Still I Rise

Still I Rise
By: Maya Angelou


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. 

Snow Cone Green

Snow Cone Green-Benjamin Moore-2026-30

Patrick McCabe

The dull clang of a steel bat

Shatters the placid silence

Of a magnificent summer morning,

A leather ball soars through the sweltering Virginian air,

The majestic orb seems to sail endlessly

Floating towards the divine horizon,

But some invisible force swiftly plucks the ball out of the sky,

It leisurely rolls until it comes to a tranquil standstill

In the beautifully cured Bermuda grass,

I observe the game from an old wooden bench

On a grassy hill beyond the serene outfield,

Separated by a Green Giant,

Four feet short,

I can just barely make out the words “Take me out to the crowd”

Emanating from the sound system below,

On the other side stand

Nine boys,

All with dreams of the Big Leagues

All with Dreams of Big Flies,

And all with dreams of making it Big,

Dreams of cloudless mornings in the cages,

And moonless nights at the bullpen,

Of the age old dirt of Fenway

And the checkered grass of Yankee Stadium,

Longing to stand on the very same home plate

Where Babe Ruth, and Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig, and Yogi Berra, David Ortiz

And all the other boys of summer once stood,

A pair shiny quarters jingle in my pocket

As I approach the enticing Snack Shack,

My mouth waters with the thoughts of

Chilidogs and cotton candy, Dippin’ dots and Cracker Jacks,

I visualize the snow cone,

A mound of frozen grated ice,

The green apple syrup slowly drips down

Through the crevices,

Producing a pool of sweet, luscious syrup

That I slurp and guzzle down,

Filling my body with a pleasurable sensation,

But soon these days will fade away,

Leaving me with nothing but delightful memories,

Gone will be the days of baseball at the crack of dawn

And mouth-watering snow cones,

Gone will be the precious blossoms

And the aroma of freshly cut grass,

Soon the leaves will lose their color,

And the earth will ice over with the first frost,

Followed by flurries and snow storms,

Now baseball is but a dream,

A longing for a day at the park over takes me,

I yearn for the soft cotton of my Cubs jersey

And the curved brim of my cap,

For the smooth grip of my Di Marini

And the gentle depressions in my Vendetta,

From where scores of fastballs, curve balls, and sinkers

Were transfigured into line drives, base hits, and sacrifice bunts,

I slip the Vinci leather mitt onto my miniscule hands,

As I toss a ball into the pocket

Worn smooth by hundreds of catches,

All the memories come rushing back


For more poems return to Middlemindz

I Am From Poem

I am from high-tops,

From Nike and Adidas,

I am from the colossal Oak trees looming over the back porch

(Ancient, and elegant, it’s a canopy rises perpetually into the heavens)

I am from the Chesapeake Bay,

The immense bushes that stood boldly in front of my house

Over your complex network of tunes I reigned,

I am from family chants

And perplexing divorces,

From Elizabeth and Suarez
From the McCabe Family Tree,

I am from the hard workers

And the exceedingly competitive,

From Way to go! And Let it go!

I am from Lord you are my Shepard

And the other countless prayers I have repeated at hundreds of early morning services,

I am from Dolores Sugar Mill on the ever-sunny island of Cuba,

Lechon and black beans,

From the leg my Great Great Great Grandfather David Auch lost defending his nation

On the front lines of Antietam,

The time my grandmother spent in jail at the young age of 17

Consequences of her father's democratic beliefs,

The 500 Page long family genealogy book,

Created by my Grandfather

So the brave deeds of my bold ancestors,

Will be remembered eternally for ages to the come, 

        

For more poems go to Middlemindz

Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem-Seize the Day

Selected by Patrick McCabe

Description

"Carpe Diem" is a Latin phrase meaning "Seize the day" or better translated to "Pluck the day". This phrase means that one is in charge of his own life, so he must take advantage of all the opportunities presented to him and make the best with what he has. This melodious phrase has inspired many poets to write poems such as the ones below.

