"harlow" poems
I don't think tunnels can go this deep:
The way the oceans part--
Starfish foam, bubbling for air.
I saw the moon bleeding,
So many hidden cries.
She shouted:
"No fair, no fair...No fair..."
And now the polished skeleton
Bones glisten in the sun.
Taken from the dusty closet,
One by one by one.
Alongside a black journal,
No embellishments,
No lock to conceal shame.
Pages of her history,
Like collected pages of
The suffrage, and at the
Very last page, her dream's name.
Italicized like lies fresh oyster pearls shine.
Glistening in the frost of the night,
The soothing heat of her mind's height.
Tunnels can touch Earth's spine.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Cinderella did not teach me stand up against the wrong.
She did not teach me to be strong.
Katniss Everdeen did.
Aurora did not teach me that I don't need a man.
She did not teach me I am independent just as I am.
Cleopatra did.
Snow white did not teach me that real beauty has nothing to do with physical appearance.
She didn't teach me self love or acceptance.
Winnie Harlow did.
Ariel did not teach me to resist and fight.
She didn't teach me to raise my voice for what is right.
Malala did.
Ashley Graham gave me confidence.
Michelle Obama gave me inspiration.
Tris Prior taught me sacrifice.
Hermoine Granger showed me it's not only boys who can fight.
Nikita Gill taught me I am enough even without a man.
Joan of Arc showed me I can do anything he can.
Let's read to our girls stories of such badass, incredible, fierce and confident women.
Instead of stories where they are painted weak and can't do without men.
Let us teach them that they are powerful, they are strong.
And anyone who tells them different is wrong.
Let's read them stories of brave, heroic women instead of ones where they are shown weak and helpless.
Let's teach them to be warriors and not some princess.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
When again in Joyous MAE
where Weeping willows bow and sway
and Martin swoops from hollowed eave
to where Victoria bids us leave
down railway track by home bound Duck
and motion sickness makes us Chuck
smelling salts from moonlight blossoms
as Marian asks what's a possum
Hilda and Tim try to explain
as Bala steps onto this train
he greets with smiles sweet Linda there
as Edward offers him a chair
Thoughts Forgotten as we chill
my Dry Sapphire Gin I knock and spill
cussing Profanity too loud
I shock so many of this crowd
Sammi Sweetie red of face
covers the ears of Madison Grace
Jerelii turns to poor Prabhu
and asks him soft what can we do
Frederick hands to her a tissue
and Vijay says good luck I wish you
Rena Em and poor old Quentin
have not returned when they were sent in
offering advice and gentle aide
and Lee and Jimmy knelt and prayed
Harlow ran and Blackmire followed
both too afraid their courage swallowed
Floaters pointed to Anon C
and said aloud you come with me
Something we knew was ours has gone
but look his Sisters just got on
So Daytonight spoke I'll cuff his ears
to stop him swearing now my dears
Embers knew shed blow her top
so quickly Rose and said ... My stop
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
She was only 17 and smelled of cigarettes and sorrow
Standing under an old streetlight on the corner of
42nd and Harlow Avenue in the latest the hour can be
Why was she there, on the corner of 42nd and Harlow Avenue?
Nobody knew
Not even she did
Or how she got there
But that part wasn't entirely important
She still had her phone, her purse, her dignity
And most of her clothing?
Maybe just her phone and purse.
Her intoxication had taken over
Her vision is slightly blurry
And her head feels as though it weren't even there
Her senses are tricking her
For she hears a familiar rhythm from behind
Getting louder and louder in 4/4 time
She only realizes what it is when it stops right next to her
"How Much?" The man asks her
His eyes are full of greed
And his breath's filled with Whiskey
Hers probably smelled the same
Along with the result of an empty Camels pack
"Well?" He asks again, his eyes fixed on every curve her dress made
"How Much?"
She looks at him
Dead in the eye
"Life has no price when one wishes to end it."
He stares at her for a few seconds more
Then walks off into the shadows to find satisfaction
She watches him go
And keeps looking long after he's gone
She opens a new pack
And blows through half of it
Toying with the idea of taking three steps into Harlow Avenue
Seemed a fitting ending
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
They'll hold a referendum on the poor and where to send them,
will you vote?
Some say rend them unto Caesar, put them on a train to Piza, but they say that just to please ya, it's a problem don't ya know.
And there are others with dark hearts,
they're not my brothers
who say work them unto death.
Share and share alike and if ya don't then take a hike,
you've got more than plenty there
why won't you share?
It reaches a crescendo when the lights go off in Harlow and the gas goes down in Hartlepool and the baby needs a feed,
so we feed them on false hope and the drugs we stole from several wars and tell them it's the dope and
will you vote?
Call it violation,
call it at the voting station
this is not the once great nation
if it ever was at all.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
to find a place to call home
where the bed nests flush in the corner
and the arms don’t loosen till you say so
to show all of your teeth and blow away
the bombs and dark purple air that cloud your sleep
and invite you to stay a minute longer
to live in boxes if that would make you closer
to knowing what it’s like to be a maypole
or a wild turkey or a king
to square your shoulders when you walk
and when you shudder
and when you listen
to find a place to call home
where you can leave without asking
if it’ll be there still at dusk
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
Shades on your eyes and you think that they're spies who are watching through curtains and twitching their certainties about who you are.
A bit further, too far and the gumshoes, par for this course.
Invisible ink makes you think you're not seen by the ice cream man in his MI5 van, but you're taped by the score and the many or more will sit on the church pews of offices, loaned them by wise men and fools who drool over Marlowe and they think this is Harlow or Harlem, but
we know it's Salem and they're coming to burn us.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
You were never there
Of course. She was born
Too early or you too late.
But she was a beautiful
Dame, you think, turning
Over pages, gazing at her
Photographs, imagining
Her lips to kiss, her arms
To caress, her soft *******
Your pillows and what she
Was like in bed (alive that
Is not dead). However, she
Died too soon, way before
Your time. Old enough to
Have been your grandmother
Had she lived and had her time.
Too bad. She could have been
The best **** you never had.
But Harlow’s just a dream,
A useless thought, just a memory
Now in books and old guy’s heads
Who may or not have shared their
Beds. You were never there, but if
You had and the gods had been
Quite kind and let you meet and
Kiss and **** and love and live
To old age, you could have lived it
All and not have scribed the page.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
Number forty-three was a bit of a sad story,
it used to be in glorious colour
the fuller figure of
Lana Turner, but the card was washed at forty degrees
in the pocket of my dungarees and how I cried
when it dried out, black and white and
not a splot of colour to be seen.
Jean Harlow who I didn't know
was number twenty-one
she was in my opinion about a number one,
she's gone too.
They should make picture cards
coloured only blue and then we'd know
what we're crying for.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
i am a rhesus monkey, i live in a cage.
a man named henry watches me, like he watches the rest.
in all of our cages, he gives us two mothers, a provider and a lover.
in almost all our cages.
henry likes to scare us, and afterwards he writes in a notebook.
i sit in my cage and look around, at all the other monkeys
as they jump into the arms of their loving mother.
i look around my cage, empty except for the provider.
did henry forget? did he mean to give me one, but just forgot?
or did i not earn it
I hate Henry.
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 10:44 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
forecast gloom.
Where on earth could it be
I wonder if it's at sea
the Sandettie light vessel automatic (a somewhat dramatic name for a flame)
always does that to me,
a thousand winding stairs
that nobody cares to climb
I wonder where on earth it could be
I wonder all the time.
back to some present
and presence of mine
back to the grind on
the underground line.
which is
quite pleasantly quiet on
this crisp early morn.
but there's always one who
chatters in and on the
spaces, down two places
neatly seated,
from Harlow, (new town)
by his own admission.
I expect he escaped the
Essex Sun
got on his horse
loaded his gun and
shot off down to London Town.
I meet strangers strangling looks
reading fairy tales
electric books
and treat them all with
kid gloves
it's better to be safe than worry
so
I hurry myself on.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
Who says Civil Rights is an easy battle?
Ask Congressmen John Lewis and C.T. Vivian they jumped immediately into the saddle
Their thoughts would be, “Redemption, Achieve, Believe and Victory”
This is what the two Civil Rights Moguls were challenged
It was call to action
Civil Rights fight until won
They achieved in the 50’s and 60’s
But their mission is continuous in us until done
Yet, the world is continuing in the separation fight among
The rise in the fist being unity power
It didn’t matter the hour
Congressmen John Lewis and Rev C.T. Vivian didn’t tire
Don’t let movement after movement expire
It certainly was no easy stepping
March on March on in Congressmen Lewis and Rev Vivian’s hearts
Step out in one accord
They were assured being guided by our Lord
Struggles then continuing now in 2020
But the banner reads, “Black Lives Matter”
However, let’s take that even further, “All Lives Matter”
The struggles then was separation, but today the world is shouting Unification
Bringing all races together as one
This is nonstop
Civil Rights won’t be done until all feet are on solid ground
Lift every voice and be heard
Utter Civil Rights can no longer continue to be a plight
That was Congressmen Lewis and Rev. C.T. Vivian shedding light
They wanted to open up the world’s minds
No matter what the cost, separation wasn’t sublime
It was a fight for justice and voices rang loud
Congressmen Lewis and Rev C.T. Vivian mission was an urgent purpose
Influence obvious
The world wondering in curious
But it didn’t matter, Congressmen Lewis and Rev C.T. Vivian were simply furious
Civil Rights was a responsibility and should be sustained by all
Congressmen Lewis and Rev C.T. Vivian were involved in the Freedom Riders
Today the Civil Rights warriors would say, “Don’t let us catch you with your Civil Rights involvement undone
It’s continuous until complete
It would be Police in opposition
March on in precision
It was extension of determined exercised rights
Congressmen Lewis and Rev Vivian didn’t take that light
They vision in plain sight
There are two Heaven Harlow’s being Heaven’s call
They conquered and saw
Now it is time for us to continue on the road to Civil Rights
Congressmen Lewis and Rev Vivian are our determination
We will be their representation
Lift every voice and join hands
Let us march together in the sunrise until sundown
Embrace in commitment
Visualize in achievement
Dignity and honor from legacy
Muster from struggle’s past to victories to be gained
Upward and onward
2020, we are the new voices
Lift every voice and chant, “Civil Rights the purpose, and Freedom becoming the enterprise”
March on my Sons and Daughters
Civil Rights won’t be won until Freedom and Liberty reign.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 7:25 AM UTC
Don't think I'll be going to Rio
I will probably end up on Skid Row
which is only a step up from Harlow,
and
I used to have friends in Harlow
but
I don't have those friends anymore.
