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.

How badly I want to be in that
John Hughes film
I want the cheesy romance
That reeks of tears for fears
And looks like the **** or geek or criminal
That sixteen candle
Sitting on your 944 porche
With the credits rolling up kind of romance
Please leave your notebook at home
Locked up with a vow you don't remeber.
I want that weird science kind of chemistry
A day off involving you
I can look pretty in pink
I can look pretty in Hughes of you.

Parody of Langston Hughes's "I, Too, Sing America"

I, too, speak “American”.

I am the yellow father.
They send me to entertain in accents
When company comes,
But I smile,
And learn quick,
And grow smart.

Tomorrow,
I'll preach at the podium
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Listen to his accent,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll hear how articulate I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, speak “American”.

I am Mexican:
       Brown and forgotten inbetween,
       Brown like the dirt poor I am.

Iv'e been in hard labor:
      I do what "they" don't want to anymore,
      I am the backbone of the working class.

Iv'e been poor:
      I see no handouts under the pyramid scheme,
      I am the Latin prince of the ghetto.

Iv'e been a hustler:
      Every penny earned off my back
      Makes dollars for "their" pockets.

Iv'e been here:
      I am no *******,
      I am the American dream,
      Still I must show identification.

I am Mexican:
      Brown and four generations deep
      American, I am still
      The immigrant face.

I know what happens to a dream deferred.
Rather than dry up
or ooze like a festering sore
it yellows, then browns
then falls slowly to the ground
like leaves in the cold.

Dreams deferred do not smell
of rotten meat, or a syrupy sweet
but of cherry blossoms
and people hurrying down the street
sharing silence or words
with unnoted glances in between.

A dream deferred does not sag
like a heavy load
or even explode.
Instead it spreads
like moonlight.
It takes hold
and does not let go.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes (1902-1967).

How strange and violet and giddy
that you are a boy
and I am a girl,
and we sit here, there,
you with Plath and I with her lover,
pretending, pretending,
pretending-
they are not the poets.

It is you, the boy,
and me, the girl,
writing to each other.

I'm 'sophisticatedly' sticking a pen
in my mouth, pretending
to smoke a cigarette.
I don't have the courage to hurt
myself, but
I do.
In 'subtle and implied' ways, he
says.

I make watery coffee and convince
myself, my happiness
lies in there,
floating. And I pretend
I'm in a Parisian cafe.
But these are pipe-dream dregs,
nothing else.
I guess they can't substitute the
vividness of being,
living.
Of sharp technicolour experience that can be
smelt.
Dregs, indeed.

Today, I borrowed Birthday Letters by
Ted Hughes from the library.
I'm wondering if
salvias were his favourite
flower.
His favourite.
I can't figure it out.
For his words are only stricken,
messy with the rawness of
too-technicolour experience.
Beautiful.
But sharp
enough to pierce and
poison,
like Paris.
My Paris, your Paris,
our little Paris.
So startlingly, breathlessly
red.

I suddenly know why I have written this.
The colour of salvias,
of Paris,
of me and you,
is my soul's favourite.
His favourite.
And salvias, their fragrance, it
douses the fire that's threatening to
suffocate, swallow my
life whole,
incomplete.

Red is my favourite colour.
And it's yours.

But I really don't think I want it to be.

Is time to pay homage to those who paved a path for me. Had a "Dream with in a dream" like Edgar did. No kiss upon the brow, we shook hands and drank tea. Spoke about love and death and all its synonyms like I am to he. Did you kissed her because she died? Were the grain of golden sand that creeped through your fingers  from her broken hour glass? Is this life a reality or yet a dream? For the poor it must be a nightmare to sleep and not see reality. As he vanished right in front of me and left behind a black feather with ink as it came from a Raven's wing.

Pinched my self to wake up from this dream or nightmare. Scared of what might come next. I see snow flakes start to fall from the sky as if heaven is coming down towards me. I look up with my mouth open catching snow on my tounge. I hear a horse gallop and is getting close. He stops right before and asked if the woods are mine? He says, "I know he know he still has miles to go for promises he must keep before he sleeps." As the horse harness bell shakes he ask "before I depart how far I'll go before I sleep in the woods that are lovely, dark and deep. Remember my name Robert Frost, for when I sleep and arrive at your door but For now I must go I have promises to keep, I have promises to keep before I sleep." As he vanishes right before my eyes horse and all I hear the gallops far far away and a solid snow flake falls right between my eyes.

and I blink and I see 21st century man ask a stranger where am i? He smiles and sarcastically said "the land of the free" "we were named New Amsterdam but now is called Manhattan, this hear is Harlem. I'm Langston Hughes let's sit by the river. Asked him how's life? "Life is fine" "I was born for living as are you." "You'll be dogged if you let them see you die for love, so live. You'll make your mark I'll all come one night." Took the elevator to the 16 floor asked him if I was dreaming? He said "of course I died in 1967" as he jumped this time for the first time he yelled "don't let it dry up like a raisin in the sun, dream don't defer". Just like that he was gone.

As time moves back and forth between centuries. I hear murmurs, see things I can't understand stop please the voices are to much for me. Troy, Troy is it burned yet? Homer and William Butler Yeats discuss Odeysseu's journey, Helen and Menelaus king of Sparta.
Stop! Stop! Stop! As I fall from space in fear of my death. I wake up and see the sun beaming through the blinds. The smell of pancakes enters the room and in to my nose, glad is on my face. She said "How you sleep last night, bad dream again" As I eat with my left and write with my right. Time to pay homage i said. Time to pay homage.

Dreams by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die