Skip to main content

POETRY CORNER-NEW POEM ADDED

This page is dedicated to poems that I've written myself or have received from very talented writers. As great as books are a book of poetry gives you a direct line of how to express yourself. Each poem can be different or focus on the same topic but the emotion behind each expresses the feeling the writer had when writing it and also can reflect your own feelings when you read it. So there will be posting of poems here every week.


We Run <---- NEW POEM
We run into the old
We run into the new
Who would think life would have me run 
into you
We run from the past
To an unknown future
We will keep on running
Until the rat race is over


Untitled <~~~~~~ 3/14/2013
Lift the burden from my back
take the weight off my neck
and left the chains that bind me fall

Give me a place of my own to be free
A space where I can stretch my legs
A place to fling my arms towards the sky
A space where I know peace

Lift the burden from my back
Take the weight off my soul
Give me a place
A space where
I can feel and remain free


My Dear Future Self 

My dear future self

Donā€™t teach like you live

Locked up, dry, please donā€™t bet shy

There are things out there

They do not know

With no one to show them the way

Will you stay remote?

Uncaring teaching is about sharing

My dear future self

Play the part of the teacher

Play it will, push them like

Turtles to not stay in their shell.

The world is a big place they need to see

By reading Shakespeare they can go as

Far as me, maybe?

To my dear future self

Donā€™t sell those kids short

When you teach with all your

Heart.




A Way Out

When the dawn shows
me the way, I pick up
my hopes and run towards it
hoping it will crash up on me
like a wave.
Hope is all I have left in this
misbegotten world.
A trail of tears lay behind me
and an unknown future a head.


Wasted Time
By: Shamara S. Davis

I sat by a old oak tree it was withered by time
but it looked like it had strong roots, so I sat there
gazing outward towards the world

ā€œWhy are you sitting by my root?ā€ the tree whispered as
the wind blows pass my ears
ā€œwaiting for mankind to changeā€, I sarcastically replied
She looked at me with a puzzled gaze and said
ā€œI will keep you companyā€, I sighed but welcomed
the company.

Falling asleep now and then I awake searching the for that
change that profound step by man, but I still wait.
My friend is now petrified and so I am. my eyes fixed on the world
canā€™t turn away and the wind that still blows never changing.


Panic
By Shamara S. Davis 

Donā€™t panic  it will all sort it self out
as you race your way to the end to try and forefill those promises
and meet those ugly dead lines.
When you PANIC , you forget what your there for what your
suppose do to. Sweating like crazy staring at the computer
wont help you finish, that paper, that list of demands everyone
has made.
Donā€™t clutch your chest, because the feat has crept its way
into your mind; donā€™t fear , fear is the main killer they say.
Iā€™m panicing I have 10mins to finsih this, 10mins. Before
I burn out and give up and watch myself slip deeper into
a hole I cant crawl my way out of. Is this enough?
Eough to get me that A or the A-. I can feel the sweet
running down my face as I pound away at the keys
panicing as I rush my brain to think of something to write
before this portfolio is due.

 
Mirror
By Shamara S. Davis                                                                                                           
Whatā€™s with the stare? I see the way you look at me,
When I undress, I see the look in your eyes when I take my clothes off.
The excess flesh, the marks that creep their way up my side from my body.
Fighting to keep its current shape, losing and win, gaining and losing they look like crawl marks.
No Iā€™m not her, that mannequin you love, but I am her in a dream.
I see the look that you give me your eyes cutting through me like a surgeonā€™s blade.
Cutting away what you hate it makes me cringe at the thought.
What youā€™re trying to see? That mannequin isnā€™t me.
 I ā€˜m standing right here bitch! Stop staring at me.
Now isnā€™t it too bad that reflections donā€™t answer or turn away.



Here are two of the latest poems that I'm posting to the  Poetry Corner


Dark Days

ā€œDuckā€, he yelled as the ice cold night chilled their bones.

Over head bombs exploding, young boys dreaming of home.

Crawling in the dark, sharp rocks cutting through war torn clothes

belly skin being ripped away not just by

the ground, but by the bullets whizzing by.

