Best Historydance Poems
Now the wagons rolled out of Missouri,
Heading west on the Oregon Trail,
Through the blizzards and ice-covered mountains,
And the winds, and the rains, and the hail.
We crossed every river and desert,
And we never gave one backward glance,
And if we weren’t too weary each evening,
We’d take out the fiddle and dance.
We’d dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time,
And the mandolin played right along,
And the children, they clapped, and the old people napped,
And the Pioneer Waltz was our song.
When the heat or the cold overcame us,
Then we pioneers lightened our load,
And we left half our precious belongings
Cast away by the side of the road.
And we sometimes left little wood crosses,
The graves, they were sometimes quite small,
But we finally set foot up in Oregon,
And the music helped us through it all.
Now the years hurried by without warning,
And we pioneers built us a town,
But you can still hear that old fiddle
Now and then, when the sun has gone down.
We dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time
And the mandolin plays right along,
The children, they clap, and the old people nap,
And the Pioneer Waltz is our song.
we sing and dance and write
cornered this way
mercy of lies
mercy for the liars
believe me when i say it
i sing and dance to break a leg
break my own ankle on center stage to take this away
an age old cliche
corner your mind
to corner mind
together we say the same thing
whats in a name?
the wars we fight over everything
one thing we all had to say
the voice of controversy
the target audience of one
what did he do
under the umbrella
got a box to follow
\corner your mind too
sing and dance
dance and write
the art we create of a color scheme you must be trained to see
the psychology of finger paints
and why red to green doesnt mean anything to the fashionably obique
do the math
lick it stick it
and sickened
never get it but gifted
you couldnt say this but cornered me through your movie magic
break a leg out there
here in my corner trying to pull off a tough combo
a great fall
a broken ankle
stumbling away
following pandoras box to wonder the story of who has the guts to steal on least game
where would i run away from
if i was to play house
how would i figure out how to sabatoge the best thing you could have
and take it home for myself
race around the world
because this manmade miracle pays for itself
never knew anything
a wall of fire
innocents and sheep
wolves clothing
headless blunders
the sense making masks mistakenly sidesteps
and looking backwards at yourself
together we say
i cant believe we did that
but the illlusion this time
is the oppurtunity is a window
shattering the open
Tirelessly rising, like cerosee tea to them, and apple to me
Tell them I am the Sankofa of the morning, shall we dance again
I was the Nightingale Midas could keep in the cage, the new sea
To sail, the festival beyond the extravaganza of old pain
Trim sail and bottle torch, but never weep with dry eyes
Bring flag and Mframadan down the pole and skies
Tell them the river journeys on, it comes for me
I am its harvest, I am its fruit, I am its Gethsemane.
ii
You young ones must away from your rage to my age tree
Take this stick of light, this magic of wisdom, this bright sage
Carry him like an argument to Pharaoh’s face and so see
Deliverance from the bloody seas of dumb guns and carnage
Let us dismantle the sorrow of ignorance, the need that chains
Us to the deaf ears of our broken and eternal complaints
For this native son, this black beautiful scholar was our wage
And from this griot and dancer we take the lessons of our age.
And always may I remember I am only a branch, I belong to a tree
Bigger than my baobab of dreams, I drink from where roots draw
The sweet water of revival, and quenched my thirst for history
And boons of culture. Always I now write for us, I write our law
Yet tongueless tongue-ing in Babel’s callous kingdom
Belly grinder, I rise to dance in new sheaves of freedom
The whip crack on black backs the sun could not dim
Cannot stop the clutchie smoking memory of him
Continued From:
7. Catherine McCarty
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195847
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No one knows anything about the boys' father or whether they shared the same one.
Did he/they die or abandon the family? Your guess is as good as anyone's.
Catherine was a strong, independent, gregarious lass
whom everyone seemed to like and enjoy very dearly.
She earned a living selling baked goods to customers she had amassed
and by also doing much of the neighborhood's dirty laundry.
She also dabbled in real estate, purchasing what little property she could afford,
and to earn extra income she'd often open the door to her home and welcome
all those willing to pay room and board.
It was clearly shown that she could take on the responsibility alone,
as far as providing and caring for her boys.
When she wasn't earning employment, she'd occasionally indulge in the enjoyment
that every good, loving mother enjoys.
After schooling her children, she'd take them to local dances
where she was known to be one of the grandest dancers on the dance floor,
but of all the dance partners she'd dance with
there was always one she could never resist
and he'd want to dance with her more and more.
"Of all my dance partners," she told him one night, "you are my favorite one."
To see her lovingly gaze into his eyes, it certainly would come as no surprise
to learn that William Henry was Catherine McCarty's favored son.
To Be Continued.
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To Continue Go To:
9. BTK Coming Attractions
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195845