Long Emmett Poems
Long Emmett Poems. Below are the most popular long Emmett by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emmett poems by poem length and keyword.
Pairing knives peppered the garden growing by the river.
Eerie sounds slid sideways into the lowering light.
Alfy and Alice were still out cavorting beyond the barn.
Children in dusty blue dresses yawned on the paint-chipped deck.
Ernie and Emmett kept to tussling along the riverbed,
Something about some girl they both shined over.
Papa didn't budge over it with a freshly lit pipe in his slow rocker.
Even with the yellin' and cussin' and grabbin' gettin' hotter and rougher.
All told I'd reckon this was their 10th row since I moved back to the farm.
Knowing their love of escalation they were bound to spot one of the knives.
Estuary frogs croaked through the purple summer sky when I pounced,
Running thru the squeaky screen door for silhouetted shivs dancing riverside.
Celtic Outlier, Lexington, VA
By Sarah Emmett
To Moor – to tie up, to steady, boat
The day of unmooring
Untying
Oh, I try not to sneer: “So you didn’t grow up here?”
The reply “Overseas, yes.”
So you over see what is happening
How we fall apart
“Learn from it” you say
But yet it is immortalized
Huge statues
On even bigger columns
As big as the boxcars that took my people away
Overseeing people going about their business
Being overshadowed
A cause long since lost
A Barbaric civilization
Written in dusty tomes
Tucked away in musty libraries
Upended crosses on motorcycle men
Banalities “The South Will Rise Again”
I cried for days
Great-Great Grandmother’s will
Faded Presbyterian eyes
“Do not sell the boy from the mother until he is 10, then he will choose a trade”
Worried more for her eternal soul than the lives in her stead
I seek for her grave in town
Wanting to rip the marble from the parched earth
Seething over my legacy of enslavement and death
Here are my comments on the creative process that you requested. As a poet, The moment really chose me; I was in Lexington, VA, specifically to write poetry. I’d been writing a lot about COVID, the political, economic, and social ramifications of which took up a lot of my time.
The hardest sentence to write was the sentence about the actual talking with the woman in the store, and how I had to write about the time it happened as well as to bring up the painful memory.
In the first draft, I had a hard time separating myself from the content, I felt it was overly soul-bearing. I kept the part about crying because I did, and it seemed to fit. I also kept the anger, and I never have found her grave. I wanted the poem to feel unsettled. I am still unsettled.
In a past life I must have killed a priest,
or could it be that on flesh i did feast?
Maybe I brutally raped a God ordained nun.
Because in this life I am being shunned.
My kittens have died, one every other day.
Three total and one other will not get that pardon or stay.
Feline leukemia, so all my cats will surely die.
The only humane thing is to euthanize, and so I cry.
Lois, then Jasper, next Quagmire, now Emmett too,
The mama cat, and their older brother will die, how can we get through?
Hopefully the three orphans weren't exposed enough,
Four weeks until we'll know, why does life have to be so tough?
The mama, Maxine, was named after my grandma who died,
the kids and Illyanna got her for me, because all I did was cry.
A year and a half of joy and love she brought to me.
Why does she and all the kittens have to die, is what I plea.
What have I done to have a life where I struggle every day?
I'm not a bad person, I'm kind and loving, how much more must we pay?
A mother, who didn't want me for a while, many men who used and abused me.
At times like this, it makes me want to give up on life, to turn and flee.
They say God doesn't give you more than you can handle at one time,
I feel like its a lie, I feel unjustly convicted of a horrible crime.
Today I have to choose, let my animals suffer or give them the mercy of death.
To bury six members of my family in seven days, will leave me bereft.
How much torture and pain must one person or family have to go through?
This isn't some fiction story, every word I write is nothing but true.
Every passing minute, more of my heart breaks piece by piece.
I don't smoke, or drink, or do drugs, or have sex, so I have no release.
Let me wake, and it be nothing more than a horrible dream,
I can't take much more of this crappy bad luck, its too extreme.
God, if you're there, why are you doing this to all of us?
I've always been told You are someone we can trust!
Please God, please don't take anything else away.
My heart and soul whither as the ends start to fray.
Tell me what you want me to do and I will gladly obey.
Just please, Dear God, I can't handle the agonizing dismay.
for
I
In the distance, the fading sun
bade adieu and slipped
behind the golden horizon;
the moon slowly sneaked
from behind the ivory clouds and
greeted the ebony night.
The shadows of the day became
those of the night; flickering
shadows of the ghost of our children.
In the darkness of mind their
whispering echoes are heard—echoes
from wandering spirits whispering—
that slaughtering murders of Emmett Till
and other ebony souls be not forgotten.
Now…in the dawning hours following low twelve…
the moon faithfully waits upon the returning sun.
Indeed, it is not so much that the moon waits for day,
rather it is the rising sun…in the presence of the moon…
that breaks cosmic shackles…setting a new day afoot…
Albeit this is the nature of things in nature, we cannot wait
for the return of that freedom only God can give;
no, we can’t wait for the wrinkles of justice to be ironed out.
In the midst of old anvils of injustice and racist creeds,
we must be as strong black hammers moulding destiny now.
So rise you mighty ebon liberating warriors; now is the time and
the time is now—today justice waits to be released from bondage.
A complicated issue may often be better understood
By breaking it down into a few undeniable facts.
This is especially helpful with comprehending
An issue that is new, or unfamiliar.
For example:
Thomas Jefferson was a famous American,
A man of many accomplishments.
He was a scholar, a scientist,
An inventor, an author,
A musician, a statesman,
A president, and a plantation owner.
As a plantation owner,
He was also a racist,
A slave owner,
And a rapist
Who exploited the labor
Of fellow human beings
For his own profit.
That is all verifiable history.
It’s as simple as that.
Let the truth be told.
That’s critical race theory.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
SALLY HEMINGS & EMMETT TILL
I have a story to tell One that doesn't end well So I advise you to take a break For this will cause your heart to ache
A fourteen year old boy Used as a decoy To manipulate and destroy A message sent to employ A hatred to kill joy
He was a child A boy who always smiled With a spirit so wild They defined As something to scrutinise Something to demonise Something to criminalise Which ultimately led to his demise
They spread lies So they could despise Without having to apologise So they could victimise The woman to vocalise Her hatred she utilised The power of her eyes And fake cries So they would empathise And not recognise Her plan to intensify Their superiority To keep the minority Without democracy So forever in history We would be seen As an inferiority
Now this is the part What breaks my heart And is forever scarred By their lack of heart
The peaceful night Interrupted by their plight To start a fight Between black and white
Emmett Till was kidnapped He tried to fight back Took from his family home He must've felt so alone He was dragged and beaten His fate already written They took out their weapons Their weapons had spoken And sent that poor angel baby to heaven And if that wasn't enough They decided to have more fun Because they didn't see him as human So with a large metal fan They began To tie it around his neck Without regret But let's not forget The used barbed wire instead Left in the river His killers Whisper They called him a
Chicago native Emmett Till would no longer be alive
after he was lynched in the state of Mississippi in 1955.
Till was on summer vacation in a village called Money.
It's located in the delta region of the river Mississippi.
The fourteen year old was beaten and shot in the head.
His body was dumped in the Tallahatchie River when he was dead.
Till flirted with a white woman in a grocery store, allegedly.
What really happened there remains a bit of a mystery.
The woman's husband and his half brother were the culpable party.
They were acquitted of all charges by an all-white jury.
Since the Constitution protects citizens against double jeopardy,
the two later admitted their guilt in a magazine's story.
This was one of the most infamous events in our history.
I thank wikipedia.org for information I obtained to write this poem
You are not the victim
Stop trying to manipulate the situation
We are all seeing
We are all knowing
We are all loving
Not you
So when we change the narrative
And put your hate in the spotlight
Don't use our discomfort
Our resistance
And our need for justice
As a way to use your tears
To make you the victims
But you won't get our sympathy
Nor our empathy
Your guilt is not our problem
You won't one up us
And we will call your bluff
We have generations of fight in us
You should know this
We have always had to fight for the right to exist
Because of your hatred
So excuse us for not buying it
We have rights and we will not submit
We are not here to coddle your ego
And make you the hero
When your actually the villain
We see right through the bull
That you spew
To manipulate the narrative to suit you
Well you
It takes a special type of evil
To kill us
Enslave us
Falsely incarcerated us
Exclude us
And every horrible thing you did to our ancestors
The when we speak up
You try to silence us
With your tears
Don't ever try and tell us how to feel
Do
Not
Say that we are always playing the race card
When it was you who did that us
So you could own us
And yes everything is about race
Because you made it about race
The foundation of the world is built
Off of the enslavement
Of us
So try and take a hard look in the mirror
Because it was never about us
Being dangerous
Being predators
Being aggressive
Or being a threat
It was about you throwing a tantrum
About how we consistently rose from the ashes
To take back our freedom
You can't stand our intelligence
Our resistance
Our resilience
You can't comprehend
That no matter what we will always love our blackness
So let us ask you a question
Is it because your jealous
No matter the answer
Your racism disgusts us
I see the hanging silhouette of the willow tree.
The eerie shadow of this tree
is something I know all too well.
Roots deep in soil,
voluminous leaves,
brown... hanging.
You see, my people are like the trees.
Wise, brown,
standing tall, with many beautiful roots and leaves.
Suddenly,
Sethe got roots on her back,
Emmett wading in the water,
and all I see
is strange fruit hanging.
These trees feel different now...
Once so green and full,
now drooping lifelessly.
So, maybe I see a willow tree,
or maybe it's a brother with his dreads
lying on the street.
Something about this feels so deep.
How we all come from and return to
the willow tree.
Airy Wells and Emmett Street were working class kids,
Just shy of a high school diploma.
Airy’s mom had a habit of drinking too much.
Emmett’s father was fighting lymphoma.
Airy and Emmett had jobs after school,
And mostly just kept out of trouble.
While Airy stocked shelves at the dollar store,
Emmett worked with a pick and a shovel.
Airy and Emmett had always been friends.
And liked spending weekends together.
With summer vacation a few days away,
They were feeling as hot as the weather.
Airy and Emmett walked into the woods,
Not a pocket of breadcrumbs between them.
When Airy got pregnant and started to show,
They were lost in a vast arboretum.
Airy and Emmett were nervous and scared,
But promised to trust in each other.
They knew they were faced with the obvious choice,
Or with Airy becoming a mother.
Airy and Emmett were both underage,
And kept their decision discrete.
When Airy gave birth to identical twins,
Named them Amy and Emily Street.
Airy and Emmett were wedded that winter
By a shill with a cheap bag of tricks.
Their good fairy godmother granted their wish,
And they both got their overdose fix.
Airy and Emmett lost everything fast.
They lived and they died in the margins.
Now Amy and Emily struggle to be,
Like a couple of weeds in the garden.