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"Some see things as they are, and ask why?
I dream things that never were, and ask why not?"

- Robert F. Kennedy

02/06/2008

February 6, 2008

There have been and sure to be times in my life when poetry has tranformed my life.  I will share with you some of my favorite poems as well as anything new I come across that I think will be appreciated.  Jessica Care Moore is hands down one of my favorites in the spoken word world and I hope you enjoy her work.

Posted by scoriplena at 2:32 pm | permalink | Add comment

I’m in love with potential


by Jessica Care Moore

I keep falling in love
with potential But it never seems to work out
He was full of a lot of it
And he was TALL

But potential had a way of becoming diluted with insecurities
And just cause you can see the beauty of someone
Doesn’t mean they can see if for themselves

Still I believed potential would eventually love me
As much I loved him
Then begin to love himself
The way I loved myself
But there was someone else
There always is

Potential had an influential way
Of showing me what my potential was
And he celebrated all I could do without him

Potential reminded me of how he loved my commitment
To doing whatever I had to do to exercise my own potential
Even if that meant potentially leaving him behind

Still I unconditionally loved potential
And held on to the potential future we could have
If only he would see our potential
Without being intimidated by my own potential

If he would just stop loving me with conditions

Especially when I loved him
Simply for the possibility of how great
He could become and already was
But didn’t know it

Cause he was caught up in my potential,
Instead of seeing my life
As a reflection of what he already had or
What we could potentially have together

And that meant loving you when you hadn’t yet
Reached your full potential
But helping you get there as quickly as possible
Isn’t it just a bit too easy to fall in love
With someone after the glory and
Not along the slow, goal setting, potential way?

And if I didn’t love your possibilities
Then I didn’t love you
And if you didn’t realize our possibilities
Because you were too wound up in my potential
Then you didn’t really love me

I guess sometimes we give potential too much credit
And borrow interest from our own accounts
Without taking ourselves into account

How many times did I blow off your behavior
Relying on potential?
I can no longer count
Or wait around for you
To let me stand naked in front of you
So you can see yourself as worthy of my love
You loving me for me and not through me

Can really be potentially dangerous!

Posted by scoriplena at 2:21 pm | permalink | Add comment

CAN I WRITE OF FLOWERS (BLACK HISTORY TRIBUTE)

February 1, 2008

Can I Write of Flowers?

Must I write

of Emmett Till

problems plaguing

Black Folks

Still

Apartheid

Lynching

Reparations

Political elections

Race relations

Issues

making my heart implode

hoist responsibility

tenfold

on shoulders

tiny-

naïve, perhaps,

tossing knowledge

onto laps

where men come

to rest their head

bury sadness

inside beds

float rose petals

across blank pages

lick my lips

while trouble rages-

continents away

children shot down

while they play

but I write poetry

not real life

I’m a poet

and

that man’s wife

So can I write of flowers

please

ducklings

swans and

honey bees

Understand this

I hid from you

Poets

Writers

Historians, too

who suggest

my hand

examine time

face feared

annihilation

by mankind

with covered ears

I run away

shield my eyes

in hopes to stay

in this

velvet box,

where love

resides

between four

walls where cowards

hide

Octavia Butler

wrote of me

penned hyper-

sensi-

tivity

So can I write of

flowers please

sing this song

in sweet release

forsake war

choose inner peace

Emmett Till sleeps

in my bed

haunts me

with his swollen

head

missing eyes

I can’t forget

my pen bleeds tears

of silence yet

Someone else

must capture pain

spin the words

that often rain

truth across this continent

where evil breeds

our discontent

Flowers

boldly call my name

echo beauty with the same

fervor mixed in violent rage

that I can’t capture

on my page.

                                _ Jeanne Miller

 

Posted by scoriplena at 12:32 pm | permalink | Add comment