"gwendolyn" poems
#
***My mind to frolic, with words of Frost
Slides between and then is lost
Drifting ‘round to fellows long
My thirst is deep; desires strong
Filled with all that Maya says
Flits in and out my meddling head
And ah, when Pablo speaks of love
My heart's aflutter with pure white doves
Around the beat, who else but Poe
A deep dark place I've come to know
I stop to ponder the words worth
As if I've nursed them from their birth
I settle to hear the rambling brook
Where Gwendolyn baits my eager hook
Then ‘long comes Oscar, running wild
I listen like an eager child
When Langston paints his colored hues
His canvas fills my point of view
Not just the finest spinning me
To this state of flux and reverie
For verses drift from near and far
Forever reaching for the stars
Feeding on the gentle night
I languish in the word's delight
Finding rhyme from ‘neath the skin
The place where passion's settled in
To fill my cup, appease my soul
Till hunger's sated, fat and whole
The empty space behind my eyes
Is filled with life's sweet lullabies
And when at last, I lay to rest
I'm filled with cadence of the best***
#
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:24 AM UTC
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
Abortions will not
Let you remember the child
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
The best mistake I ever made
Was opening that tattered black book
There I sat in a pub
On a mission to forget the world
6 or 7 drinks in
and a bartender all to happy
To pour what ever the roulette produced
thumb, thumb, flip
flip flip
Stop
Category is shots
To the new friend next to me
"why yes, I am to get **** faced"
"oh, you came here for just an occasion"
"well dear sir if you are brave enough next ones on me"
"Hot **** he exclaimed
As I close my eyes and say a silent prayer
I slowly count 4 pages
and place my finger on the page
I call Gwendolyn over and request
With eyes closed the item of my demise
***
She cried
"I love ya but I won't do that to you"
I slurily open my eyes and focus
MEXICAN BLACK JACK
1 part tequila
2 parts whiskey
151 floater
"Double Shot"
I think out loud
whats a lil' ta'kill-ya?
vhiskey? bah.
151 it's just a floater ppppssssshhhhhhh
After a few minutes of convincing
With many a hoot and holler
From my new friends
She takes my keys and reluctantly agrees
Even kindly offers me a chaser and some limes
I will not forsake the liquor gods
Ever get a whiff of turpentine and diesel?
Well that could be gardenias compared to this.
I sit in silence sniffing it
eyes closed lapping at it with my nostrils
I look over at my new buddy
"well chuckles it's now or never ready for this lil' endeavor?"
"Well **** he muttered "I'm a man of my word"
"to life" I exclaimed
head back as that little bit of ******
started it's course
over my tongue into the throat
(why are my sinus' burning?)
don't breath boy
(you know better)
don't
you
eyes pop
and just on cue
flame ever rendering flames
I'm not blind
I'm not blind
I'm not blind
ok I was just squinting
really hard
I look over and my new friend
is now drinking my free chaser.
my game my pain...
Hey Sven leh's go again...
It's a good thing she loves me
I complain to no one
if she hated me I don't think I'd drink here.
2
hours and
4
shots later
I needed a nap good thing the loo was warm
I salute you Sir BlackJack and when I call your name
It's never in vain
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 11:56 PM UTC
Although she didn’t use these exact words,
What it got down to was:
“My **** hurts!”
Your age-appropriate **** buddy
Experiencing a profound lubrication deficit.
Vaginal dryness:
A legitimate topic these days for
Baby-Boom conversation.
“65: the New 30,” the slogan rings.
A Mel Brooks clarion call,
Harvey Corman doing Count Da Money:
"Don't get saucy with me, Bearnaise!"
For all our good friends at
KY, Vaseline & Astroglide--
As recommended by female OB/GYNs,
(Should there be any other kind?)
Sales projections are rosy for
Ottmar’s Coconut Cooch Oil,
Despite the economic downturn,
So, naturally, you commence your
Search for a young, wet—sopping wet—co-ed,
Running the risk of bumping into
Some UC Berkeley ****
Who digs older gentlemen, and
Knows your daughter, Gwendolyn.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
I'm impressed
With the ladies on this site
So much talent
Amazing words they can write
Lady RF
And her magic pen
Looking forward
To reading you again
Your highness
Ultimate Panic Queen
Writing so good
It's really obscene
Oh Gwendolyn
Our talented gypsy
Writing so intoxicating
It makes me feel tipsy
Penelope the Poet
A creative young scribe
Reading your stuff
Gives me a sweet vibe
Valsa George
A writer of nature and things
When I read her
A smile it brings
Sedoo Ashivor
Writing poems with such taste
Every word having meaning
Not one she will waste
Thank you to all you wonderful ladies
For the work you share
I'm headed back to Hello Poetry
I hope to see you there
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
after Gwendolyn Brooks
Last night we got fried
While you stayed inside.
