Poem Of The Week-The Door By Robert Creeley

Yoooo!
So every once in a while, I come across a poem that STICKS to my inspiration board as life sticks to its unforeseen nature. The one I am sharing today is as if it were something created from me. Wanted to share with those who may appreciate it..

THE DOOR-ROBERT CREELEY
It is hard going to the door
cut so small in the wall where
the vision which echoes loneliness   
brings a scent of wild flowers in a wood.
What I understood, I understand.
My mind is sometime torment,   
sometimes good and filled with livelihood,   
and feels the ground.
But I see the door,
and knew the wall, and wanted the wood,   
and would get there if I could
with my feet and hands and mind.
Lady, do not banish me   
for digressions. My nature   
is a quagmire of unresolved   
confessions. Lady, I follow.
I walked away from myself,
I left the room, I found the garden,
I knew the woman
in it, together we lay down.
Dead night remembers. In December   
we change, not multiplied but dispersed,   
sneaked out of childhood,
the ritual of dismemberment.
Mighty magic is a mother,
in her there is another issue
of fixture, repeated form, the race renewal,   
the charge of the command.
The garden echoes across the room.   
It is fixed in the wall like a mirror   
that faces a window behind you   
and reflects the shadows.
May I go now?
Am I allowed to bow myself down
in the ridiculous posture of renewal,
of the insistence of which I am the virtue?
Nothing for You is untoward.   
Inside You would also be tall,   
more tall, more beautiful.
Come toward me from the wall, I want to be with You.
So I screamed to You,
who hears as the wind, and changes   
multiply, invariably,
changes in the mind.
Running to the door, I ran down
as a clock runs down. Walked backwards,   
stumbled, sat down
hard on the floor near the wall.
Where were You.
How absurd, how vicious.
There is nothing to do but get up.
My knees were iron, I rusted in worship, of You.
For that one sings, one
writes the spring poem, one goes on walking.   
The Lady has always moved to the next town   
and you stumble on after Her.
The door in the wall leads to the garden   
where in the sunlight sit
the Graces in long Victorian dresses,   
of which my grandmother had spoken.
History sings in their faces.
They are young, they are obtainable,   
and you follow after them also
in the service of God and Truth.
But the Lady is indefinable,   
she will be the door in the wall   
to the garden in sunlight.   
I will go on talking forever.
I will never get there.
Oh Lady, remember me
who in Your service grows older   
not wiser, no more than before.
How can I die alone.
Where will I be then who am now alone,   
what groans so pathetically
in this room where I am alone?
I will go to the garden.
I will be a romantic. I will sell   
myself in hell,
in heaven also I will be.

In my mind I see the door,
I see the sunlight before me across the floor   
beckon to me, as the Lady’s skirt
moves small beyond it.

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The Suicide Girl

 

I enjoy being reminded of what it was like to be killed
once and over again.
Just call me the suicide girl.
Comfortable in a world that would require me
 to leave my truest form,
 a skin covered anonymity.

At the hand of hands with lifelines matching mine
Same warmth and moisture from gripping for my last breath
The feeling is of a thousand daffodils
A million dreams of dreams
as life fades to an undistinguishing darker shade
and becomes a languishing memory.

Falling cold to unconscious, yet
I still feel the heat of the land
Tan my inanimate skin, like it were
cooking my inner soul

Only then do wasps transform to butterflies,
cries into laughter
Sheer joy radiates like rays on glass
When I become the suicide girl.
I am reborn the queen
Waving my magic wand behind the walls
only known to the souls of the afterlife
Where each star has fallen to an inviolable soil.

The Day My Daddy Comes Home::

The walls of our home will reconstruct to solid forces,
made of cement and masculine hugs
The day my daddy comes home.
When he left he had a black bag, probably to carry his
costume.
He said he had to save the world and
cover every inch of it with his 12 inch footsteps
somehow he managed to step over our hearts though,
when they crumbled like sheetrock.
He told me not to worry, because
when he comes home it will be as if the occupation
of loving us never caused him to astray.

So I focused on the rickety sounds of the front door
they made me do a toilsome dance.
Much like a game of musical chairs,
with my chance to win the humongous bounty
Making reality of a dream of one thousand dreams.
Nestled between the stillness of what’s not there
and what exists in full form.
The day my daddy comes home.

The world will be saved.
My world is saved.

Why I love Huey. He gave an insightful and humanistic view on homosexuality. Comparing exactly how it should be to the oppression of Black Americans. It’s contradictory how we have adapted to twisting the hatred to homosexuals and backing it by biblical words.

Awesome Huey, this is why I love you!

Davey D's Hip Hop Corner

This was a speech given August 15 1970 by Huey Newton co-founder of the Black Panther Party..here he addresses the issue of Gay Rights… Its serious food for thought coming in the aftermath of President Obama endorsing Same-sex Message…

During the past few years strong movements have developed among women and among homosexuals seeking their liberation. There has been some
uncertainty about how to relate to these movements.

Whatever your personal opinions and your insecurities about
homosexuality and the various liberation movements among homosexuals
and women (and I speak of the homosexuals and women as oppressed
groups), we should try to unite with them in a revolutionary fashion.
I say ” whatever your insecurities are” because as we very well know,
sometimes our first instinct is to want to hit a homosexual in the
mouth, and want a woman to be quiet. We want to hit a homosexual in

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