Thursday, September 9, 2010

Poetry by Jennifer Harley

War At Dawn
Birth at dawn's light
Death at high noon
As evening approaches, it rises, a phoenix from the ashes
Stretching long, waxing taller
Blind man's fingers search for truth, grasp for substance
In its quest, it fails, hiding the dust, slipping over furniture
It has but one natural enemy to keep it at bay
Daily the battles wage, the outcome the same
Daylight breaks its hold
Soap-scrubbed children guard fearful hearts with flashlights to keep the dark away
Dark wins a battle as eyes close in sleep
Light leads the war at dawn

Friday, March 28, 2008

YouTube Clip from our Dub Poetry Workshop

I am so pleased to be able to share this clip from our Dub Poetry/Music Event that took place at our college in January. Our special guest was Jamaican jazz guitarist Maurice Gordon, but this clip features a young man from Aruka, British Guyana, (now studying at Claflin), who did a spontaneous song for us called "I Need Your Love Every Time, Jesus." He was one of the band members who just showed up from various local colleges and the community to form a last-minute band on the stage with Maurice. It was just too cool. The video is shaky because we did it ourselves, and we are just learning, but we are pleased to be able to reach students where they live --- on YouTube, MySpace, Facebook, and MOG ! We will be posting students performing their dub poems over the coming weeks; this is our first effort.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Poem by Tamara Miles


Around my neck, an Alma-tross,
my wayward grandmother's wedding band.
My father found it when he came in from
school at ten years old, along with a goodbye note
meant for his father. I'm sorry. Albert and I
are in love. We are leaving. Forgive me.
He never saw his mother again.

He wept when he told me about over lunch
at Wendy's, over fifty years old and it still
hurt that much. She was his adoptive mother,
he had already been abandoned once...

He ran away, too, eventually, and didn't go home
for 45 years. When his father died, the family
couldn't find Dad. He was, as he likes to say,
studying drinking then. Last week, he visited
his father's grave for the first time, and gave Alma's
ring to me. We are all runaways.

My mother whispered, as she lay dying of
pneumonia, "I want water. I want water," and
I gave it to her, a few drops at a time, through
a straw. Her only goodbye letter to me, my only
one to her. But there was all this love before
and after. All this grace.

Alma wanted to come home after Albert died in
prison in Arizona, and she didn't have any money
to bury him. You can't come home, my grandfather
said into the phone, but I'll send you the money to
put my
brother in the ground.

All dead now, and all thirsty, they lie in the sun
and wait.

This wedding band is a prayer, and it
just might bring the rain.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Poem by Tamara Miles


Reinforcement

In the bathroom at the high school
Where I teach, two girls from the special
needs class wash their hands in the old white sink,
one lingers as the water rushes over her right
hand, left hand operating the chrome faucet.
I peek at her and she at me
while I quickly cleanse and towel.
I think of Helen Keller at the water pump,
Her teacher spelling w-a-t-e-r into her hand
In the sunlight, the sudden
Understanding and mad rush of words
spilling.

The girl goes on washing one hand,
w-a-t-e-r,
As if it is a spiritual ritual, her friend now at the electric
Hand dryer, looking at me looking at her,
All these eyes calculating and no words spoken or spelled
But heavy in the air:
I am curious; this is awkward;
say something;

Her friend, who wears royal purple, points to my keys,
which have fallen to the floor from my bag:
“Hey. Your keys,” she says, and I celebrate
The words, the dawn of her smile. I am free to pick up the keys and go,
And still the girl washes.
W-a-t-e-r, I sign to God, to Him who sits
at the right hand of God.

Friday, February 29, 2008

Poem by Tom Cassidy





In 1968, a Third Grade Student Reports to His Class on the World Trade Center,
then Being Built
________________________________
History Replies

