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Wisdom Speaks Life lessons and endless lanes.Many speak but do not reallyknow my name.The arches in the clouds.The sun and the rain. The snow that coversthe mountain tops.The fog and wind blowingin the sugar canes.Sometimes a smile ora frown. The
In seventeen sixty nine a child was bornin Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.
GHETTO GOSPLE. You aren't born to please anyone, neither accepted by everybody. But your purpose is to make sure you live good making better thangs, making thangs better.
You say you want to move on. Move on from slavery, from racism. “It was so long ago. Keep it in the past,” you say insidiously. But I can’t take you seriously,
Typically he prefers to be an optimist to see the good & be grateful for everything that he does have.  Living day to day, unbound by anyone or anything beyond himself. 
It took me a long time to realize that there is only so much that you can blame others for, And that if you want to change your life, it is up to you to be the one to close that door.
It took me a long time to realize that we all have things in our pasts that we are not proud of, But in a strange way, maybe these hard times are actually gifts that are sent from above.
WARNING: this one is inspired by stories from victims of WW2 and the Holocaust, so it's a little gory.    We know freedom Like the cockroach knows freedom: Raw, trembling freedom.  
Thousands of years you shone Brightest in the beast’s breast The heart of the lion And forming a billion years before The ancients knew you  
Do not fear the setting of the sun Do not fear when darkness comes Do not fear the howling wind For with each night, a day begins   You can shiver in your skin O’ museum of bones
Monument stands alone barren, yet never gone, silently telling stories from the past.   thousands of years of biting winds
Now I Come From That... “ GOLDEN ERA "... !!! Where Agendas Had NO TERROR... !!! When Girlies Went For Fellas... !!! And When Wine Was Kept In Cellars... WITHOUT Visions of Marcellus... !!!!
So This Line Was Expressed By... ANOTHER Poet... !!! Who Calls Himself SUICIDE SUSPECT... !!! So Now It’s Subject Is One I’m Gonna INSPECT Within This Here Poem... !!! Because EXACTLY Which One Is It... ?!?
It’s Clearly Good To Be Precise When It Comes To Your LIFE... So I Try Be PRECISE When I Write My Rhymes... About These Times Where It Seems That LIES... Are Constantly Supplied And Being Driven Into Minds... !!!
They're NEVER To Be FORGOTTEN... !!!!! The Sodden And Down Trodden... By The ILL Gotten... ROTTEN... !!! Enslavers And HATERS... !!!!! FAKE Claiming... “ Bravers “...
So In These Days And Times.... That Are CLEARLY UNSTABLE... !?! ... " Are YOU REALLY ABLE... ?!? "
Now... “ It’s Just Who I Am “... !!! A Man Who Chats FACTS In Spoken Word Tracks... !!! Or YES... Poems That REJECT Nonsense... !!! Because What I AM Is A REJECTOR of Sham’s... !!!
You Know ... " The Saga Begins "... Is A Lyrical Trip Rapped By RAKIM... !!! A TRUE Lyrical King... But The Saga I Depict is FAR From... Heroic... !!!
So What Would You Say If You Had The Chance... To Speak To YOURSELF In Your Younger Days... ?!?
Excuses Excuses... So MANY EXCUSES... !!! For The Type of Looseness That Has Embraced NOOSES... !?!
Is the color of my skin a crime? As if I am not alive, Dear God, all I am trying to do is survive Because you never know when it’s time to say goodbye. My people have felt deprived It’s time to testify,
Is the color of my skin a crime? As if I am not alive, Dear God, all I am trying to do is survive Because you never know when it’s time to say goodbye. My people have felt deprived It’s time to testify,
Is the color of my skin a crime? As if I am not alive, Dear God, all I am trying to do is survive Because you never know when it’s time to say goodbye. My people have felt deprived It’s time to testify,
Napoleon Bonaparte1769 Corsica is where he got his startOne of the greatest commanders in historyHis manner of death a 200-year-old mystery.Napoleon played it close to the vest
Dark brown swampland meets, Where frogs roam free. Willow, that’s her name. They think your weeping, why have you led them to believe so? Weeping Willow, That’s what I’m told happens so.
time marches onreality's fire consumes—dreams go up in smoke .
I Think The HARDEST Was.... " Marcus ".... !!!! When It Came To The Targets... That SUPPORTED... SMARTNESS... Being IMPARTED... INTO Black Markets... And The Minds of Our CHARGES...
Art is aesthetic, pleasing to the eye, but also utilitarian as in pottery the warmth of a woven blanket... and whether it is primitive or modern simple or complex
It is not only the lives of certain ones that illuminate as a comet history's firmament, but also the circumstances surrounding the deaths of a few... Or rather the tales, the
Part I:   Once upon a time not so very long ago Romantics aspired for high class views While maintaining minds that were opposed to prose.   In all their writings they embellished upon
We've all seen the footage, those grainy, black and white scenes in documentaries, the news and watched depictions in war movies; POWS marching, Jews herded to the camps, endless lines
" God Bless the Child" ( though yours was a lone blessing, if that even or was it just an unexpected key with which to unlock stifling doors...?) And, " Mama may Have, Papa may Have"
It was the last and quite possibly the most turbulent year of what had been a turbulent decade.
This black and white photo there- on my wall is of you, Mother at 15 or 16 taken during the height of WWII. In your life the devastation was not yet apparent-
Vagabond, humming- bird hearted fluttering to and fro sipping the sweetness ( often the bitterness) of this thing called life. Migratory Migrant like a Monarch wafting with
Decades pass and I'm still writing from youth through middle age and here I am, poet yet- filling each blank page. And justifiably you ask me " Why?" The reason for what I do,
Childless, the lineage ends with me- poet, my only legacy- mere words. And the older I've become the more my ancestry- the tracing of my roots holds a fascination
Waterman, Dutch liner on which you made your passage- Father, smiling from the gangplank hand raised, waving at your friend's camera... and all this, from my memories
You don’t have to talk, You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to be heard right now. They don’t need to hear it right now.
History speakes to my young soul,Calling with faces long since forgotton,A wisper of the way the world used to be,So young and full of mystery,This is what inspires me.People who shaped the world,
When my ice cream has fallen and my eyes seems to droop. I look to the stars, and when the celestial constallations don't seem familiar or don't show up at all to greet the recital in my eyes
most of her works are serenades to miracles that occur daily.   some of her works are cows will be cows will be cows. named miraculous.    the miracle is
Got to many mothers hating the other side of our children I see it and hurts Correct the problem Damage children emotion outcome We rise and fall The lesson that nobody knows So I'm Quentin the thrist
inspire [in spīr’] originally, to breathe or blow  upon or into i.e. plants inspire us i.e. we inspire plants i.e. I breathe because of what has been planted before me
I miss the simple things like my ex-girlfriends kiss ! The touch of her lips and her SHAPELY Tits !!! But I don't miss THIS ! Emotional tricks just to give me a kick
In dank caves when fire was new All of the light of the world Rolled in waves off of our fingertips Into piles of ashy remains Of carbon that was also once a living thing   Bygone names
He came to help Despite the king's order Brave young man Brave enough to ignore a king Brave enough to fight for a foreign country Brave enough to stand in defeat And later, brave enough
I pity you, Nathan You are brave to venture on such a mission But you do not know your danger Do not trust so easily, Nathan Hale You die bravely But you needn't have died at all
My dear Betsy Ross We are in dire need of a flag How can we make a nation Without a symbol? How can we fight a war Without a banner to fly over our heads? Please, my dear Betsy Ross
Deborah Sampson, you have a courage That we look at now with admiration I would have done the same If they won't let us fight as ourselves We will fight as them I think it would have been glory
They call him hypocritical For writing about freedom But keeping his brother in bondage He is a Founding Father too Writer of the Declaration Yet he blacked out portions Of his Bible
Humble birth Humble man Horrid wife But tragic life Lincoln, I applaud you For your sacrifice
So many poems Have been written About this man That there's not much to say Except What if he was just a normal man?
Beaver, rabbit, coon, muskrat Some for food And some for your beautiful pelts Beaver will buy me cornmeal For my mush So that I may sit near the fire And be content With my skins
Wagon rocking Nobody talking On the trail   Sun just a dot But oh, it's hot On the trail   We're all worn Our calico torn On the trail   We need some water
Before this pyre we stand my son, Within this hallowed shrine. Gods, let the flames be seen throughout Hispania one last time.  
We've been at sea for too long I'm past illness now But oh, how I yearn for land I don't care if it's the New World I'd even return to Scrooby or Plymouth Say what my parents will about America
Living south and living northNo one knew the flying feather,Or watched for his ghastly shapeTho’ among he quietly slithered  
I grew up with a carefree view of the world in my youth I didn’t change until I realized the hard-hitting truth I started caring about issues in politics and society Constantly thinking about figuring out a remedy
My sons, You have unmade me, Made me mother to an empire-- Would that the two of you once
May 25, 2019   I cast my gaze upon the cool, crisp glass I see a glimpse, the glimmer, the shadow, a horror A face, my own, familiar, but not my own For within it I see another face
07/20/1945  I could not see the sun setting over the sea  as my windowless cage of armor raced over Bornean sands, but I knew as I loaded my Colt’s magazine with bullets and counted down the miles to the jungle
Let us dance in revelry, Chalices to our lips. Immemorial, the fountain, From which springs forth the nectar of ages.   The clock frozen,
Where now, I pray, is Lady Jane? Now she is here on Tower Hill, She walks with grace unto the block, She stands a queen, not pale nor ill.   Come hither to this place to die!
I've born many a days Not ever sure that another would come And yet another one arrives Because it is not up to me to decide It's a gift that I cannot deny And the day that is last Is much too far off
Come ye, all young and old, To hear the story that's never told! In foregone Texas, a county dwelled- It's name: Van Zandt; and it's men rebelled. The South's creed had created their hate,
Decay in the earth of all living things. Just not here, where the cold keeps the flesh safe, maybe not from those ravenous beings,
and the sun rose in the west today because it thought the world was dead. but it is alive because I woke up this morning and breathed.  and you know, I have always wondered what is death to the mortician?
Could You September 11, 2018 ~ Tuesday I’m gripping tightly Onto that which makes me all I ever was and needed The words I heard and heeded
the people paused, mulling over history's words, then asked, "and what is the sun? does it die at night when our cities collapse and our people smother it with their own versions of history? or does it 
the people paused, mulling over history's words, then asked "and what is the sun? does it die at night when our cities collapse and our people smother it with their own versions of history? or does it 
Black coffee, dirty nails, Calloused hands open a morning paper. Smeared ink, mirrored print, A gloomy world must be brightened somehow.
If the streets could scream we would hear them say Our history bleeds and reveals the world at play The little children running in fear With adults yelling in their ears "You were born the wicked race"
The rain and the snow The buzzing of the bees All are important To my lifelong story.   Glancing up above And peering down below All around I see Wonderment inspiring.  
how terrifying how exhilarating how dreadful how free: to be a lost colony, to leave your mark on the world carved into a tree and then to flee, tired of waiting for a rescue
Muslims, Catholics, Buddhists, Christians All face the same problem if you mention Their skin is darker than the other ones Past is heavy, shit feels like a ton Whether in Africa, Asia, or the Carribean
Red flower, Red flower, Do not Rise against with Roses Reincarnate the nation   Here you’ll find no carnage
Thales found a river running past The poetry of Earth beat fast On whim, the river’s course may change In brilliant prose, the forest strange
In honor of black history month, I want to shine a light on a very special woman. She has endure life as it has been thrown to her. She has tackled the world and has gone above and beyond to help those that are in need.
