A Conversation Poem, April, 1798
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently.
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still.
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
......
I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
......
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
- The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
......
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
......
I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.
I wish you were here, dear,
......
Mary Davis dwelled on a fruit farm, adoring the company of animals.
Most beloved was sociable Sam, who made her giggle, like bubbles!
Whereas Mary was seven-years-old, Sam, her lamb, was still a baby,
Given to Mary by best neighbors, when they played in orange daisies.
Sam's white fleece was soft and fluffy, like a mound of feather pillows;
Like clouds of endless, turquoise skies, blown by breezes, into billows.
Sweet-natured Sam and Mary's bond, was special. Soon inseperable!
......
blue is wild iris
like the skies of racy clouds
or berries that tempt
sunshine's companion
since mulberry hours of dawn
when scents greeted song
carefree is iris
like warm wind, whistling all day
......
Norah Lynn was ten years old, and dreamed of being a ballet dancer;
Like cherry blossoms, fluttering in breeze, whispering with no answer.
She lived with her parents and sister, Phoebe, in the house upon a hill.
Norah Lynn and Phoebe adored nursery songs; like mockingbird thrill!
Often, they danced in coral twilight, after study and chores were done;
Like the rosy dawn which brings with it, everything under orange sun.
Fences were festooned with flame lilies, to greet plum-fuchsia sunset,
......
In twilight’s fading glow, a voice stirs unseen,
It is the song of those from shadows gleaned.
They Walk with broken backs, hands worn and bruised,
Society’s edges, abandoned and used.
Is justice but a whispered prayer in the dark?
Or does it stand, a flame, a fierce spark?
To the powers that sleep in golden halls,
Hear now the cry from those who crawl.
......
To all you rhymers that like the beat,
come join the rappers on the street.
It's time for us to hear the best,
we gonna put you to the test.
Bring on all words that rhyme,
for every verse must sound sublime.
We got no time for idle sounds,
the finest rhymes will be renowned.
So if you think your game enough,
Let’s hear you play some rapper stuff.
......