"langston" poems
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Hidden Weapon
By: James Desire
See me walking on the vacant street
What’s your first thought?
Black kid up to no good
See me- surrounded by others, my brothers
What is your second thought?
Black kid in some gang
Must be tattooed and tough
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
See the clothes I am wearing
Big baggy pants, dark Du-Rag and Ripped shirt
What is your final thought?
Poor old ****** living in a ghetto
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Now Listen,
You see me jetting through the silent streets
What would you assume then?
Arrest!
Call the cops
Must have been a ****** a robbery,
Another black boy crime
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
I am just a black boy trying to survive
Trying to enjoy-just to stay alive
On the street
People judging me cause
The blackness of my skin
The types of clothes I’m in
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Unsuspecting black child taunted, haunted…
Fearing that one word-nigga
Should I be blamed for crimes committed in the past?
Choice-less decisions made
Pressure reaches ******
Everything seems lost
At the end
I feel blamed
Nevertheless, I blame you
Whites
Rejecting
Hurting
Me- hopeful
Pride-earned-not given
Defending
Defending my dignity
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Should I be judged/blamed for past generations?
Then, blame me for…
The jazz of Louis Armstrong
The voice of Billie Holiday
The poetry of Langston Hughes
The photography of Gordon Parks
The character of Martin Luther King Jr.
The power of Coretta Scott King
The dignity of Fredrick Douglas
Finally, the individuality of James Desire
You seek evil in blacks
The past has also proven a positive…
A positive outcome
That helped the development…
OF OUR WORLD!
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC
#
***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
Put me to sleep
I says put me back to sleep
and lock the door
I got some place to be
Got someones to see.
You can't understand
You surely can't understand
I needs to dream my same dream
I needs to dream my same dream I says
This old life does me no good
My eyes, they need to be closed I says.
Finds me a woman I met sometime last night
No madder how I tell it,
You can't understand this thang I know fo' certain.
I says put me back to sleep
I says put me back to sleep
Can't you see
I got some place to be
Got someones to see
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
In the morning her eyes paint the cities horizon.
Stretching and yawning.
Getting dressed; Her blue tapestry.
Opening the door to her apartment
She climbs down broken stairs.
It's payday Friday.
The mail man is late again.
Opening her box closing it right back.
She considers direct deposit,
Climbing back up those old creaks in the stairs.
To a notice on the door.
Excessive noise complaint
Rent past due
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 1:16 PM 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
Dance in the flowers of springtime like a flower without petals.
I have never heard of such.
Never heard of a flower without petals, a lion without a roar, a tree without bark.
These things are simply unheard of like sacred souls.
They never see these things or the stitches on your heart holding you together, never heard of a heart that doesn't love.
Never heard of a tiger without stripes and the pride of them , for what would we know if not these things?
What about Maya Angelou who told us of the caged bird that sings or Langston Hughes who taught us to take our dreams, spread our wings and fly with them?
A flame without heat is not so, it is ignited like the rage flowing through our veins when yet another African American boy is faced down,
on the ground,
unarmed,
with blood of his own flowing out of him.
Never heard of is it?
Just like the streets that would scream if they could speak, so would Andy Lopez if wasn't already six feet under just for being 13.
These are the things that are not unheard of, we just never hear them.
I think maybe it is time these things be recognized and not cast aside, so that maybe their is hope for a bright future.
That we might never have to see a world where flowers have no petals and lions no roar.
But finally at peace with no war.
Just love.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:12 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
Crows of brooklyn
payphone goddess
Shakespeare:
old skinny
repeating thin silver words
beneath a sea shell
stolen by a 7 year old girl
in a red rag dress
from the burning contemporary
bookstore
tossing sweat thru
irrelevant back spine tunnel streets
featherless skulls
spitting sour chinese gin
from chimney blow hole
of their decaying dead thieving Fox
revolting death
to mother blessing decay
red blue green white
Fox yellow brown fur
swirling entwined like
melting crayons
on a stone militia crafted bench
researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers
too hot
too cold to undress and ****
swirling together like cigar french ashes with
tongue hued wine
feverish coffee
thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother
giving
taking birth to a child
tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes
sipping on bad spoiled milk
digesting salt
hard boiled swan eggs
eating purity
chewing skunk
coughing industrial chemical gasoline
*********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights
non-existent Allah
howling North Korea Communist war hymns
sing great religious protest
gunky toe nail'd feet
waltzing in the stomach of medieval
ballrooms chandelier not casted by
infinite diamonds
but by Jewish slaves
Islamic skins
Christian leather
Catholic molested brains children bones
deceased Langston Hughes
hung by Hughes spine and pupil
the size of texas
mass of the ****** female lips and knees
wearing color blind dress
shoes unfound
skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach
washed up skeleton sting ray
the skin unwrapped
like a christmas gift
Santa is starvation
licking the shoe polished long toes
of Death
riding the Downtown artificial lights
artificial scientist crafted classical
elevator time consuming Death songs
Jesus,
waking up,
to his body dry,
like that of Winter's rose and lips.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
When I think of you
or of what you could be,
all I can know for sure is that
you are beautiful.