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 12:27 PM UTC
.
In the valley of the shadow
hang the dead
and only fools go
blindly on,
but seeing is believing
so I leave the dead behind me
going on but no so blindly that
I cannot see the trail.
I run pale before the ice sheets
steeped in mystery, disease free,
but it's only me,
so sliding into that which has been hiding
through the blinding night of snowdrifts
on the wings of eagles lifting me and with
hawks eyes watch the sunrise through
the valley of the shadow
it's like being back in Harlow or
in Harlem or in a thousand other
places where
I've been but never got to know.
I've seen them come and go
and I'll see them yet once more
before the doors are closed
behind me and I move along quite
blindly
knowing where I have to go.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
sometimes it's not what you write you,
but most of the time:
it's about how you write about it...
people speak of fashion every sunday
in the newspaper magazines,
people always stress the need for style...
to be frank? yes:
you can write about the most exciting
event in world history,
but then write it like a yawn,
checking for the psychopaths that never
manage to replicate a yawn right
after you yawned, to replicate
a human-togetherness...
but then you can end up writing about
the most absurdly boring events of life,
and write it, like easing out or stressing out
a **** and everyone's laughing,
but all you managed to do is fry a really
****** omellete...
the nazis will forever be complimented on
their style, the nazis will become
the "good" guys given their fashion sense...
everyone compliments the uniforms,
so many films about the 2nd world war
have been made, actors seem to be itchy
to wear a **** uniform...
and that's the truth.
the polish winged hussar uniform
is probably 2nd in the rank of desirable
attire for movies...
but sometimes you can really
make a sloppy pancake from something grand,
because you wrote the event like a yawn...
then you can really make a soufflé from
something miserable, something grey, something
everyday... and then you hear a ****
everyone laughs, and then engages in
the blame-game... who dun it?
and that's true,
people reach for the top shelves of history,
and think the exciting event will provide them
with an exciting encoding of the end,
it never happens like that,
then sometimes think that the most
enduring, most modest, most boring acts in
life will never becoming epics of script,
and that's where they're wrong...
it doesn't take a war to excite the writing,
sometimes, the most mundane of all possible
aretefacts of people tattooing the earth with
an imprint, can become the most soul-devestating
to adrenaline-junkies...
but at least resourceful...
and whenever you use "complicated"
words easily, investing in the vocabulary bank,
and then spew, like a drunk girl
on the streets of harlow,
and you can see the words cling together,
and see that no "trick" of subversion took place,
i.e. using the thesaurus...
you can spot the use of thesaurus in
novels most prominently...
but it's there:
sometimes the subject matter may seem exciting,
and it is, but with they way it's presented,
it's hardly worth a mention...
and then the most mundane event
in the history of man, repeated exponentially,
but depicted in a transcendental way,
can claim navigating superiority over the "grand"
events... like state funerals...
i.e.? he can dress himself as a god:
but end up speaking like an idiot...
most of the time, i've learned,
it's not what you write about,
rather, how you write about it...
the "why" is equally spread between the two approaches;
the former usually requires much
volume, and becomes a novel,
the latter? most probably is a sort of poetry.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
As the winds blew
It is God giving the world a cue
The Harlow shade
It was heavenly made
The thunder of attention
The lightening along with the mention
God’s message to the world
I am here in heaven looking high and low
Pray and be sincere and never let go
I am the Lord that can take away fear
Always keep me near
The assurance of one’s faith
The outcome of one’s spirit
God’s reward in giving of merit
Walk with me
Let your light shine for all too see
All this comes from thee
Be encouraged within the say
Keep every day holy I say unto you unto this day.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC