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Thursday, May 29, 2014

THE POET COMES TO HARLEM

While visiting my grand-daughter MICHELLE up in Harlem, The Poet stopped by the world-famous Apollo theater on 125th Street.
PROMPT OF THE DAY: Write a poem describing what it takes to be a legend.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

LIVE BLOG

 The Poet is on location in Barnes and Nobles,  downtown Brooklyn.  I'm here buying a copy of "JIMMY'S BLUES," the poetry of James Baldwin.

IF YOU WANT TO WRITE POETRY, YOU MUST READ POETRY.
PROMPT FOR TODAY: Write a poem describing your favorite poem and/or poet explaining why you chose them.

LOOK WHAT I FOUND!

While walking down Broadway, where an elevated train line rolls from Brooklyn to Queens. I found LONE WOLF in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. Hey! That's me. Okay, in this case it's a pub, but we share the same name. Lone Wolf is my alter-ego.

TODAY'S PROMPT: Write a poem which explains your alter-ego and the effect it has on your actions/interactions.

Friday, May 23, 2014

LIVE BLOG

One bus from Ohio to New York. Same bus all the way. Got in town about noon. Looking forward to a good poem hunting
expedition.

CHALLENGE: Write a poem that describes something you are looking forward to experiencing.

LIVE BLOG

On board the Greyhound  bus headed for Philadelphia. I am now about 5 hours away from New York City.

Ohio is so 10 hours ago!

CHALLENGE: Write a poem telling what you would do if you could turn back the hands of time.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

TAKING CHALLENGE 7

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HER STORY

Shelly Halpern Ph.d
Knows Black History
How I want to be

I sat in her class
And to my further demise
Tears began to swell up
Inside my eyes

I could not deny
Her superior knowledge
She knew what she  spoke of
She's taught it in college

But what I never got over
Not quite
And walked out her class
For spite
Shelly Halpern Ph.d
Was noticeably white




LIVE BLOG

First stop on my "Poem Hunting" expedition. Im coming to you from the Pittsburg  Pennsylvania bus station on the Greyhound bus line.  

They say that weird people ride the bus.
I ride the bus so I must be weird.

PROMPT OF THE DAY: Write a poem describing a wierd act you recently committed.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

POET PROFILE

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JAMES MONROE WHITFIELD (1822-1871)

     Was free born in New Hampshire in 1822. Little is known about him, so he remains much of a mysterious and interesting character to study.

He was well-traveled, and worked as a barber all of his life, living in places like Buffalo, New York, California, Oregon, Idaho, and Nevada.

Whitfield wrote forceful protest poems, and his writings appeared often in Black newspapers and periodicals. He also read and recited his verse in public.

It was said of him, "He was an outstanding poet whose impassioned protest verse combined bitter anger and artistry."

Whitfield's only published volume is "America and Other Poems."

He died in 1871 and was buried in the Masonic Cemetery of San Francisco.

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To read and perhaps discover more info, please consult the following books:

"Invisible Poets: Afro-Americans of the Nineteenth Century, 2nd ed., 1989 - Joan R. Sherman-

The Concise Oxford Companion to African-American Literature 2001 Oxford University Press

To read a short bio and one of his poems, click on the following link poetryfoundation.org and search his full name.

Also google-search his name for more details.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

POETRY CHALLENGE 7

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CAN YOU HANDLE IT?
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Write a poem that reflects on, or about a person, place, or thing that has influenced your life.
                                                   Or All (3)?
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Will meet you Thursday, 5/22/14 on BLACK POETS CAFE, to share what I've been inspired to create.

TAKING THE CHALLENGE 6

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BUT WE COUSINS TOO
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Blood brothers
But we cousins too
Friends for life
But we cousins too
First cousins
His father older my uncle
My mother younger his aunt
Left the South behind
For a better chance
At life
In the North
Blood brothers
But we cousins too
Vowed to stay
In touch but
Years passed us by
Life caught us up
In it's jungle of just living
We couldn't keep still
We didn't keep close
Track of days and time
Gone by
Friends for life
But we cousins too
Grow distant if
They don't see
Each other for years



Saturday, May 10, 2014

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

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Roses are Red
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As a child
Church
Was a way of life in
My  life
And we
Pinned red roses
Picked from Grandma"s
Flower garden
On our chest
On Mother's Day Sunday to
Signify that
Our Mother  
Was alive
So when I saw a
White rose here and
There  scattered across the
Church yard
I wondered why
And my Mother said that
Person's Mother was
No longer here and
I could not imagine
Why not
A Mother's love
Is forever
So let the red rose
Thrive and show
That your Mother is
Still alive
On earth as well as
In your heart

POET PROFILE

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JOSHUA McCARTER SIMPSON
             (1820-1876)


Was an Anti-Slavery poet, an Underground Railroad conductor, and Abolitionist Songwriter, among many things.  Born free in Windsor, Ohio, he was bound out as a laborer, (indentured servant) and worked for a hard master until the age of 21. With very little schooling, (about 3 months), he eventually taught himself to read and write.

In his own words:
  "As soon as I could write, which was not until I was 21, a spirit of poetry, (which was always in me), became revived, and seemed to waft before my mind, horrid pictures of the condition of my people, and something seemed to say, 'write and sing about it-you can sing what would be death to speak,' so I began to write and sing."

     Simpson's protest poems spoke up for emancipation and civil rights. They were set to popular tunes, and fugitives on the underground railroad sang his song poems in the 1850s.
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For more info on his life, log on to poetryfoundation.org and search his name.

To read a collection of his poetry, log on to poemhunters.com and search his name.

For further details, google-search his name, and read all the entries that are applicable.


Friday, May 9, 2014

THE POETS GALLERY

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A MEMORIAL POEM FOR MOTHER'S DAY - By Shakira Ibrahim***
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***Guest poet in THE POETS GALLERY
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Mother,
A name to match the spirit of the woman
We all keep in our hearts.
And though her body returns to the earth
Her spirit remains just there, within us.
All the smiles, the laughs and
Moments where you'd hear the famous "aww me."

All the times you'd look at her and see
That with her family, she was at peace
We were her peace
We are her peace
She came in  the earth with a smile
And that's how she leaves.

She has lived a life full of love
And she sits on a throne above
In a spiritual world much greater
Than the imagination
She watches
She watches over us.

She is now our protector
Stronger than man
Stronger than all evil
With her spirit, as tough as a lion's roar
As gentle as a baby's soul
She stands as our guardian angel

Protecting us from all seen and unseen
For that is her new mission from the Most High
He gave her the strength
That last bit of strength she needed
To say
Her final good-byes

And what more  can we wish for?
Her pain was eased
And she passed in her sleep
For  now she is at peace
She has loved and has been loved
By us all

So don't cry
For it is not a time for crying
Don't  weep
For it is  not a time for weeping
But remember, remember her eyes
Her eyes that gave forth kindness

Remember her heart
The heart that gave forth beauty
And her soul
Her soul that was so wonderful

Her love remains our music

And although she is physically gone
She will always be here
She knew we loved her
She knew we cared
Her memories will live on forever in our hearts
As our dearest Mother.


**For my great grandma...I LOVE YOU.
R.I.P.   Adele Dudley








 








Thursday, May 8, 2014

POETRY CHALLENGE 6

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CAN YOU HANDLE IT?
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Consider the following sentence:

 "Friends grow ______________if they do not see each other for years."

Fill in the (blank). Write a poem using the sentence as a line in the beginning, middle, or end of your poem.
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Will meet you Thursday, 5/15/14, on BLACK POETS CAFE, to share what I've been inspired to write.

TAKE NOTE

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For Washington, D.C. residents and  those in the vicinity:

The U.S. Poet Laureate, Natasha Trethewey, will conclude her term with a final lecture. The date is WEDNESDAY, MAY 14, 2014.

For full details log on to loc.gov/poetry/events
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TAKING THE CHALLENGE 5


In the dream
Straight out of Brooklyn
New York
Early morning walk to
The subway for the short
Ride to work
Crossing Rockaway and Atlantic
In the nightmare
Middle of the street
Tripping on unseen feet
Falling up
Brief case pops open
Spilling out stacks of
Hundred dollar bills
Cash flying up all over
In a windy spring breeze
Cars nearly crashing
Trucks nearly smashing
Each other
Dodging me running my cash
Down the street a wrecking
Crane driven by a familiar
Face follows my path
Knocks me down
Presses my body inside
An open manhole
Cash spilling out
Brief case
Flying up all over
In a windy spring breeze
Up up and away

Sunday, May 4, 2014

SPECIAL POEM CHALLENGE

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WRITE A POEM FOR MOTHER'S DAY
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***Will meet back here Sunday, 5/11/14, which is celebrated in the U.S. as Mother's Day to share what I've been inspired to write.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

POET PROFILE

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GEORGE MOSES HORTON
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(1798-1883)


Was born a slave on a plantation in North Carolina.  Horton lived as a slave for 66 years, becoming "free" with implementation of the Emancipation Proclamation.  He taught himself to read and in later years he soon learned to write.

Horton became a prolific writer, eventually publishing 150 poems or more. His subject matter included his bondage, love, religion, nature, the civil war, and the art of poetry.  

George Moses Horton was the first Black poet to be published in the South.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^for details on his remarkable life click on the following links poetryfoundation.org---poets.org

To read his collection of poems click on poemhunter.com

SEARCH HIS NAME ON EACH SITE!
**For additional tidbits, Google search his name.





POETRY CHALLENGE 5

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CAN YOU HANDLE IT?
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Write a poem about a nightmare/dream experience. (Real or Imagined)
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Will meet you back here, Thursday, 5/8/14, on BLACK POETS CAFE to share what I've been inspired to write.
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