Sometimes I imagine you
with a curtain of ebony hair
(sometimes it’s red like the sunrise we see
as I drive you to school each day)
and a stack of books cradled in your arms
(sometimes you ask me to read to you—
Langston & Lewis & Luke’s Gospel).
You say phrases like:
“Momma,
(Oh, just hearing you call me so!)
I hate boys;
all I want to do is read,”
--A woman after my own heart.
But even if you inherit my
troublesome, rebellious brown & gold curls,
and you fumble with a tennis racket and those yellow-green bullets,
a gym bag slung over your shoulder,
I’ll still want
to spread peanut butter on your crust-cut-off bread,
to tuck your sheets in on your little twin mattress,
and search for that lost ladybug sock in the dryer
(but only because it’s your favourite).
I know you’re beautiful;
not because of your genes,
or because you’re my daughter,
but because you’re completely you,
and I
(already)
love you this way.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
The sun is a glaring Mom. She has
Nine toddlers in pull-ups robbing a liquor store
They scream like goblins coated
slippery in A+D,
(but the money tastes like sand)
buttery streams of light in the air that smells
like chewed fireworks.
Baby Blue silence. Then
“Langston McCaw! LA County Sheriff!”
the Sheriff is dead McCaw is an accountant over at Sherman and-
But he doesn’t like to talk about it.
Sun setting sets the air habanero
“Look about it” the babies cry
Those chubby voices of rage.
Liquor quivering milky and hot
I ripped the roof and reached-
J-Dog has snatched another thief
And he will take the lil’ ***** to the
holding cell that thinks
Where he will be questioned by
ten petite police
These babies won’t bite the bakers back again!
“Si tu vois ma mere”
broken Bombay bottle sings in despair as
Giant mother tomato sun fell,
Madness doesn’t cease it goes around.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
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.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:28 AM 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
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
☔
Langston Hughes. 3/22/2016.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:45 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
Walking around Widener bookstore
Brown bag 40oz in grip on the first floor
Hurricane
my life and future funneled life a twister whimsical whirlwind
down the hatch guzzle guzzle. Oh, Christie! How are you!? can you see I am a mess? I know Youtell my Chinese girlfriend from our study abroad you saw me a mess in the bookstore. SHe is now heartbroken in chongquing. see ah ha
later im just returning books to get dope money.
LAter
Oh, I see you are stocking that Stranger Camus
Langston Hughes
English 102
I drift in my own “end of summers night”
still dreamin’
still falllin’
Dropping, stumbling, the house of German exchange professors
Sequestered on speed *****
Welcome to Chester
Corpse exquisite
the Bride resides in physics-compartmentalized-drawers
hiding refuge from the storm
He was Alone
( Most of the time he got weirded out easily)
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
Why do I write?
Not just to tell my story
But to to tell her story
His story
And our history
This is how we pass it down
We must realize our roots and grow
The great late Langston Hughs
Said his hands was on the the plow
And that plow was plowing freedom
Well, if that plow headed to freedom
I'm on that plow too
So I sit down and write
Planting seeds
For the youth
Hoping that the flowers from my garden bloom
I nourish their minds
Giving them the ability to plant roots
Hoping they become strong
To become a forest
To nourish the new youth that comes along
Than all of us can come together and sing along
To some old ***** Spiritual
"Free at last, free at last
I thank God I'm free at last
Free at last, free at last
I thank God I'm free at last"
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
The Blues of Langston Hughes
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing it smooth to revive his muse
I sing it cool! I sing it loud!
I sing it jazzy! I sing it proud!
Who am I to sing it?
...I’ve got my nerve
I just can’t keep quiet,
And have my Dream Deferred
I guarantee you’ll dance
To my grand vibrato
The music will stick in your head
Until you dig my Motto
I can sing it tame
But I'd rather sing it wild
Either way it's brilliant
The lullaby of a Genius Child
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
The tune is old, but it still reigns true
I sing it sweet
With the beat of the streets
I’m singing so good,
I got you tapping your feet
A song of truth
A song for any era
A harmony against hate
I too, sing America!
I can sing it tame
But I'd rather sing it wild
Either way it's brilliant
The lullaby of a Genius Child
A Jukebox Love Song
To set the ambiance
From ancient rivers
To the Harlem Renaissance
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
I sing the blues of Langston Hughes!