Can’t say we tried.
What’s your excuse?
Tonight we drive cars
Drunk to bars.
You’re stuck in the tars
Of that **** Spanish.
We’re good to go
You repeat “No.”
What a great show
bare-breasted ENCORE!
Have fun retiring
We’ll be expiring
Our children perspiring
At the thought of us leaving them nothing.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
How Much Gets Me On A Bus? to the City?
(I live 30 minutes away)
more than this ever will - POETRY
I’ve been writing ‘poems’ ever since I remember
ever since 11 –
reciting these phenomenal words of wisdom
to any and all who would listen
forcing family-members & friends
that’s the thing about poetry,
it makes you feel like it’s important,
makes you think the words you sling together
aren’t really yours
it comes to you, through you, needs to come out of you,
and when its over you’re just as amazed
as they should be.
but they’re not, I mean
they like poetry, admire it,
even enjoy it sometimes,
but they could honestly
give it up in a heartbeat,
live without it.
You know what I mean?
I’m like you
like all the people who come here
I'm part poetry as poetry is me
A Dodge Poetry Attendee many years –
my arm once around Gwendolyn Brooks,
cried in a church with Lucille Clifton
talked Newark to Baraka –
know the honorable Slammer, Patricia Smith!
I’ve sat many years with the Lords of Literature - my professors
who all seemed to know “whose got it”
the intellectuals of American prose who seem to be searching for a rookie,
the next best troubadour college-student that will grace their faculty-doors…
The poetry I read here is incredible
Some of the best stuff on the net,
poignant, painful , honest, raw, sensual, serious – provokingly real
words I read here startle me, stun me at times
so clear in meaning, well-crafted, chosen words
unusually strong
They’re the kind of words the got-it people have,
the poet people (probably all people have)
poetry is just another way of finding an infallible song –
(I still say we should go sing it on the bus!)
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Her eyes told me the story
of a girl that had no home
sleeping under midnight stars
a gypsy she shall roam
She bathes in warm pond water
her skin as soft as silk
her laughter is contagious
her smile as white as milk
This boy could love that gypsy girl
and make her world complete
I think she would fall in love with me
if only we could meet
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
Who knew of Gwendolyn
as if I should know
as if it were February
on the history channel
Is it odd that Ed
finally introduced us
after so many years
as if he should be
suspiciously Caucasian
like Ed who
I really don't know
from Baltimore
growing up white
against black because
that's how America was
and is lovable,
hardworking, left-leaning
with a racist mother
or not like Curtis
who's Pusherman
from Chicago deals
I don't know waht
because I've got no
streets but enough schoolin
than most deserve.
I didn't know Gwendolyn
and that's not ironic
motivation to deal
more poetic *****
up for us to huff.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
well
look over yonder
there's
miss daisy
wearing that same old
red and white
polka dot dress
looking like
them
big Jersey cows
oh yeah
that
big old heifer
stronger than a blue ox
well
i
saw her
wrestle 6oo lb alligator
and
knock out
a full-grown bull
oh hi... miss daisy
well
i
saw her scratching
her big old behind
on an old piece of tree stump
while
strolling up
the
old dirt road
go to
the
big church house
for
choir practice
with
church lady
sister Maxine Gwendolyn Brooks
anyway
miss daisy
knows
deep down
in
her
heart of hearts
that
she
going straight to heaven
like seven eleven
when
she says
i
am
goin' up yonder
and
up over
them hills
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
in the la summer,
the heat doesn't whisper
it swells
and the hottest of the places
were the buses
big greenhouses on wheels
but i rode them,
for i had no car
and if i did
it would've been stolen
even though
i moved away from hidden hills
and now lived
on the face
of the sun
after a while,
i found my own
ways to rebel
drink gin out of
my water bottle
on the trip back home,
sit in the elderly
and handicapped
section
and that was what i was
doing when she entered the
bus
she was obviously ancient
and walked with a cane
so of course i moved to the side
as she passed me
the first thing i noticed
other than her skin that was almost purple
was the tattoo of the number
7
across her cheek
and no, this wasn't a young
woman
not the type to spend late nights
recording raps
for soundcloud in the back
of a crack house
we looked through each other for a
second,
and then she said to me
do you see it?
i shook my head
i didn't know what she
even meant
then she extended her hands
and still, nothing
was there
do you see it, she said again
i said no
she sighed
i have so much to tell you,
young woman
so much you need to know
i nodded
because when a crazy
old woman says things like that to you
you nod and smile
so much you need to know
her eyes were misted over
like lakes in the winter time,
cream in the bowl of
a tabby cat
we sat in silence
for a good while,
and then she looked at me again
in the summer, back home she said
when we left school
me and my friends would go drinking
there was a place called the golden shovel
and they had a huge pool table
me and mary would play, smoke cigarettes and
listen to jazz
it was the only time i
felt like i was alive
but when the cops came
mary was there, and i wasn't
they shot her dead
they said the bar was a hideout
for everything good and black
that my mother told me i should stand for
seven died,
and they said the golden shovel
was used to dig graves
i got this last year
she raised a long, peeling finger
to her cheek,
pointing at the seven
the bus ground to a halt as she
put her finger down
i looked at her
this is my stop
she said
before giving me a folded piece of paper
this is a poem i wrote
i took it and opened it, but by the time i
read it, she was already gone
*We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.*
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.
I'll wait until November
That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark
And sing most terribly.
And all the little people
Will stare at me and say,
"That is the Crazy Woman
Who would not sing in May."
Anonymous submission.
Gwendolyn Brooks
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 11:18 AM UTC
My love, my faire, I dream of thee
Thine softest smile, golden haire
All things mine would I forsake
Of thy love might I partake
Faire Gwendolyn, easily, would I spurn
This broken kingdom sure return
My king, betrayal, I would not have shown
Had thy beauty then been known
And now with greate sorrow do I behold
Thy sweet love and fairness untold
Your servant in all things, Lancelot
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
And so she cried,
To be wanted- loved.
To find hands to caress and hold her up,
To wash her face and love her spine
Bound in skin and leather- stare
To fold her paragraphs, to hold each leaf.
Letters fair and finding want:
Set in stare, sat upon
To sit and wait for her young man fair
Her;
She was waiting there.
Need for one;
To open and look
To: Inside her soul; to be her rook.
And in time...
As it stole-
(As it does)
Brought dust and dirt and careless love,
Broken crystal sphere dream
Never came the true one-
Seemed to ignore her there-
She: Unseen.
He: always there, but never was.
He: wanting not for foot
Never placed it near her root
And was; and not, in time and trace.
And still forever longing was she-
To partake of him
Her,
He: His countenance to grace.
Fair moon, fair moon!
Dim and waning
Waning- winding
"This tear so great, my pages scarce."
Wished this one:
For now, forever foreign touch.
And called for me on that eve
I heard her cry
To her I went- I walked, every step wider and wider stride
Motives unknown, childlike in snout
Left judgement at foothold of her home.
I grasped her- her spine
I her loving debutante
And she with me to strike
The dusty and forgotten road.
Perhaps in time I too may give
A story of my own journey amiss,
But for now...she: I am devoted
To finding her, her place
For her to find a careful hand
To care for her to-
Love each ampersand.
Love each stroke of her lips,
To know each page from her diary- that now does drip.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
For Gwendolyn Brooks
And with that 2023
has slid into we
Bound in leather
or some new polymer
Alloys coaxed together
Like Master and server
We Olde Tymers
We Neu! Rhymers
Fashion updaters
Swift haters
What weird magic
this that binds tragic
sado to majestic maso
a Quanto entanglo
In rusty romp we fumble
as dream walls crumble
A Sun begs for mercy
A Flower forgives
Strange entanglements
Mixing emerging flavors
Jan 2, 2023
Jan 2, 2023 at 2:01 PM UTC
you were a perfectly good waste
of blank CDs
but it's okay
you never liked my mixtapes anyways
there's still a part of me
that can't let you go
I burned everything I wrote
flames in all the photos
but I kept the one that doesn't even show your face
you pulling me down the street in a sled,
so I can pretend
you were the one carrying my weight
lover
our favorite thing to do together
was go to the movies
half of our bodies touching
and I think you liked it so much
because neither of us would speak
and you told me to pick out my own Christmas present
at the store that you work in
one t shirt, one beanie
because 15% off is worth more than spontaneity
lover
I passed you in the hall
while you were trying to talk to me
and it was unbelievably hard
to just keep walking
lover
we always kept the lights off
backseats barebones long nights no sleep
black friday ****** mornings
you told me you would leave if we hung out
when I was anything but sober
but you laughed and kissed me instead whenever you see my eyes are red
I've been writing about you for the past 3 months
and it's all been complete ******* garbage
everything was always about you
and thanks to me, it still is
lover
love her
I feel sorry for her
I tried so hard
I wore flannel every day
to melt into yours
I was puddy in your rough palms
molding to every move
my bones are breaking
because I let you fill up every part that was empty
and I asked you about your father
and you never asked about mine
lover
I check your twitter every day
I just want to know what's going on in your head
I never knew what was going on in your head
you came over at midnight
to climb into my bed
and I begged you to stay
but you never forgot to set an alarm
there was a time limit on us
ever since the first day
lover
I never even met your mom
but you got ******
any time I felt embarrassed by mine
I wanted to be everything you wanted
but that just wasn't me
I'm so sorry
that you spoiled every part of me
that was worth keeping
that night at the bonfire
I was trying to give you a second chance
but you didn't take it
so I kissed him instead
sometimes I wonder
if I'm no better
lover
I'm sorry that I lied
I told you I would always be there
and so did you
in that book of poems by Gwendolyn Brooks you knew I had my eye on
you told me were bad at communicating
but maybe we just weren't listening
only waiting for our turn to speak
only waiting to hear you speak
only waiting for you to say that you love me like I always did
to make you feel sorry for me
lover
I wanted to love you so badly.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:37 AM UTC
I just wanted to say I love you. I can't wait till we meet, and I hope I don't scare you off. I have the tendency to do that. I would like to apologize in advance for anything I say or do that embarrasses the hell out of you. Also I would like to tell you I'm fighting for you. It's really hard right now, but the thought of you gets me out of bed in the morning. I know I'm only sixteen and I won't meet you for a couple of years, but it's you that I stay alive for. It's you and our children and our white picket fence. I'm fighting for every cheesy thing we do, and every argument we have because I know you will be worth it. You already are, and I probably haven't even met you. It's 1:39 am on Februaury 16, 2015 and its you who is keeping me up. I can't wait to fall in love with you.
Love Always
Gwendolyn
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
For Gwendolyn Brooks
A song most frosty
She sings in November terribly.
A hymn most dark,
Never after cruel but crazy.
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 11:53 AM UTC
for Gwendolyn Brooks
War planned black
Warpland blue
Hard manna to mix
In Spells form a deep
Hurt placed
the River comes
around turns and flops
after a terrible
Weather channel
We build now
here almost near
Future-- love from
lion licks
wolf hurts
and worreid aunts
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
We real cool. We
Skip school. We
Fiest fruits. We
Rake roots. We
Make mates. We
Ditch dates. We
Weep winter. We
Bait bitter. We
Fake foster. We
Gamble gutter. We
Save stutter. We
Dance alone.We
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
for in memory of Gwendolyn Brooks
You inspire me
And touch my very soul
Setting my heart and mind free
Making poetry valued like gold.
We loved the voice you gave
To those without a voice
And if you had a choice
It would be the voices of millions of souls
That may not hear otherwise you know.
You were the light for other poets dwell
In places, we may not go
And you ever wished well
Truly loving us really so.
So there I said what I have to say
To my muse forever
If it hasn't I wouldn't be here today.
January 2005
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
Sir, we're looking for me? We know me?
Sir, we've distant data on me? Are we tired of me sitting and late waking too?
My ghost, bugs, and Sir, weirding way are all known to us.
Sir, we know everything.
We grab *** squeeze **** and put high finger on it
Such wrapturous goodness for me myself and I, but where?
In Crazy Horse Native Americans strip mall?
In ridding me of a brown heritage we desperately want to keep?
With every two drink minimum we are there Sir
With every bedding down in our laps we are there Sir
In ********* Dawn on Carefree wings
to lining our sitting Sea
Our hands, guided piercings
of me we are there Sir
We sleep in darkness sweet til
babbling Brooks wake us from snug slumber
When even Darth night shines with Gwendolyn's tomorrow
And inside my full belly, we stitch our patched life quilt
Of praise, amazement and montaged
secret places
We see Degas tattoos on milky body without form
without preconception
We count precious thoughts to fall
asleep in dark innocences, in stuck vengeance
only to wake with us, always with us
still
If only I could **** an atheist
to quench our tribal blood thirst
Our folly speaks evil
I hate those, who in folly hate us
I count them as us in the Game
of finding deep hurt and worried aunts
We hurl away insults to leave bare haters and me
eternally on a path to we
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 12:39 AM UTC