#langston
What happens to a broken promise?
Does it sting
like a bee?
or creates a wound
and leaves a scar?
Does it die in the heart
or grow as a seed
Maybe it just lives
like a ghost
Or it creates strangers?
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 11:54 PM UTC
My words don't Shake like William's,
nor, do they Frost like Robert's.
×
My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's,
nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's.
×
I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's,
nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's.
×
My words are far from an Angel like Maya's,
and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's.
×
Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me.
×
(sumairu•¶oetry)
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 8:11 AM UTC
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me
Yes, it hurts me- a little bit, a lot a bit
but I understand.
You are yourself and I am myself-
You will do you, I guess I’ll be me
I still wonder though.
Who am I-
Why not,
What’s so wrong with being a part of me,
my life- who I am?
What’s so bad about me?
Is it because I’m not “pretty” enough
or “cool” enough
or good enough to you, to be a part of me? Associated with me?
Because I won’t just make you happy
I will make myself, my family, those I do- and don’t know happy
I will try and make you as well.
What counts as part of me?
Just that I’m nineteen, female, probably bi
born in Geneva, Illinois, raised in South Elgin, Illinois
but also raised in Westford, Massachusetts
both painfully boring towns; quiet, uneventful.
Does that make me as well? Is part of me South Elgin, Westford?
And then what else- what other parts of me?
That can’t be the only part-
So I’m also creative, loud, spontaneous
the part that makes me different
Is it so bad to be that part?
Part. Of. Me.
it sounds like a bad pop song. Is that why you don’t want to be
part of me-
Why is it that sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me?
Does that mean you won’t speak, look or think about me?
i don’t think that’s possible.
Am I really that much of a stranger?
I’ve known you for quite sometime -
You’ve known me
So can you even not be a part of me?
You can be yourself, as well as
Part of me.
so
yes
You are part of me.
As am I to you,
Just not all of me.
A single piece, maybe, a part,
that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
You can have alone time, but even then that doesn’t mean;
for the time alone, your part of me is gone.
What an illogical statement,
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be part of me.
You already are.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight
And let that page come out of you—
Then it ill be true
Will it be that easy?
White, weird and sixteen
Growing up in New York City
Where moments flicker by like a dream.
Middle school says life’s ahead
While city commutes blend together.
With brief respites to a Vermont house
Having nature’s bounty out the window.
Though daily, I have only a poor rectangle substitute.
Though I see the world in its immensity,
What I’ve seen are mere trips from my city.
All the while striving to find meaning in this chaos,
But ending up being lost in the sauce.
I enjoy gaming, idle chat and to humorously play
Though mostly with friends who live so far away.
But after I go to see them,
My memories slowly fade away.
They come to see me in my abode.
Concerts, cards and killer jokes
To pass the time between visits,
I listen to a multitude of books.
Something is lost with them on tape,
I'm told.
But convenience is something that it holds
During art classes full of concentration
Where I can get lost in the rhythm of their words
I seem to think I lose touch with conversation
But I think to save it
For those I love the most.
To my friends who are my brothers
I look to them-
To give me hope: For a life to still have meaning.
Some have it inherent,
Others shrivel up without it,
Some find it in responsibility,
But for me,
It is in those people whom I connect with the most.
This is my page for English 6.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
My Master died some time ago
But he left me 'The Ways of White Folks'
And he taught me about 'Democracy'
I recall the 'Dreams' and the 'Dreams Deferred'
And how he sang 'I, Too'
With less than a hundred years between us
His lessons are the same
America for him was brutal
America for me hasn't changed
So with the words he left me,
I craft my trade in his name
With artful thought, I pay my dues
Studying my master, Langston Hughes
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
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.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
*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”.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
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).
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Dreams by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
he holds a coffee cup in one hand
and a notebook in the other
it has a langston hughes quote on the cover
written in a midnight scrawl
when he paid, he smiled with all his teeth
and he had taken off his dark gloves for long enough
to reveal his calloused fingers
scarred guitar worn fingers
he drinks his coffee black and sits by the window
and Lord, the thought of him breaks me already
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC