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 Dec 2014 Kareena
Francie Lynch
I notice tadpoles
Wearing push-ups
To look like bullfrogs.
 Dec 2014 Kareena
WickedHope
Rope
 Dec 2014 Kareena
WickedHope
I
h
a
v
e
f
e
e
l
i
n
g
s
that
form
thou
ghts,
that
form
words,
that          form
sente            ­     nces,
that                       form
rope,                         which
ties                               itself
into a                            noose.
Your                         ­     words
are also                    a rope,
that saves me from
drowning.
Sorry if you can't read it.
Kinda.
 Dec 2014 Kareena
Kate
Don't Let Go
 Dec 2014 Kareena
Kate
I miss the beach on Cape Cod
And the little cottage with the outdoor shower.
I miss selfies at 3AM
And big hugs.
I miss your black and white comforter,
All the comfort you provided while we huddled underneath it
In the cold winter months.
I miss the laughs,
Movie marathons,
Ramen lunches.

I miss who I was when I was with you.
 Dec 2014 Kareena
Francie Lynch
The girl at the check out
Clutching the chips and dollar
Gives me an ache
Like a warning shot
In my stomach.

The boy keeping up
Behind his brothers
Gives me an ache
Like filling a balloon
To capacity.

The ******* duel-bladed skates
Bundled like the Michelin Man
Pushing a chair
Gives me an ache
Like a rip in my father's heart.

The one on the hall floor
Eating before his locker
As the gang's off to McDonald's
Gives me an ache
Like an airborne ball
As the buzzer sounds.

The one in the corner of the class,
With cuffs pulled down
And a tattooed razor blade
On the back of the neck
Worries me.
We need to pay attention.
 Dec 2014 Kareena
V Anna
Falling
 Dec 2014 Kareena
V Anna
How can I,
                          
fall again?
When you're no longer
                  
here,
falling
                        
**with me.
 Dec 2014 Kareena
r
19
 Dec 2014 Kareena
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
 Dec 2014 Kareena
Luna Lynn
you ask me what it's like to be black
and i'll tell you it's a warm soulful fulfilling feeling
like a pair of new Chucks on the hot pavement jumping scotch on a busy summer day
eating cool iced pops and not ever being afraid
and smelling the warm carmel cake cooling on the stove
and the togetherness on a Sunday evening in grandmama's home

but you ask me what it's like to be black
in america
and i'll fall silent of conversation
because as you see history repeats itself
i don't understand why there is still need for explanation
in deep adversaries and hateful unappreciation
here we stand to be questioned by an authoritative negation

and ignorant folk,
why do you ask me such things?
why are you people mad?
why is it about race?

and i'll ask you, why does the caged bird sing?
is he not entitled to his song or his wings?

as green as the earth and as blue as the sky
i will only explain to an ear willing to listen
to a being with a sound heart and a firm mind
because as God as my witness we were created as equal

and for that given right we must die?

i will sit back and in turn ask you why;
i bet you couldn't say
and maybe we will all learn the answer some day
so join me in prayer will you?
join me as i pray:

to the children of Chicago
who can't go out to play
to the sons and fathers of
Missouri and Florida and New York
who will never again see the light of day
to the mother's pain that may fade
but won't ever go away
to the hateful people and their hateful words and their hateful ways
God won't You heal their pain?


they're so ******* us, Lord
now we're ******* ourselves
and on our knees we have fallen
needing guidance and help
because it isn't about being privilged
or living for the light we're consumed in

being black in america is no longer about being accepted as black

it's about being accepted as human.
(C) Maxwell 2014
 Dec 2014 Kareena
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
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