Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Benjamin Dollar Dec 2020
Hello, poetry?
Where have you gone,
The world needs you now,
To sing it’s song.

Hello, poetry?
Where have you gone,
You sang so proud,
But now, you’ve gone!
Norman Crane Sep 2020
I read the book
a second time
the book: unchanged
changed: my mind
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
The human mind
remains bleeding edge,
but no one pays for
attic salt,
the best shall walk away
from the spaghettification
of the school system.

And roman candles
will go unlit.

Where's your résumé, Johnny?
He will hunt-and-peck
to create, lest ever
comprehend, his future
as a basement
mixologist,
'cause no one cares
to drink in education.

And his roman candle
will go unlit.

Classrooms are a thirstland,
an empty canteen,
pre-loved Maggie
—she'll graduate
quite parched,
assuredly vagarious,
modeling merkins
for period piece ****.

And her roman candle
will sadly go unlit.
Arisa Mar 2019
**** the deadline.
****** the word limit.
maul the teacher.
tight sentences,
so concise,
stabs my heart
wasn't worth it at all.
I don't want to shrink my work, you hellcats.
chloe fleming Jan 2018
Seeking love in pain
Vultures prey on emptiness,
Fear no recourse here.
Essa Freedom Mar 2017
Every book I open
Every story I read
Another adventure I start
Another Life I begin

I live with them
And laugh
And run
And cry with them

I just don't belong
Not in the real world
But however unlikely
In literacy I find a place

In the end
The pages ripped my heart
They pull me apart
They ruined my life
And they changed who I am

Yet without them
My life is nothing
I am incomplete

The author who holds the knife
Dangles it over my head
With each character's death
A new tear in my soul

A new life in literacy
A gift not all can receive
Without literacy  
I would have no life at all

Such is the curse of the reader

Do not feel sorry from them
Feel sorry for those those who do not read
For those who live but one life
A life a ignorace at that
Don Bouchard Dec 2011
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.

I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.

Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.

"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.

Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &  
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").

So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
What is literacy?
These words came in response to a conversation I overheard at the University of Minnesota, in which a group of wealthy White female educators despaired a the plight of the under-educated, unwashed masses of people outside their privileged island of higher education. #Commonpeoplefeedyou!
Andrew T May 2016
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?

I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?

How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,

or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?

Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.

Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.

Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.

Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.

Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.

Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,

Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.

Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,

And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
Julie Grenness Jul 2015
Shakespeare would have failed Naplan,
That was not in his cunning plan,
Yes, his folks would have him tutored,
To ensure Billy became learned,
He would have lost his homework,
Billy did so not want extra work,
Shakespeare, that teen scallywag,
It was total fun, such a lad.
Now Shakespeare is a wraith,
Why, Billy, why? Teens sayeth,
As they serially fail literacy tests,
Why not abolish that Billy pest?
Tragic heroes and drama queens,
That's the teens writing essays on such scenes,
While Billy failed in literacy,
Teens do sense such hypocrisy.
I read that Shakespeare would have failed the Australian compulsory literacy test. Feedback welcome.
Doy A Apr 2015
There is a man who ends his sentences with proper punctuation
the kind of man who has no trouble with pronunciation
His library is filled with varied nonfiction & fiction
His words are refined, only of the highest selection

His days are spent buried in books
Hours upon hours in his quiet nook
The window beside him he never cared look
Adventures and travels, he never took

Content was he with pages endless
His imagination wild, free, limitless
No need to step out where he was defenseless
Words upon words were enough, he says

Of course in time, this man grew old
His only regret was never being bold
Never knew the world was the biggest book he could hold
No stories to tell, only stories already told
Sometimes I start writing a poem and end up getting lost in thought. Trouble is I never know how to end these things. I try. I try.
Next page