winfred] i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

-e.e cummings

[Sarah] Chinese Workers on the Evening Train

their tongues are rough, but fluent. They carve

our silence into syllables that explore the crowd,

fingers scouring thick curls in search of roots.

there is disquiet at this intrusion. leave us alone,

our lips say. we are pressed and drained by the office;

you are from a different world.

but they stay, and continue speaking, voices raucous

and very dusty. the safety patches on their vests

 ring loudly against our suits.

we have learnt your words before. Our lips open

in protest. We have no time for them now; they

are so full of bad memories.

still they take no notice, even joking among them

selves. some of us turn to look, but dare not stare

too long. they are an island in our sea.

we lower our eyes. what do you want, our lips ask.

take it, and then leave. we are a generous but tired

people; you are strangers on our way home.

the question passes unanswered, beneath the breathing

of the train. their steady chatter never stops,

and is unnaturally loud.

we censor them with pretended sleep, soon

our lips fall silent. we cannot comprehend them;

they speak only our mother tongue.  

Theophilus Kwek

[Sarah] Exorcism

Grace Chua

My mother believed (the Lord is my shepherd)

in ghosts (I shall not be in want).

Frangipani and jasmine (your rod and your staff),

the flowers of graves (they comfort me),

terrified her. Every seventh month

in the festival of the Hungry Ghosts,

she would send up burnt offerings

(you prepare a table before me)

to her mother’s mother (in green pastures)

her father and her father’s father (beside still waters)

and the third daughter (in the presence of my enemies)

who was never born

(you anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over.)

And when my grandfather died,

(he leads me in paths of righteousness)

the huge black moth (for his name’s sake)

that flapped at us across the kitchen table

(I will fear no evil)

and clung like wet hair (for thou art with me)

to the walls-

that was him (I will fear no evil)

also.

So when it came time

(yea, though I walk through the valley)

for my mother (the valley of the shadow)

to be a ghost herself

(yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of

death)

she would not go (though I walk) quietly

trailing through the house,

(surely goodness and mercy shall follow me)

haunted by (all the days of my life)

the ghosts of her live children

(and I will dwell)

and the memories of her days

(in the house of the Lord

Forever).

Grace Chua

[Roxanne] Shakespeare: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

[Vicki] Tell Me About Yourself When You Were 17 - Naomi Shihab Nye

We would lie down on the grass in the steamy dark, cypress trees rimming our kisses, their stoic, silent height. Was it bad luck to kiss on a grave? No one could have told us how much would disappear within a year. The best cat, run over by the one who loved him. Grandmother, and the lady who owned the horses. My favorite field. I would stroke your smooth Mexican skin and you would not talk to me, hardly ever, but you would meet me on the plot of the 1924 priest and close your eyes. I could feel the cloud passing over the moon without looking up and I would never find you in a telephone book for the rest of my life.

Tell Me About Yourself When You Were 17 - Naomi Shihab Nye

[Vicki]

[Timothy] i carry your heart with me by e e cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea. 

                                                                 By Roger McGough

You Fit Into Me

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye

By Margaret Atwood

Sonnet 18 Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?

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 changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The Fat Black Woman Goes Shopping

Shopping in London winter

is a real drag for the fat black woman

going from store to store

in search of accommodating clothes

and de weather so cold

Look at the frozen thin mannequins

fixing her with grin

and de pretty face salesgals

exchanging slimming glances

thinking she don’t notice

Lord is aggravating

Nothing soft and bright and billowing

to flow like breezy sunlight

when she walking

The fat black woman curses in Swahili/Yoruba

and nation language under her breathing

all this journeying and journeying

The fat black woman could only conclude

that when it come to fashion

the choice is lean

Nothing much beyond size 14

                                                              By Grace Nichols

[Vicki] l(a... (a leaf falls on loneliness) - e. e. cummings

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[vicki]