Best Laurence Poems
“In solitude, the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.” Laurence Sterne
far from the human humdrum
solitude shrouds mountainsides
subtle snowflakes fall on spruce
I run towards the cabin
the heat is enjoyable
I open my fine laptop
type chapter three of my book
no characters spoil the scene
silence of nature elates
reflections of sublime thoughts
calming of a waterfall
falling from a cliff nearby
man feels peace in solitude
far from turbulence of life
now all is calm and peaceful
a rainbow appears afar
Placed 1
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest
land of lost shadows
and unweathered skies
five urban colours
through unflinching eyes
tall distant chimneys
and schoolyards at play
smoke drifting sideways
in stillness each day
sketches on packets
of stained cigarettes
strange brooding faces
and marionettes
people bent walking
with heads looking down
- if lowry was living
he'd have painted my town.
Sympathy
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
Why Do I Write?
You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?
I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway
I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?
Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
No lullaby?
What choice have I?
I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?
Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Like Laurence of Arabia in a camel race,
hump day can go by at a very fast pace,
while there are other times,
camel spits me in the eye,
and over the hump is no piece of cake.
11-2-16
A Prophecy
John Grisham was rejected by 28 publishers
Before he sold “A Time to Kill”
But because he didn’t say “What the hell”
His books have sold over 275 mil.
Maya Angelou was once a whore
But she wanted to write and sing
When haters were speaking she wasn’t listening
And in 1993 she sang before a king.
Paul Laurence Dunbar was the son of a slave
Wrote his brilliant masterpieces at the elevator door
Determined not to listen to the white man because he wanted more
Now he is an example of greatness for the writing poor.
Tyshawn Nicole Knight was once a mental case
She wrote poetry on the floors in the psych ward
But, she never gave up, she struggled and worked hard
Now she is a publisher and her writers have gone far.
all the kings men said
laurence minot found to me
and needed to be
Hello my name is Keith Edward Baucum.
I am a black male who was born on the
day of July 10, 1982.
I'm the youngest out of my mother's seven
children.
I am from Laurinburg North Carolina. I
still live in Laurinburg North Carolina.
My interests are education, poetry, African
American studies, African culture,
literature, visual arts.
My favorite poets are Marcus Garvey,
Phillis Wheatley, Tupac Shakur, Langston
Hughes, Maya Angelou, Paul Laurence
Dunbar, and Countee Cullen.
I would like to publish a book of poems,
stories, quoets, and writings.
I am 31years old and as single as one can
be.
I have no children.
The type of music I like are hip-hop, R&B,
rap, soul music, reggae music, and gospel
music.
I'm a Christian and I'm a black
nationalist
My mailing address is po Box 792
Laurinburg North Carolina 28352
Written by Keith Edward Baucum Aka Red
Seven aka The Brown
Philosopher aka The Green Poet
I’m a-starting to *pavo tremble
this time of year
From all of the oven symbols
rack-et I hear
I’m a seasoned Mestizo pheasant,
best strutting actress
in the whole Oaxaca alfalfa field
But I’m beginning to feel a bite unpleasant,
putting on my best plumage dress
Nervously a-wait the cleaver applause build
Henpeck been the best partridge breeder,
top ingenue impresario
Now it’s curtain time to have a successor,
exit thru the oven door
I see the buy-peddles
turning on the kitchen light
And platter shadows
is giving me bye sage fright
No more starlet gobble time
in the summer day breeze
End of peacock pantomime
under those chestnut trees
Sage fright is real grouse,
as grouse real can be
But, Ms. Guajolote
is gon disorderly peck-y,
strut into the Usher house —
Go out in a blade of glory!
Get some carving satisfaction,
when my wishbone performance
get the Red Cross salute
Feast table Heimlich m action,
calculate no glut survival chance
Best snood bow exit route
Go out in a blade of glory!
Be a theatrical proud grouse
As leftovers get cast
from the pall Festive house
This poem was inspired by the
great poet, Paul Laurence Dunbar.
From his poem, "Soliloquy of a Turkey."
*Pavo is the Spanish word for "turkey."
Have a Happy Thanksgiving Day, PSoupers.
— Romantic Warrior
11-26-20
Heavenly Music
Instead of all of them still yelling EUREKA
What they ended up with was TOPEKA
Kansas where banjoes they will strum
And State Capital will never become.
Would it to many make much sense?
If an Arabian actually lived in Laurence
On horse thinking he was hot to trot
With him all the women he brought.
While State of Kansas you were touring
Was worst thing you could be enduring
They said go ahead and get out of DODGE
Like there ain't no room at any lodge.