I know I’m a month lateBut my black history shouldn’t have a dateSee my ancestors didn’t work plantations annually
Dear Great-nephew,
Charred among the ashes stirredA people left here uninterred.No beds of peace or roses here;A feast alight for blackened bird.
  An ancient golden hue of sorrowHaunts my yesterday's tomorrow.My pilfered time yet still on borrowThe Brass Plaque.
Different but similar, in distinct scenes Interpretations of that which is “eternal” Some of the bounded in settings infernal, Variations seen      In the beginning, man created ideas
Laying on my floor Surrounded by piles of clothes, Books and miscellaneous objects.The red CD player sitting on my floor.
Letters To/From a Journal   4/8/2017 Journal, Maybe it’s because I’m 6 hours into my last year of childhood, Or because of the incessantly pounding of the thoughts against my skull,
Gliding through the frozen ice portrayed as time, It is so easy to forget the memorable events That paints the portrait of the world. Yet, with one more careful glance
It's nice outside I might not hide Away I go I'll buy a box of mysteries Maybe filled with histories I wouldn't know Happened to skip a meal today Saw the bills I forgot to pay Away I go
I am from oppression hate, judgment, and fear The years of pain of my people great-grandparents And shame lasting a lifetime  
A crack in the earth Staying still for all of time, Remember the scars.
The Day Of Originality Is NearWhen Everything Will Be ClearShe Will Dry Her TearsBecause AriseBefore You RiseWith Your StoryIn Her History.©Amadou Jarou Bah
Some people say that history is boring But I say history is roaring With life long gone by Where they see bore I see great intrigue and more
The clock shall always be the enemy, With his hands of weaponry, Time stamped in history, With actions of misery.   Tick tock goes the clock,
The clock shall always be the enemy, With his hands of weaponry, Time stamped in history, With actions of misery.   Tick tock goes the clock,
There is a veil over my eyes,One thick, and made of fog,Made of years of sighs,And risen from a malodorous bog,  
January 7, 1536
I am thankful for queer history. However hidden it has been. I am thankful for the great artists and engineers of the Renaissance. I am thankful for DaVinci and Michelangelo.
It is the will of few men,That many must die,Petty feuds to mend,And boys in graves to lie, 
Ghosts of memories I have never had press up against me in this place. I hear the echoes of your footsteps running up and down the paneled staircase but I only see your scuffmarks.
Twenty one point three. Twenty one point three million. Twenty one point three million refugees Half of which aren’t even eighteen, Forced from home simply because,
First, they robbed, killed, and enslaved the Arawaks, They smothered the indigenous with Smallpox blankets, And they built an economy on the scarred backs of slaves.   Then they blazed a trail of tears,
Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! But what am I guilty of? Surely it couldn’t be spreading religion,
Mother America I am did feed thy milketh Her breasts were consumed with youth. A preliminary smile that inspired a nation yet to be conceived.
Mr. Reagan, you've slaughtered a generation, one of pure Imagination , and disseminated false information.   Because of that they were not bothered. Darling souls left un-mothered,
The Canvas By Amanda P A blank canvas sits upon an easel No color, no words, no expectations
They told me that I was the product of hundreds of years of pain and suffering,That from the blood of my ancestors, I was given Eyes the color of mud,Hair like a sheep,The complexion of an ape,An inherent lust,A body that should be covered,A cultu
Holding blue blood within  Sharing respiratory red blood can't live without 
Slaves, wars, and riots Our history is terrible We cannot deny that Allowing innocents to be killed Allowing houses to be burned Allowing the world around us to crumble
America is the new China I was built up like The great wall of china I am strong, powerful, impenetrable, Fortified heavily until nothing can hurt me. But like the great wall of china,
Jefferson was no man of equality spitting lines about freedom and individuality while holding the chains of my brothers and me His legacy never lost
We are living in the index of a history book yet to come.  
In it's history, America has played Many different roles: The Damsel The Villain And The Train
Pledge your life to endless pride We only want total control Pray for our nation under our God As we commit genocide - Submit to the conditional freedom Or become our hated scapegoat
This country has its history One that is forever stitched into the flag That flies high, swaying to each breeze that passes by But can it ever be great to those who live every day
In the ages since the reigns of TsarsAnd after Stalin’s rule of the USSRFollowing Khrushchev, Brezhnev, AndropovCame I, the last Cold War Head of Gov    
America, The country of genocide, suicide,  homicide America, The country of proslavery, bravery, not savoury America, The country of glory, history, territory America, Oh, America, why did you fall from grace?
Question one. How did Nazi Germany rise to power? A) Religion B) Scapegoating C) Nationalism D) All of the above.  
Greetings America You're a great sport I supposed you're egotistic and somewhat rather strange I like that you're diverse although you're not all there at a time I hate the crimes that made you great 
Was it all in vain? The happiness in my heart that ignited hearing President Obama's name? The first of rich melanin to be acclaimed the leader of our nation
I. They tell me that I am so lucky to be Korean. My friends pour their hearts out over celebrities that I cannot relate to My parents tell me of traditions that I never took part in
As I sat in my world history class the words, “change and continuity over time” played in my head like a broken record.
How would it feel if you put your bloodsweatandtears into advancing the world And no one knew your name No one knew how hard you tried
Could I ever write a poem That would change the Minds of men, Words that would make the World stop turning And halt the advance of time.
Hiroshima The sewer! the sewer! they all scream the sewer! but i can’t go in there because i’m a spewer I see the planes approaching overhead.
The ancient Incans used the dark spots in the milky way as their constellations Instead of depending on the brighter points in the sky They allowed the emptiness to rule their life
She asks me, Quieres café? And I respond you are too sweet. Too sweet to the point that I don’t have to take a sip from this Colombian coffee Because you helped me rise when I fell deep and saw nothing but fake images.
The power of poetry is incredible. To pick up a tool and paper and decide, I will change something, with words... is extremely powerful.   Humans have the ability to communicate,
I am from my blue blanket Climbing out of my crib To always eating without a bib From playing mermaid in the bayhtub From always saying "BaBa Bub" I am from Blue's Clues and Bernstein Bears
When it rains, it pours, They say, I've never known a grander truth. Skies turn gray and I Drown again In water, tears, and straight vermouth. Patterns, fractals, Seem to be
Over where the family sits and enjoys the company they share;Sweet melodies are sung by flowers of the past:the horrors that happened there.Unknowingly they carry on-not one asks what occurred.
Sepia With water stains Yellowed paper Tied with thin string Black and white Photographs Taken years ago Smiles and stern Dispositions Peer out From a window
There are many stories not told, pasts that will unfold. A loving, a sad, a true story, of those who fought for thier glory. Leave a map for tomorrow, to find the treasure of the past. 
Dedicated to the family members and victims of the Orlando Tragedy   When the moon kisses the seas,  The oceans turn red. When the nation mourns the lost, Our hearts turn red.   Night falls…
The flickering candle lit the deteriorating cabin An owl stood on a branch whooing out in the forest The author sat at his old wooden desk devising fantasies for the young ones
A beautiful field of green full of commotion 
what are Women’s Rights? 
In 1668 silence sailed from Spain and invaded the shores of Guam The Spanish hushed the Chamorro culture with rifles and the sounds of extinction were deafening
Tear down the wall Sturdy and tall Set firm with mortars that kept us in thrall Blood dirt and steel Flaming hot feel
1893, they overthrew the queen. Stole the kingdom, and killed her dream. A dream that her people were safe, that they will not suffer. That dream is no longer.  
Have you ever heard of Nikola Tesla His brain was super large But, when your that smart  You threaten those in charge   He had many inventions That would make your mind bend
From the street sirens to the gun shots, she was there. From the morgue to the funeral she was there. All I see are dark skinned mothers having to be resilient. While the father and son are gone,
If I could bring anything, I would bring my edgy socks They breathe between who I am now and the steps I am taking to become They smoothen the edges I have formed around my insides  
We had a voice, a dream, something to say  But the white people took that all away  Chains broken only to be put back together again  We had a love like no other  And found strength in one another 
Get close and get comfortable we are about to depart. - Anywhere is just fine, name a time and place. There are no boundaries. - Everywhere and at any given moment... -
Nothing in life is ever completely clear. Everything is hidden within a fog or some sort of mist one cannot peer through.
It started with an idea for political change; Putting a man in charge who believed in only his way; It started small with restricting laws; Soon concentration camps were made and millions lost; 
Thinking back to the very fist existence, There was one that cannot be forgotten: Clad in white, adorned with thorns, And many emotions shown on its face. Age alike, the mind even more so.
Handwriting a personality a story a first impression and a lifetime of learning                              of patience                                         of hardships             
Here is the land. Here it still stands. Here the land is opaque To those who cannot see. The world's secrets as easily. Open the ground they say. Let us show you are bones Still in the ground we lay.
I’m white, Caucasian, Dutch, Norwegian. I have no month To celebrate this background, But I have had 18 years To learn about my people My people— Who are not just white
The lemon grass scent belonged to her pecan tinted skin.   Her stare soft but filled with a pinch of fear.   When the breeze roared and fell on us heavy like a brick.  
Suicidal poetYou died an artists death Forging perfect words With your final breath You had it all planned outEach syllable struck deep You took our breath awayAnd yet it's you that sleeps in peace 
When you told me it was just a kiss I believed you When you told me you'd be gentle I believed you, but my sister's life told me different The pain in her eyes told me that what I was going through,  
Axe and mattock, hammer and horn Along by many a pike was borne The Spaniard at the head of the row Looked back to check the men in tow And seeing a hardened, flustered platoon
Inanimate objects are the strive for empty feelingIn a void of a preconditioned milieu Addiction flourishes in this Skinner Box of incentivized need wherein the commodity breeds the commoditized manA philistine in need is unlettered indeed in the
I. Throughout my years of unstandardized history classes, I’ve been taught about Columbus And Vespucci And John Smith.   I’ve been taught this country was stolen From the friendly and naïve.
They threw rocks at me today.   They smirk and snicker as I   walk among streets and alleys home.   do they not know what they  
See as it comes towards the seasons of celebrations ,  it saddens me to be the one who brings commiserations , A year we entered  with nothing but hope ,
I wield a fist that has shattered glass, leaving in its wake Shards strewn across the crimson splatter lining the sink where I weep sinking, sinking, sinking down into
Somewhere beyond the rainbow Beyond where streets are paved in gold Beyond where freedom’s gospel is quoted in stone
The once was a lovely maiden Whose face shined like steel and silver She was just a hallow shell seen by many men Iron thorns cover the inside of her.  
Here I am, a sailor from Italy I ask to sail for my home country They reject me and I begin to leave the country angrily I believe the world is round
I was born in January, many don't remember because often my birthday falls on the same day as civil rights day, and the oppression of rights is much more important
Giving a voice to our "History", "Leaders", "Legacy", "The Elderly" and "Advocacy" The Widows Cry LoudCopyright © Vivid Memories September 18, 2015The Birthing Poet – Rebirth4Love Nlistic Souldier
See the history before your eyes, truly its the truth don't wonder why. Feel the stingy air and fluorescent lights, grasp the railing and listen to the cries.   Lean in close, the exhibit is open for just one night.    
Sometimes I wonder How could I make a kite fly Even when weighed down by a boulder How could I make these diseased things happy They want money and my everlasting plea to be their servant
I like the poems of yesteryearThe poems of ‘twas, and yon, and ere,The poems whose ol’ archaic tongueWas in its prime, and lo, e’er young.Their tales were spun of days of yore
Joyless silence Fills the air As the terrible day Draws near No one was expecting it Nor did they want it It was just one of those things that just happens Millions of Jews filled the streets
(9:23 pm)
I have never understood history
  Prophets. These prophets are profiting from our consciousness. These prophets are extincting our autonomous
Suppression is the repression of depression and you are a part of their pill,
The common place routine fornicates foul truths of the mundane. We pay our bills while our sisters and brothers
Heavy, wet, warm, suffocation settles
#twitter is my biggest distraction #distracted Your being distracted Hypnotized by hashtags memorized by the masses old slaves to the new master The media is trying to make a fool out of us
Black is the color. Black is the color of my skin. Black so firm , so bold. My roots enriched with this color, Reassures myself. Black is the color of my love. My family. My body. My soul.
It is as an old photograph, fading with every second
Shudder and scream! A witch grows near! This is not a dream,  for the witch is here.    History is wrong.  A bad story told for far too long.       
"What did we do to you?" the chief asks in his head His people's feet are bloody from the miles they'd tread
All eyes on you Its time to tell the truth We finally got the spotlight camera action We must take action So we must act Not on a stage with the man pulling the strings This is not oz
I left my heart in the land
Then there was the sound of constant drumming, And the mad men clutched their temples running, And I curse the memory of the damned damp day, Cause I saw them carry my baby brother away.  
Yesterday I thought I was dead My pen was gone My brush had disappeared My brain was lost The clouds were gray And the sky was black The rivers were full of blood
Nerd. What use is knowing the capitals of the UK, France, Russia and Spain? Or knowing where the heck is China, Peru, or Bahrain? You suck at science and geometry, The one thing you're good at? Geography?
In this strange tangled mess I left us in, I found love. Or rather, I think I did.   I thought I loved you. I define Love as giving anything for the betterment of another human being.  
I don`t make a secret of this But just in case you didn`t know I`m kind of Napoleon And I know what you`re thinking But no, For the record Napoleon wasn`t short
I wanna be a surgeon, But the schoolings pretty pricey. I'll be known in every region. Just you wait and see. You'll get sick and come crawling to me. I'll take care of you,
Iv'e never considered my interests to conflict with the pack I'll tell my friends I watched the game When really I'm not keeping track Because for me,  my interests go back in time
Remember the good old days? Of laughter and love and spirit Remember when? We weren't afraid of shadows or each other. Those were the good old days. Weren't they?   Remember when
Identity is the flint of the modern age Sparks rain when we shape who we are Nations big and small all share their drowned  voice What is mine, you ask? Well, I'll tell you  
What does wrong or right mean? We think about it but is it our own thoughts or just what we think should be thought.... looking at history it can be either lies or truth but we will never know. only the "right"know
I want to go back, Back in time. When God created the world. I want to see Jesus with his disciples at the Passover. I want to see Him rise from the dead.   I want to watch Moses
As I grow, I become more aware of the evils that exist in this world
Black smoke looms over the horizon Ignored by the world around. The people instead look at the sun, Ideally, there, hope is found.   The elephant in the room No one wants to mention.
The man walked in big steps Here to take my family away through the Nazi’s attempts He grabbed my little sister by the arm
The first shot of a civil war rings in the ears of the townsfolk Two world leaders shake hands and prevent a nuclear war Aphrodite commits adultery
I just wanted to see'em, wanted to be near I took a risk despite my condition, despite my fear Now here I am trapped with no way out Brains ain't gone help me, strength might, but how
Today in English class, we learned how one wordcan have many different meaningswhich I guess explains why so many people lieand can deny it.  
    A HISTORY teacher was suspended
  Family is a bridge to our past, present and future.
As I look in the mirror and smile at my face I can't help but wonder where I got these traits Who was the one to give me my skin? Who gave me the nose that breathes in? What was your name?
My grandpa was a coal miner in 1923 living in a land eroded to dust, sweating until black paste stained his face
Sheets- warm and cozy- ocean waves of blue
I am going to tell them what’s up Something to think about while they sup About good policy Nothing really fancy I’ll advocate refilling our cup
Numerous giants stand straight and tall While ignorant mortals to and fro run The sun will soon hide its glorious light From a city that is much too busy Yet superficial stars will still glow
We as blacks Grew up with the struggle of the nation on our backs Being told that the skin that is attached to our bodies are a curse to our soul We believe that being different makes us a queer in our "group"
Concerned hand Shoots up Riddled with Purple tracks along Vein’s corridors indicating Another kind of shooting Eyes glassy yet aware Functioning child Unknowing of what his
Next to nothing, my image sits still in your mind. Still,  But hardly there. Eventually a thought you'll bear Will bring me into the light The sun of day will touch my Truth
Once Upon a Time… To be or not to be…   Famous lines through out time, throughout history. We all know them. Regardless if we have read the book. I want to be that line.
Come one! Come all! Step into my tent of ancient truths, Do not be shy sir, have no fear, For there are no signs of smoke and mirrors here,   Faded pictures come alive,
I dream to be a walking library filled with facts and stories of our past generations. To teach fellow humans
The west has forgotten us, We shielded it when it was young, The west has betrayed us, We gave it the songs they sung, Echoing through marble halls, The sound of harpers’ thrum,
 When we rise in anyway, everything around us rise as if, the sun shine around us, saying we are the ligth, which one day,  will ligth it our path to succes, just following those deligthful colors which have infinity gloriness.
The "L" in life I abbreviate as living. You may character living as oxygen and movement. I character living as a timeline for improvement. Living is not a choice, nor a demand. Living is a given gift from the most powerful hands.
The bitter chill of a cold spring in 1453, A city old and angular juts out into the sea. The waters grey and narrow, flow calmly thought the mist, The Bosporus where Europe and Asia almost kissed.
The silence was seriously starting to get to her, This  was the day, The day everything goes down. It’s not every day the earth swallows you whole in one mouth full.
I feel the mysterious paint dripping down like a cape Containing the worlds lies that I thought I could escape
Don't ever give up. Where would we be if Abraham Lincoln didn't end slavery, fixing humanity as if it's a broken cup?
Of this perception I am curious;  what motivates the human attitude? Who is born more or less delirious, but yet a genius life they should allude. Their inspiration premeditated
Someone once told me that history was useless. And even though I loved history - loved it like a child loves her bedtime stories, falling asleep to dreams of battles and triumphs so long ago,
Our ancestry shall not define usWe are as much a piece of the pastAs an integral portion of the futureAnd yet we are not only that 
He came all dressed in rags
Who sailed the seven seas? Who brought who to their knees? Who went and fought in threes? Why must we know this? Why do we care? Why is ignorance bliss? Why do people fight in midair?
You call me ya nigga Well, check this out If I’m your nigga I can’t be your homie If I’m ya nigga I can’t be your man If I’m ya nigga I can’t even be your friend Not because I don’t want to
O come with me, O come with me,
Particles colliding with one another, Molecules competing for food, Stars devouring eachother, These are warriors. Plants taking over territory, Rats fighting over crumbs,
with a tragedy like this, the heart can't find peace the days pile on and you try to move on no one can understand why you just have to comply   with a tragedy like this a lot is amiss
The herds, Roaming free, Millions of black dots, Inhabiting the west, -Bang- The fatal crack of a gun, One falls then begins, Domino effect, Once sacred to the Natives,
As the moon shone above our heads, God told me a story I'll never forget Of when Vietnam and America first met.   Wind whined at the wounding windows
  I remember you. Those eyes you have are like fire. They haunt me, yet I cannot bring myself to take my own eyes off of the impossible flame of yours.
My ship is setting sail once again amidst clouds of vikings and popes and as I'm drifting into the sea of sleep I begin to lose all hope.   Talk, talk, talk. Thats all you ever do.
Whose destination is love. YOU and you and You are my definitions. I’ve learned that I’m just in love with a concept. Life doesn’t work that way. I want the best of all; I always end up with
Recumbent here I lie
*Virginia Dare was the first non-Native American born in the US.
An intelligent man once told me to get an education. An educated man once told me to save every penny, one day i might need it. An intelligent man once told me the difference between black and white.
They say put your past behind you in order to pave your future But how do you create a future when you have no past How do you become first If at first you don't start last   They say live and let die
Darkened in the sun Like dried up raisins Sun dried our roots Plucking our knowledge of heritage
Look at me and tell me I didn’t fight for my rights. Because twenty-four hours seems more like twelve rounds And some days the bell doesn’t sound. Their blood runs through my veins
    Shit you can’t say to your teacher? It should be titled Shit I Should Say Math teachers working out polynomial equations and over exaggerated problems of how Bill bought twenty-three hundred apples;
You think you know the world in its whole You think you know the real stories and events You think they teach you facts but they glamorize the lies They say Thanksgiving started as friendship and sharing
I sit in this class, Boredom running its fingers through my hair. Teacher is talking history, Delving into some guy's affair.   Then we move on to slavery, A topic I have learned of before.
  The trees see it all. They live life long. And the leaves fall.   A little boy will crawl.
Is there ever going to be a difference in the way we look at one another? Are we ever going to love one another? When will we stop criticizing one another and grow up?
Sitting in my seat; doing so alone. They say smile, be kind, and make new friends. Tell me, admin, how easy that was for you. Tell me, teacher, how to smile in a room of strangers.
This world Governments rule over the people People lose faith in the power They lose faith in themselves Someone rises up from the fallen And leads the people Fighting for peace and freedom
I try so hard, Yet you don't even see. You call me a failure Because I can't get above a C.
I be sleeping while awakeGirl kiss me while I wakeMoney ain't a thingNot for the gold chainPeople go insane all for the fame
What was it you were thinking?That fateful day you leapt,out of those burning towers,as we all looked on... and wept.
My head is down for a reason My computer screen is dark I don't know   Help me I can't comprehend this I don't know   You talk and you talk Do you ever notice my blank stares
I peer into your eyes,they quaver and fillbig, somber: greenthey overflow and spill. The tears thunder down your cheekslike the towers in the daythey crash and they screamfaster than anyone can pray. Your flushed cheeks utter gaspsof horror and pa
Now all is through, the battle is over,  The en’my retreated and gone.  The faint bugle calls still heard from afar; In the distance the fifes and drums.   Nearly all is still – deathly still,
  We look up and see nothing but sky Blue, Bright, Clear The galaxy beyond is a dream within a dream A world eclipsed in light  As we climb towards the edge of the overwhelming darkness
The Gothic beauties that engulf my mind Create a sensation within my soul-- Such is the feeling of flying far East. Elongated and sinister is the Very architecture of His people. I see only images and movies
The pain of the world strapped to their ankles a poet is weighed down.   Weighed down like cotton bales strapped to hunched backs; stone uprooted by torn cuticles and nails
My Father survived the war of Laos,He was just a young boy then.He talks about his early life,Using a slingshot to take out game and mice.He would tell stories of when the soldiers arrived,And how afraid he was
At five years old, I hardly understood The tragedy that had just occurred. I vaguely remember my kindergarten teacher Frantically racing from one room to another Desperately trying to gather information
Do they hide in shadows of the alleys? Of course not silly they tell the tales that some will never hear! They are the ones that can read your heart like an open book my dear! Haha!
  You bred me As a child of imagination and intellect. You fed me half-baked expectations Slathered in cookie-cutter dreams. Malnourished by your monotonous instruction,
Life is always a scare!  Crying is always there,To remind us of something elseLife is always a scare. Danger everywhere you lookPain in everyone’s eyesCrying is always there
    Caramel skin with an undertone of olive Glowing in the fluorescent light I stare at myself in the mirror
Oh! History Why do I hate you? You repeat yourself! Names, events, revolutions Don't matter much! Why not teach math? Why not teach Physics? Why not teach the history of math?
If history repeats itself Like i know it might Baby i can promise you you'll be in my arms tonight. 
what is my history? is my history my past or is it my future? i make my future, but is my past worth it? history is not about whats all ready in your past, but what you do in the future and how you make history?
history isn't waterloothe sack of troythe atom bomb neil a. on the moon'i have a dream' said the king
In theory I never knew the weight of the hoodie. Contrast in its color as it grapes over my skin. Indeed I was mightier with the cape over my lens. Strolling pastimes, my ears were shuttled by noise.
In the end we are nothing but bones-     it’s funny how death and time ride a tandem bicycle  (time always steers- as impatient as always- death always pedals- ever present-)  
I was born 1996, an African American, Bore the blood of my ancestors, in my veins inheriting, The trait of beautiful mahogany brown skin, And the blessing to flaunt the skin that I am in,
In those days, we struggled. These days, we still do. In those days, we worked hard. These days, we try to. In those days, it was Bubonic Plague. These days, it is STDs In those days, it was slavery.
We are the future.  We are the past. We hold the fate of the world in our grasp.  As insignificant as we are,  we make the world. We are history in the making.  Holding our heads up high,
It all started with the devil, Whispering vows of hatred in the fare skinned man with blue eyes, Who at the exact same time contemplated foreign shores,
Warm hands drip with crimison sorrows. These are not hands of murders But protectors Of land they had rightfully earned To live with, not on. From which to borrow, not take.
Moving and moving on a fast paced highway my parents chattering in native tongue And I am in the seats subsequent, reliant on both for a future but this I could not have known
The past, the future; bitter- sweet and no story any truer One time, one chance; to take what is there a little further Counting the time passing by as the dust falls together
There is a garden bench, in a pretty sort of wilderness Not one of Bridewater fame, inhabited by unpleasant folk Its occupant has long since hastened away Her richly embroidered brocade gown sweeping over the fallen leaves
Darkened skies, and places of dismayViolence, deaths are the best way to describe todayMalevolent personalities and families that strayHomeless people, jobless people, tend to struggle everyday
When I tell you I’m a writer, is there a reason for the pity in your eyes? Is it because you know that I bleed syllables, or that I cry metaphors,
Generation Gap   Now I type but then in times Before this our culture used symbols as words. Indus spoke an indecipherable language to us now. To unearth their meaning even so long after
Let’s take a journey through time:   An unborn nation, Develops from thievery, greed, and opportunistic visions…   Swish, swish, swish… In search for new territory.   Bang, bang, bang…
You're blind but you see ever so clearly, you're ill but in ways you're perfectly fine. You're deaf, but you hear so close, so nearly. You're warm but send me shivers down my spine.
White woman:  The United States of America was founded in 1776 and discovered by Christopher Columbus. He came to the land to make new friends. But, the Indians turned against them.
  Amber skies warn of a coming Tribal drums sound with a drumming The fox has finally won with a cunning
  I brighten the eyes of all Make your mouth water Scream for me at the doctor Take me out They shout Save me They say “yumm” Put me away and take me out again
I’m the English nerd Never having enough Shakespeare on hand analyzing movie plots as if they were books wondering if in reality we are just a story with a destiny with some author out there
“March 26th” March 26th Is a day of birth. A new poet is given to the Earth. At the edge of dawn,
  Young men—on the brink of  legitimate adulthood—standing in a line. Guns cocked, polished shoes planted firmly on the German soil. Make us proud sons.
They say one of the most scariest things, Is when people have to find themselves at the bottom of a bottle To know who they are. Well why do we do that? History explains celebrations with alcohol...
Pondering with my eyes closed, As The raindrops tap against my window. These droplets coming faster, Its coming down hard. These droplets must be the tears of God.
Pious change has torn my heart asunder. Blessed be the tie that binds my soul close, To him and now be a perfect wonder.
A prophet crossed the white line And he did not eat a swine. Disgusted by booze, He kept out the Jews. After that he drank palm wine.
Innocence were their names   In a child's place they were to be Wrong place, wrong time Some would say to thee...   It was just another day Another day riddled with injustice, segregation
Republicans freed the slaves, fought jim crow, and secured voting rights by they are called the racists. Abortions clinics killed 50 million children since 1973 yet pro-lifers are extremists.
Robert Belano once said:“For a long time, I stopped existing.”And the pages of a blank book,Brought me back from the deadAs I scrawled SanskritAgainst the sands of an hourglassWhat I was searching for-
I live in a society that is always changing, always moving; moving toward a brighter future.
In verse I will pour out Vicarious memories Things felt to keenly for the historian's art - Here I will find solace From cold objectivity, And I will speak freely from my inner heart
  Are the presidents present in your mind? All 43 of them stocked up in a line From suit and tie to minds so fine
The poem untold The story of lives For nobody living is ever alone Despite how hard Our lives may become Through hardship and toil There is always a light A silver lining A hope to pursue
Occupation: student, Age: 20 years, 3rd Georgia (2nd State Line) Hair: Auburn, Complexion: florid, Five feet eleven; blue eyes   The historian’s favor has always been partial
A time far past, A place far distant, An interest for few. Catul Hayuk its name.   A first day of class, A new understanding, A city, a town. Catul Hayuk its name.  
Though the walls crumble around us Though our time may be but short Though a thousand more surround us And grim grows the report Will you choose to stay here? The choice is as you please
  I am I am the child wearing Church dresses to school  I am the girl  you should have helped
PREJUDICE is prejudgment towards any person It is why in the past it led to owning perpetual bondsmen. It can also be the reason of jealousy Prejudice equals sexism and bigotry.
     Historical Revenue                                              I. Introduction:  My name is MisDajania, pronounced ms-daja-nae
I ponder what it was like that night, As the “unsinkable” vessel slipped from sight. Slipped from all her friends and foes, From a world filled with joys and woes
"I was here long before it became a hotel All the memories this building holds... I knew these walls and these corridors well, But this country's grown up, while I've just grown old...
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Says the ticking clock. Spiraling through day in day out, What if memories stop. How long before forgetting becomes a familiar thing. Fading faces, fleeing places,
If you could change the world, Would you really do it? Would you risk your life, Your dreams, your hopes, your joys? If you could change the world, Would you really do it?
I’m from my grandmother’s rocking chair, perched against the wooden door. I’m from old spices and corn tortillas, that melts inside your mouth with their vibrant flavors.
I think of a day when women had no rights And of places where this still somehow occurs. Not too long ago, women had no say at all. And women fought, and fight. Women are amazing.
Since the beginning you were there for me, Some one must have said a prayer for me, Cause no matter what you always cared for me,
Sweltering New Orleans sun Murdering my skin Sweet smells of tobacco plants Wafting through my nostrils Glorious sight of success
(poems go here) Four thousand soldiers marched Exhaustedly, unceasingly Through blizzards and desert, Through thick and through thin. They starved. They froze. They perished of thirst.
My name is Beautiful. Black. Woman. Even though my "friends" call me white. They fail to acknowledge the fact that my mother's skin is a richly dark as the soil from which their ancestors picked cotton.
Owe we not our souls to God For sin entangled we fall so far, Beaten and bruised giving a sacrifice Yet we in ignorance condemn our lives Holding on to what is damaging We say we’re fine make mortals King
Uh. Uh. Agency. History. Word. Here we go: United States, United States Tryin' to show the world its pretty face But 'merica's history ain't always a pretty view Open Zinn and Russell and let's review
Her story begins where her mother’s ended She tries to occupy and conceptualize the idea, that her history, was intended She’s scared, and each step she takes to escape leads to her life being at stake.
Verse 1 The light that shines Won't show me the way Her shining beacon has turned astray Another ship has reeled in her shore A sailor is stranded A voyager, off course
Ignorance is killing a man, a man with great potential. And this ignorance that I speak of, is coming down like torrential rain. There is no way to escape it, no escape plan.
Our heritage From our skin to our inner most features, We have the deepest roots. From the food we eat to the souls who cook it. From the songs we sing, To the music we dance to.
Sweet, dear Mulciber God of iron and forge Hear my plea, humble as I am and answer me with conviction. Because I have a stalwart heart, because my courage exceeds my breath
Stop just a second and let me hear you straight, I’m hearing something dangerous, and can’t afford to wait.
History the past When did they invent the cash? That would stimulate economies And create a large gap In between the lines You cant read like "Between the Lions" You cant read the fine print
The cattle car stopped, our ten day trip we hoped to be through So much hatred from a Nazi, so much hatred toward a Jew Our belongings were taken, to where we don’t know The pile of suitcases beginning to grow
I never saw the declaration- I never saw the British coming- But I know what’s written on it And that they came by sea, I never understood the 55, who signed,
I can still hear his voice, lost over the rush of the waves. When really It was a fan, stirring up the sticky heat that sat as still as I did.
A land a sunder One side thunder The other strife But both of plunder A schism of people Eager to greet you Naive, standard Skeptics, deceitful
The night of Broken Glass The night of Broken hearts, They're crying in the streets, Their hearts are torn apart--- Can you hear them? Crying Night of Broken Hearts
What happened to our joy and pride? What gives us the idea and need to hide? We used to be happy and love our culture And focus on our highway to the future. We all clapped when King said the words, "Free at last."
One way or another They'll try to give you peace Some day, now or later They'll force you to see their way Chaos is Order Leave or Give Over
A thirty-mile thick crystalline wall Shrouding all sight like a bride’s lacy shawl We chisel and chip at its translucent sides Revealing, bit-by-bit, it slowly confides The secret of perpetual motion
A man, far surpassing his time, Sojourns patiently for the population To catch his wit and grasp his rhyme, But our minds equivocate in their stations.
I come from Sobbing sirens & broken traffic lights. Hangings in the daylight, Hooded figures breaking Bones, Bodies, Blacks.
When people had to live with prejudice they couldn’t bear. They did what it took to make America fair. If one lost hope, another would pull them through Not only for them, but for decedents too.
What does it mean to be free, To live without restraint. These are the questions asked by the people, The people who where once confined. Ohh how long it took, Until they were accepted,
Uh. Uh. Agency. History. Word. Here we go: United States, United States Tryin' to show the world its pretty face But 'merica's history ain't always a pretty view Open Zinn and Russell and let's review
A synopsis of intermissions because of a lovely existence We threaded back to our lineage's tool box Containing proof of resolutions As well as a link to a lock Our evolution must contain repetition
Foundations of these lands were marked by the free and the brave. Through history of the past, fights were fought to make others understand Settlement and sacrifice, journey through many cultures which made it grand
The History Books
Fast cars, fast planes, designer jeans You're dreamin' of fortune and fame Complain, complain, complain That's all we really do That man on the corner is starving Who knew?
I can't sing but the way you make my heart feel is wonderful and I cant dance but the way you make my body feel is beautiful but you can't run your hands through my hair with your fingers
Last night, in my slumber, I had a dream It was an American one, one of exceptional encouragement And oh the intricacy of this grand scheme So grand, the world knew it was nowhere near forspent
I am an American For my blood helped build this country It was this blood that grew crops and weaved the clothes on the moon's back The moon would be nothing without the sun to graze it's face
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