All of the poets -who know it…
Should sing it too!
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
#13 | 31 Poems for August 2016
Listen to the love and freedom embedded in every figure of speech.
I pray that these words bless all the beautiful souls that they reach.
It’s weird how we find comfort in the pain we allow ourselves to feel.
According to the stats, some people live outside their means like outliers.
Pass the herbs so I can pass these words then maybe we can pass the word.
Sometimes my thoughts tend to overflow to the rim so it’s only necessary that you jump in and swim.
Feel the rhythm in my ghetto cries and urban blues.
As I write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Jasmine Mans and Langston Hughes.
God hears our prayers so I know that we are all going to be alright.
Luyanda told me that I can conquer the world as long as I have Jesus so who am I not to follow greatness?
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
I need peace of mind before there comes a time when my mind ends up in pieces.
Nobody ever listens but you appreciate my ghetto cries and urban blues.
So allow me to write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Rudy Francisco and Langston Hughes.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Today left me with questions
Some pretty confusing questions
I thought a lot today
Tried to answer a lot today
I woke up today
In a good feeling way
I was early
Earlier than my parents
Which doesn't happen often
I felt good today
I laughed today
A lot
With the people I don't normally talk to
I worked today
Hard
And well
And I kept trying
I played today
Outside
In the park
With my friends
With
Kenny
Langston
Nelson
Emma
Phoebe
And I thanked them
Just now
For being such awesome people
And such great friends
I laughed today
With everyone
At everyone
I cursed today
More than usual
It felt good
And it was unexpected
I rocked today
And I'm guessing that'll happen again tomorrow
And the next day
And I talked today
And read today
I felt today.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
I guess you gotta be popular for followers
popular for likes
once again i speak of this hatred i cannot fight
we all put our hearts into poetry
yet only the popular people get the likes for what they do
i show people love regardless of how many followers or likes they have
cause i understand that a lot of us wanna be heard
we want the world to know that we are here fighting a battle not yet lost
we post our problems so people can understand that life is no joke
we post about ones we love
from boyfriends girlfriends friends and fam
I only speaking the truth cause thats who i am
we all have the talent to change the world
we all have the talent to be as good as poets like Langston Hughes, Tupac and others as well
im just saying saying it's not the followers and likes that make the poet
only Passion and Desire make real poets
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
*“I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.”
― Langston Hughes*
We've all seen you lament, at some point.
The last was with your revised Florida Orange Juice, tiring
your right hand, knocking the empty bottle against each joint.
Muddled in slow jams the knees in your strict jeans leaned into the motion,
helplessly receding feebly proceeding possibly misleading-
drip drip dripping through the deck you drowned, and I was left to sway in your arid ocean.
There are pieces of camera equipment buried into overflowing sock drawers,
to remind the lovers that your still here, and the others that you don't care
They were sold to the men on Main- doesn't matter if they are yours
I promised to keep your head above water-corrected each struggle, each flail
soaked whispered confessions, panicked treading legs, desperate flooded eyes
I watched you wade into the water, and I knew I would fail
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
I will be someone special
I might be the next Fortune CEO or Michael Angelo
Whatever it is I will be someone special
I might be the next Maya Angelou or Langston Hughes
You may laugh but in the future Ill look down on your *** *** and say I told you I will be special
I might be on the next Sports Illustrator with my face all in the papers
If I know anything it is I will be someone special
I might be the next bright intellectual mind who discovers something divine
Whatever it is I feel that I will be special
Theres a chance I can be a religious figure or a spiritual enlighten guru who you will come to for excellent advice
I just got a feeling I will be someone special
I might be the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates who will create something that will cause a national debate
Im telling you I will be someone special
I might be a Political mastermind who creates laws to stop crime or a powerful Military figure who you see in the street and say he is my hero
If you don't got it figure out by now I will be someone special
My future is bright
I will cherish life because,
Deep down inside I know I will be someone special.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Abstracted Painting
.
print in
.
black and white
,
as if
,
they paint
,
the page
.
hues of blues
.
or of
.
Langston Hughes
.
the page roils the spirits
.
to anger red
.
that fades
.
to shades
.
to purples and blues
Avante-Garde, Hipster, Beat Poet Words and sound of Celebration
Graphic Painting done by me Shamus.Media,Arts
www,shamusmediarts.com © a month ago, SilverSilkenTongue
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
My favorite poets and literary artists are
Marcus Garvey
James Weldon Johnson
Phillis Wheatley
Langston Hughes
Maya Angelou
Countee Cullen
Paul Laurence Dunbar
These are mine who are yours.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC