Like seriously. What is going on with me and the sleep cycle lately? Anyone who knows me well enough can tell you, “Yvonna can sleep anytime any place and still get a full night of rest.” But what’s the issue now? I have ONLY gotten a full night of sleep ONE night in the past week. Like right now, I’m blogging at 6:35 in the morning. I have class at 10, what am I doing? I woke up around 5 and have been up since. I was just watching Transformers and do you want to hear something funny? Eric woke up saying “Megatron” lol, I guess he heard his voice on the TV. But at least HE went back to sleep. I woke up to InuYasha, a manga/anime series on carton network and now I’m not sure what I’m watching. Well at least those 3 days that I DON’T have to work over the Spring Break I can sleep as much as I want.

Well hopefully  anyway… there’s no telling with my parents…

I mean where is it going!? Didn’t we JUST get back from Winter Break? I don’t know about you but this is just how I feel. Black History Month is pretty much gone and I feel like I’m about to be 19 like TOMORROW… and if you’re curious my birthday is actually March 24^th …

But on to more recent and up-coming events, is everyone ready for those good ole midterms? Really I figure it doesn’t matter how “ready” we are, we never actually WANT to take a midterm or any exam (honestly). I guess our “midterm” for Focused Inquiry is this essay based exam on The Dew Breaker, which I have to take tomorrow. I’m not really worried about that. I’m pretty confident and feel as though I understood the book and its entirety. Plus I actually read it haha. I’m more nervous about this Pre-Calculus and Anthropology exam I have next week. You can guess what I’ll be doing this weekend.

Now on better and brighter things. Does everyone know what they are doing for Spring Break? I just made my plans and trust me they are not all that great. I text messaged my manager at McDonalds back at home (Yes, I text my manager. She is SO COOL!!!) and I asked her to put me on the schedule for March 10^th, 11^th, and 12^th. That Thursday, March 13^th, I plan on getting my hair done and a pedicure… maybe even a manicure. So really, my actual BREAK is only about 5 days. Can’t wait…

This last poem I’m going to use for Black History Month is by Alice Walker. I had to read it a few times before I could get an idea of what it is about, or what Mrs. Walker is saying. My interpretation is a mixture of the life lesson, “don’t take life for granted” and “to appreciate what we have.” Actually, maybe both morals could be one in the same. I also get – be thankful for the things you receive, whether it’s great or small and not to expect things so great. I think this is a positive message because the more we expect the easier it is to be disappointed. This is Before You Knew You Owned It by Alice Walker.

 

Before you knew you owned it

Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.

Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.

Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.

Written by Alice Walker

I think it’s time for another simple poem. This poem is so simple a child could read it and understand what’s going on. Because of the amount of detailed imagery, one would also feel as though they are right there in the waiting area of the airport with Rita Dove. Her poem titled Vacation is her detailed perspective of everything going on around her at the airport as she waits to board her flight. Personally I enjoy flying and I’ve come to realize that not many people do. It seems that Mrs. Dove loves the time she waits before flying as well. What do you like about traveling or going on vacations? This is Vacation by Rita Dove.

 

Vacation

I love the hour before takeoff,

that stretch of no time, no home

but the gray vinyl seats linked like

unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall

be summoned to the gate, soon enough

there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers

and perforated stubs—but for now

I can look at these ragtag nuclear families

with their cooing and bickering

or the heeled bachelorette trying

to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s

exhausted mother waiting to be called up early

while the athlete, one monstrous hand

asleep on his duffel bag, listens,

perched like a seal trained for the plunge.

Even the lone executive

who has wandered this far into summer

with his lasered itinerary, briefcase

knocking his knees—even he

has worked for the pleasure of bearing

no more than a scrap of himself

into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,

they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning

—a little hope, a little whimsy

before the loudspeaker blurts

and we leap up to become

Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.

 

Written by Rita Dove

What are the blues to you? In my opinion, the blues are simply sadness. Anyone can have the blues at any time. But everyone has their own opinion and interpretation of “the blues.” This poem by Cornelius Eady, I think, is his interpretation of the blues based off his mother. After being with a man who’s not necessarily the best man a woman could possibly be with, she wonder’s is she wrong to love him. Knowing that she isn’t the only one (“the moment you realize You exist in a stacked deck”), she still loves such a man. Is this really love though? Or is this just being stuck in a trapped position? Remember, she had children too and being a single mother is a difficult task. This is I’m a Fool To Love You by Cornelius Eady. 

I’m A Fool To Love You

 Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don’t want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That’s how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it’s the only leverage
You’ve got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man’s kisses
A healing. 

Written by Cornelius Eady

Get Up And Go!

This poem is by a man that was alive during times when blacks were highly discriminated against. Marcus Garvey, born in Jamaica in 1887,  became apart of the working class at a very young age, 14. Even at this age, he realized something wasn’t right. At age 20 he was already joining social reforms to improve the working class, especially that of black people. After moving about Central and South America he was amazed that blacks everywhere were enduring hardships and discrimination. Garvey devoted most of his life to the betterment of the lives of black people. Two of the organizations he created and was a big part of was the Universal Negro Improvement Association and it’s co- body The African Communities League in 1914. This poem that I have chosen written by Marcus Garvey is a short piece but still says a lot. My interpretation of this poem is Garvey saying that if no one, no black man that is, will rise up for justice for all blacks than he will be that one. But I also feel that he is saying black men did not come so far in life, during that time period, just to give up and accept defeat and that real men would never give up and those who do give up are cowards. This is Get Up And Go!

