Dear Lecturer,
I really hope this finds you well.
About your students
Be not mean nor unreasonably harsh
Towards them even if they deserve it
For they are more of your future
Than they are your students
Remember, that the child is indeed
The father of the man
......
In every soul resides a latent light
Yet not all lights can themselves light
For every light needs a light
To help them light up their own latent light
No light loses its own light
When it gives light to another light
Else, light would be scarce at night
And no man would work nor walk at night
......
Severed
From gentleness
Torn apart
Into a million
Searing pieces
Whatever killed me
I killed the world in return
tugging down hair strands,
right where the foot of the flame breaks even—
outreaching from a coarsen rug; in little time
cheeks crater out. engulfing the blessed cry of departure.
have you watched the fire spread on a pyre? the last time the muscles
twitch.
human skin of pastel gorges beneath the river, yellow.
the danube devotes praises to the blue skies of distant dawn.
......
If she were white, she’d probably be
A fat, happy Irish with her shopping bag.
But it was four in the morning and I couldn’t quite see
Why she stood at that counter and eyed every tag.
Her hands were from dishes or making the bed.
She looked as if she’d been scrubbing the floor.
The showcase was full of those things my mother would wear
When she wanted to preen and show herself well,
Of earrings and bracelets, barrettes for her hair,
And a pin flush with diamonds, set in a shell.
......
Dear Lecturer,
I really hope this finds you well.
About your students
Be not mean nor unreasonably harsh
Towards them even if they deserve it
For they are more of your future
Than they are your students
Remember, that the child is indeed
The father of the man
......
In every soul resides a latent light
Yet not all lights can themselves light
For every light needs a light
To help them light up their own latent light
No light loses its own light
When it gives light to another light
Else, light would be scarce at night
And no man would work nor walk at night
......
tugging down hair strands,
right where the foot of the flame breaks even—
outreaching from a coarsen rug; in little time
cheeks crater out. engulfing the blessed cry of departure.
have you watched the fire spread on a pyre? the last time the muscles
twitch.
human skin of pastel gorges beneath the river, yellow.
the danube devotes praises to the blue skies of distant dawn.
......
I saw his skin
and loved him not.
“I see a colored man,” I cried,
and proudly went my way.
But when I prayed to God that night
He sadly turned aside.
I looked again
and saw a man.
“I see a Negro, Lord,” I cried,
......
If she were white, she’d probably be
A fat, happy Irish with her shopping bag.
But it was four in the morning and I couldn’t quite see
Why she stood at that counter and eyed every tag.
Her hands were from dishes or making the bed.
She looked as if she’d been scrubbing the floor.
The showcase was full of those things my mother would wear
When she wanted to preen and show herself well,
Of earrings and bracelets, barrettes for her hair,
And a pin flush with diamonds, set in a shell.
......