MY NAME IS BOBBY ACKERMAN AND THIS IS MY REPORT ON THE WORLD TRADE CENTER WHICH IS BEING BUILT IN NEW YORK CITY. IT IS GOING TO BE THE BIGGEST BUILDING IN THE WORLD. THERE ARE GOING TO BE TWO OF THEM AND THEY ARE GOING TO BE BIGGER THAN THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING. LAST YEAR I VISITED NEW YORK CITY AND MY SISTER BECKY SAID THAT IF I WENT UP TO THE TOP OF THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING AND LOOKED DOWN THE PEOPLE WOULD LOOK LIKE ANTS. I WANTED TO GO BUT MY MOTHER WAS AFRAID I MIGHT FALL OFF. MY BROTHER DAVID SAID HE WAS GOING TO THROW PENNIES FROM THE TOP AND WATCH THEM FLY INTO TAXI CABS BUT SHE SAID NOBODY IS GOING UP THERE TODAY. I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE WORLD TRADE CENTER TO BE BUILT. SO I CAN GO UP TO THE TOP AND SEE THE PEOPLE LOOK LIKE ANTS. IT IS GOING TO BE ALMOST A MILE HIGH AND I LIVE A MILE AWAY FROM SCHOOL AND THAT IS A VERY LONG WAY. THIS HAS BEEN MY REPORT ON THE WORLD TRADE CENTER WHICH IS GOING TO BE IN NEW YORK CITY. THE END.


i
My name is Bobby Ack.
My world is being built.
It is going to be big.
I can see the top.
I can’t wait to be.

ii.
The world is bigger than the empire.
I might fall off, and
I can’t trade up.

A mile high and a mile away,
My port on the world
Is going to end.

iii.
In New York City,
The people, like ants, fly high

A very long way.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Poem by Janet Kozachek

Where I Was When the Yong He Gong
Opened its Doors and was Abruptly Closed


The red sun rises over China
in the dawn that brings new arrivals
an east wind blowing across their path
uncovers the relics of old ways

The Temple of Eternal Joy
flings wide its ethereal gates
inviting travelers from the west
into the sanctum of Tantric mysteries

Their rapacious eyes opened wide
disbelief pried their jaws agape
perusing the exotic unimaginable
statues of gods in erotic embrace

painted in blue, emblazoned in gold
and dancing in sinuous lines
with hands held high on multiple arms
delicate fingers folded in secret signs

A womanly body with an elephant head
cavorts in sensual play
her pendulous breasts grazing the chest
of the divine one in her leg's embrace

Couples intertwined in ecstasy
point the way to enlightened glory
man to woman, woman to man
and woman to four-legged beasts

Their unions blazing in fiery halos
emanating from venerated heads
wooden bodies writhing in clouds and rain
falling like torrents in hallowed halls

As secrets seen and heard become secrets no more
and reach the eyes and ears of authorities
the censor dispenser of ordered society
closes the gates to the Buddhist display

The red and the expert behind closed doors
debate on what is to be done
to appease their guests while saving face
committee decisions pleasing all and no one

Seasons come and seasons go
The Buddhist temple opens once more
But all that remains are barren halls
and a few sculptures cloth covered chin to toe

Saturday, February 16, 2008

One Poem Contest

From http://www.thestate.com/weekend/story/317836.html
Calling all poets
Time is running out to enter the 5th annual poetry contest sponsored by the S.C. Poetry Initiative and The State newspaper. Entries will be accepted through Feb. 26. Winners, whose work will be published in The State and who will receive cash prizes, will be announced April 26 at a poetry celebration at the Columbia Museum of Art.
GUIDELINES:
• Poems must be no more than 70 lines long.
• Authors must be at least 16 years old and a native or permanent resident of South Carolina.
• All entries must be unpublished and original poems.
• Each entry is a single poem; authors may submit multiple poems.
• Previous winners must wait a period of two years before submitting work.
• Entry fee is $5 per poem. Make checks payable to the USC Educational Foundation . (You can write one check to cover the cost of multiple entries by the same author.) Entries with checks made payable to other entities will not be accepted.
• The author’s name should not appear on the same page as the poem but should be on a separate cover sheet that includes name, address, phone number, name of the poem, e-mail address, author’s date of birth and a 50-70 word bio.
• Entries will not be returned to the authors.
• Mail entries to:
Poetry contest
c/o The State, Features Department
P.O. Box 1333
Columbia, SC 29202
POETRY BOOK CONTEST: The Poetry Initiative also sponsors a poetry book contest for unpublished collections of original poems. For more information on it or the single-poem contest, call Charlene Monahan Spearen at (803) 777-5492, e-mail her at cmspeare@gwm.sc.edu or view the guidelines at www.cas.sc.edu/engl/poetry