Duck! They all yell, when the boom crashed in to the ground

some not ducking soon enough, before it touched the ground

pain filled screams, ā€œMy eyes, my eyesā€. ā€œWhat little can you see?ā€

ā€œYour lucky your blind unlike meā€.

ā€œDuck!ā€ But he didnā€™t hear and the bomb touched the floor

it shook and it quivered and his body was no more.

Where he stood now a black hole, stained with entrails.

ā€œI want to go homeā€, someone dared to yell. He got his wish

after he was filled with seven shells. They cut through him

with little effort and killed with speed.

ā€œDuck! Take cover! Hide somewhereā€

The last bomb blacken the air, there was no hope here just dark days.

Brown Skin
My skin is brown not black like coal. So when they ask me if a I am black I say NO, since Iā€™m not. I am like ebony, wood that you find in the Forrest, strong and beautiful like a diamond. My smile is so bright it reflects like glass when caught in the sunā€™s rays. My breeding is none of your concern since we are out of those dark days, when my beautiful brown brothers and sisters with bright smiles were bought and sold.
You staple this label to me; BLACK, and now I give it back to you. My skin is like ebony not like tar. Each time I hear the word black, I feel a flame, burning and bursting within me. Trying to launch its way out of every single pore; if I erupt now they will say itā€™s a Black thing. Black what other words will they use next? What other words will they use to try and crash through the wall of dignity that I that I mean that weā€™ve built?
What adders and fillers they tack on to make it sound better; Black-African American whatever they put on it I know the same label itā€™s still there that thought that I am like coal to them, something that came out of the dirt. But sometimes I hear ā€œoh youā€™re not black youā€™re Jamaicanā€, as if that makes a difference. But I am not black; you wonā€™t find my skin tone at the other end of the color spectrum. So please donā€™t label me just find beauty in my brown skin.

Motherā€™s shoes
When youā€™re young wearing a pair of high heel shoes
is just practice for you to eventually become a lady.
Your motherā€™s shoes are what you want to fill.
She raised you alone and she had two other mouths to feed
so you were the entertainment.
Strutting your stuff across the room sat your bones on fire.
When youā€™re young wearing a pair of high heels show is just practice
it stops being practice when your old and people pay to watch you entertain
just as well it pays the bills to fill momā€™s shoes.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

BOOKS AND WEBSITES NEW MOTHERS SHOULD CHECKOUT

  Being a new mother I can say is one of the scariest things in the world. You are now in charge of a new life. You are charged with the responsibility of making sure he/she is feed, cleaned, entertained and every need taken care of. Mind you because of the demands being placed on you by your new little bundle of joy you might feel that you have no time for yourself, and I would say that your right! For the first few months of your baby's life, your life is no longer your own. You sleep when he/she sleeps, you eat when you have time to sneak it in, and you finally take a shower when he/she takes a long nap. But it gets better and its well worth it. Eventually your little bundle starts sleeping thought   All of those demands and sleepless nights were something you thought you were prepared for, but when it finally came down to it you were totally wrong. Gone are helpful nurse's that would take your little one to the nursery when you wanted to take a nap. Gone are the extra...

Beautiful relaxing music for stress relief meditation music, healing music

RACISM AND "THE HEART OF DARKNESS"

Racism and "The Heart of Darkness" This essay was my own personal look at essays that explored racism in particular works and what accomplished authors had to say on the matter. Chinua Achebeā€™s essay ā€œAn Image if Africa: Racism in Conradā€™s Heart of Darknessā€, was written about the apparent racist undertone of Joseph Conradā€™s novel ā€œHeart of Darknessā€. The book takes us on a journey into the Congoā€™s and how Africans are described and treated in the time of European expansion and its thrust for ivory. Achebeā€™s attempts to explain to his readers why he thought the ā€œHeart of Darknessā€ and its author were both racist. Achebe proves his point by quoting parts of the novel that emphasized color over everything and the language that the author uses to describe the African natives was racist and unnecessary. As an example Achebe uses is Conradā€™s description of the African mistress in the novel and her European counterpart. ā€œShe was savage and superb, wild-eyed and magnific...