Suppose purple was color we all wore
Went to heaven and not here anymore
Would God always allow us to be musical
And if so should we bring an acoustical?
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
An Englishman lost in afternoon tea,
Memories of a lotus flower love
Rajas and elephants in Delhi
Livingstone the explorer
Religion to convert
Laurence of Arabia
A leader of men
The Boers and the Zulus
Gordon and Khartoum
These are the things that shook the world
Silk and Cotton,
The wealth of Empire
Earl Mountbatten our man in Burma
The cry of Bombay and Ceylon
Oblivious to a young man’s dream
England was the world
Her Empire was great
For the sun never did sett
On her wealth
The jewel in this noble crown
Yet History was not kind
Exploitation her crime
Though civilisation came hand in hand
For Freedom we planted
Democracy you chanted
The union jack you did burn
And what have you learned
Greed breeds poverty in silence
Sectarian dogma your anthem
Murder by the chosen few
How flourishes your tree
When your morals all flee
With bombs in the souk
And murder by troops
Education restricted
The poor evicted
To make way for corruption
And tyrants consumption
Look to the horizon
For there lies Britain
It's empire gone
But our pride lingers on
Can your freedom say the same?
Or is oil to blame?
Who shall we accuse?
For your freedoms abuse?
Not the British
Love us or hate us
England brought you civilisation
And civilisation lives on
In this green and pleasant land
Family History
by Edmund Siejka
A sense of guilt
Made him search the hall closet
Until he found the old cardboard box.
Opening it
He stared
At a handful of dusty photos.
He remembered Aunt Jenny,
Who told funny stories,
How families in Europe
Lived near borders and one could have a German last name
And be French or even Czech.
Or how uncle Tomas
Made his way to York, PA.
Thinking it was New York
When told that it wasn’t
He shrugged his shoulders
Saying York, PA was okie dokie by him.
Or cousin Laurence who worked in a coal mine
Until he couldn’t take it anymore
And ran away to a dairy farm in New Jersey.
Putting the faded photos back into the carboard box
He wondered if his granddaughter really wanted
To research their family tree
Like she promised.
When the realization came to him
That most of the photos had been thrown away
Back when his father said
No one wanted to remember the old days.
Pushing aside coats and jackets
He carefully returned the box back to the hall closet
Regretting that he never kept the old photos and papers.
Sitting down
He wondered if anyone even cared
That the old days had been mindlessly tossed away.
Dat gal done gone an lef me? '?lone
went t'town wit huh red shoes on.
Hi' ole heels,dress on tight
Powda and paint,sum'in ain't right
They's som kine of problum I caint explain
I believes sum main done turnt her hed
stayin out late,alw ays rais'in sayin
gotta take uh baf, fo' she get in bed
So I follered huh one night to see
Lemme tell ya I seent real good
Dat woman spose'd to be lovin me,
Sportin ah nuthah main, in yonder wood
ME, I tries to be uh good main
work ever day; try t' serve da lord
My woman wanna ride in Cadillacs
Alls I own is uh beat down Ford
Ever night she cum home sweatin
ev'n tho the weather been steady cool
I'll make a flea uh wrestlin jacket
fo I let huh make me uh fool.
Bag packed, gwine to da railroad track
catch me uh train to eny'where good
If'n ya wanna fine dat woman I lef behine
Dig down deep, in yonder wood.
Lauren became paralysed suddenly overnight,
When she developed firm transverse myelitis,
An inflammation of the spinal cord, a huge fright,
Which gave no feeling chest down, a mantis.
Born 24 April 1998, she comes from Birmingham,
In Bromsgrove District in the area Cotton Hackett,
Where she sat her A-levels which got her a gram,
At Oxford Brookes Uni as a law undergraduate.
Originally a wheelchair racer with many medals,
At the junior level for sprinting and distance middle,
She’s now in trunk and arms mixed double sculls,
Coupling with Laurence Whitely to warmly griddle.
Lauren only began the sport of rowing in 2015,
And rose through the ranks with speed and creed,
In 2015 in France the pair won silver real clean,
And in Rio they rowed to gold at tremendous speed.
‘Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?’
(Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Juliet, it is so cold when we perform this sweet tableau
so, twixt my legs, just a tiny icicle does grow.
Is it she you call sweet Rose that saps the strength from my sweet beaux?
That you wilt leave me so unsatisfied and not your gift bestow?
Thus, each night, you have such words which you dost nag and crow
and with them, it is that makes my manhood fail to show.
I Once gazed my wond’ring eyes upon your bulging codpiece so
Yet now, not so, again I ask; Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Oh my sweet Juliet, I am indeed in deepest woe;
this night, Friar Laurence, with my blue potion failed to show.