Please clear the way and let me pass,
If you intend to give up here:
It seems a shame that you should yield
Your life without its fullest share.
You are a coward for your pains,
To come this way, and then blow out:
Real men are made of stuff to last,
Which they, themselves, would never doubt.
Get up! You broken bits of flesh!
Take courage and go fighting on;
For every black man there’s a day,
Which pride in race has well begun.

Written by Marcus Garvey (1887-1940)

This poem was written by an older black poet. I really like this poem because it is about being tempted, something everyone goes through in their life. Also what I’ve got out this poem is not to look for the devil himself to come after me. When it’s the devil himself and in his form coming after you it’s easier to fight back because it’s obvious that you’re dealing with something evil and unwanted. But this poem shows how temptation comes in different forms and in this case, the form of a woman. Everyone has their own temptations and everyone deals with them differently. Some people fall easily and others put up a fight. How do you deal with the things that tempt you, your weaknesses? This is The Temptress by James Weldon Johnson.

 

The Temptress

Old Devil, when you come with horns and tail,
With diabolic grin and crafty leer;
I say, such bogey-man devices wholly fail
To waken in my heart a single fear.

But when you wear a form I know so well,
A form so human, yet so near divine;
‘Tis then I fall beneath the magic of your spell,
‘Tis then I know the vantage is not mine.

Ah! when you take your horns from off your head,
And soft and fragrant hair is in their place;
I must admit I fear the tangled path I tread
When that dear head is laid against my face.

And at what time you change your baleful eyes
For stars that melt into the gloom of night,
All of my courage, my dear fellow, quickly flies;
I know my chance is slim to win the fight.

And when, instead of charging down to wreck
Me on a red-hot pitchfork in your hand,
You throw a pair of slender arms about my neck,
I dare not trust the ground on which I stand.

Whene’er in place of using patent wile,
Or trying to frighten me with horrid grin,
You tempt me with two crimson lips curved in a smile;
Old Devil, I must really own, you win.

Written by James Weldon Johnson (1871-1938)

Miss Pretty

This poem is another original. As much as I hate to admit it, because I feel that it is so disrespectful, I wrote this poem one Sunday while in church. I guess it was just one of those Sundays when Pastor’s message just wasn’t for me and I drifted off with my pen and notepad. What is more interesting is that I actually started this poem a few years ago but only the first few lines. It was written in my notepad that I keep in the back of my Bible case. I forgot it was there and while I was looking for an empty page to take notes I came across Miss Pretty. I decided to revise what was already there and complete the rest. It felt like only a few moments that I was writing but when I was finished, so was Pastor. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun and I do love to write. 

In a room full of lovely ladies
you stood out.
Not only your physical but
your attitude and visible esteem
are captivating.
And I wonder how you manage…
humility… handle the ever going and
never ceasing jibber jabber of those
who actually believe they know it all.
I wonder how you maintain a smile.
Miss you are truly beautiful yes -
quite amazing
But I am curious… Why?
Does it hurt?
Will you ever break?
How much can you take?
The right sticks and stones
could destroy your bones
and words can do some damage.
Still I wonder how
with such a bright smile
and confident walk…
Miss Pretty, how do you manage?

Written by Yvonna M. Walton

When one of my friends read this poem he initially though that I’m talking about another girl. “Cute,” I said. Actually, these are reactions that I get from other people about me. I never notice myself, or at least I didn’t for a while but they’re right, I am Miss Pretty. I deal with, I rather not say a lot but enough, and the whole time I keep a smile on my face and enjoy life no matter what. There are even people in that exact same church who talk about me behind my back. They don’t think I know this. But this doesn’t change who I am and I can still smile and love everyone around me. Yes, I am Miss Pretty.

Many people may not look at my black poet today as a “poet.” When most people think of him, those who have heard of him, probably think rapper before poet. This is because my poet today is Tupac Shakur and his poem The Rose that Grew from Concrete.

 

The Rose that Grew from Concrete

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it’s dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

Written by Tupac Shakur

 

I like this short and sweet poem because it’s about much more than a rose. In my opinion it’s about becoming something great out of the ordinary nothing. It’s about achieving the impossible when everyone else thinks you don’t have the ability to achieve. Like many artist, poets, writers, and just famous people in general, Tupac was not born famous and his life was not full of happiness. But the truth is that his life was filled with trials and struggles. A rose is thought to be something great and beautiful yet still delicate, and concrete is just a hard, stone-like substance that takes a lot of effort of crack. Through this poem Tupac is saying that no matter the circumstances great things can still come out of what seems to be impossible surroundings.

Kidnap Poem

This is another fun poem in my opinion. It’s a short one and actually I wish that the poet had added on. In this poem the poet uses imagery and elements of poetry in her description. I just think that it is so awesome how she uses this technique. Also if you read the poem, especially if you’re one who pays attention to grammar, you’ll notice that the poet rarely enforces punctuation or capitalization. I think this makes the poem flow in such a way that any reader can enjoy. This is because the lack of punctuation allows you to read the poem in any way. Also because the poet often says “if I were a poet” in the poem, this way of writing is as if she never wrote before. But the irony is that she is a poet. This is Kidnap Poem by Nikki Giovanni.

Ever been kidnapped
by a poet
if i were a poet
i’d kidnap you
put you in my phrases and meter

You to jones beach
or maybe coney island
or maybe just to my house
lyric you in lilacs
dash you in the rain
blend into the beach
to complement my see

Play the lyre for you
ode you with my love song
anything to win you
wrap you in the red Black green
show you off to mama
yeah if i were a poet i’d kid
nap you

Written by Nikki Giovanni