Synopsis

These are poems about freeing yourself from what ever restraints are put upon you, and seizing the day.

Poems

Carpe Diem by Robert Frost

To the Virgins, Make much of Time by Robert Hendricks

O Me! O Life! by Walt Whitman
First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay
The Road not Taken by Robert Frost
Youth's the Season Made for Joys by John Gay
A Psalm of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Live Blindly Upon the Hour by Trumbull Stickney
I Have News for You by Tony Hoagland

Let his Death not go in Vain

On February 26 2012, Trayvon Martin went to the convenient store to purchase a pack of skittles and an ice tea--he never returned. This eerie murder struck up a lot of discussion, almost everyone immediately jumped to the conclusion of a tragic case of racial profiling, but as the investigation advances some are beginning to question his killer’s motives. This wasn’t the first time that someone has been murdered due to racial profiling, and unfortunately it certainly won’t be the last. Thousands of mourners met in New York City to march for justice, remembering the innocent boy who fell victim to racial profiling and fear. George Zimmerman, his killer, wasn’t arrested based on claims that he was acting on self-defense. At the moment it is nearly impossible to put him behind bars, due to the lack of evidence and a conflicting self-defense law allowing Zimmerman to remain a free man.

Zimmerman was the self-appointed neighborhood watch leader, known to patrol the area is his car—looking for people who acted suspiciously. It is said that in the 56 days before Trayvon Martin’s murder, Zimmerman called 911 more than 40 times. This raises the question, is this what happens when people fear what they don’t understand. It seems to make perfect sense; one fears much of what he doesn’t understand because they are scared of what it may be. Before 1492 people feared the ocean because they didn’t know what lay beyond the horizon. If you don’t understand the nature of something, you are more likely to invent what you believe will happen then find out. One didn’t fall off the face of the earth if you went past the horizon, but it took someone like Christopher Columbus to discover that. In this case Zimmerman feared Trayvon because he didn’t understand that not all African Americans are criminals. I believe Zimmerman acted without really understanding the circumstances and the magnitude of what he was doing. Trayvon may have made what Zimmerman believed was an aggressive move towards Zimmerman, which he may have thought would put him in danger so he shot him.

           One of the questions that comes to mind in this case is how can prejudice lead to injustice. In Zimmerman’s mind when he saw a black teenager walking down the street in a hoodie, prior prejudice must have made him instantly believe that Trayvon was a threat. That prejudice would later lead to the murder of an innocent seventeen-year-old. Most of the media surrounding this case focuses on the racial injustice aspect of it, knowing that it is the most intriguing part. Take the Japanese internment camps during World War two. The Americans used the prejudice that the Japanese are all enemies to unjustly throw them into internment camps. Had Trayvon been a white kid in a short sleeve shirt maybe the result may have been different, but there is no way to be positive.

In life there are some basic rules that all human beings should follow; one being the responsibility to protect the innocent. When Zimmerman lethally shot Trayvon he believed that he was protecting the innocent citizens of Sanford, Florida; consequentially he ended up doing the exact opposite. Being the self-appointed neighborhood watch man in the community, Zimmerman believed that stopping the young man was the right thing to do, until it went all wrong. Things quickly changed from Zimmerman protecting the innocent members of the community, to thousands of people trying to protect the innocent boy who was murdered. The thousands of people supporting Trayvon are eager to see Zimmerman placed behind bars, but the deciding question in this case is who was the innocent person in the incident and who’s responsibility was it to be protecting them.

In 2002 the movie Training Day starring Denzel Washington won an Oscar, but not without stirring up a lot of controversy. In the movie a black police officer, along with other black drug dealers, are part of a scheme to corrupt police officers and control drug trade in Los Angeles. In the movie a white rookie takes him down and brings the corruption to a halt. This may seem like a lone act of racial stereotyping done by Hollywood, but the reality is that it is a stereotype made again and again until it becomes instinct for people like Zimmerman to think of all blacks as criminals. I find it hard to imagine that this crime wasn’t influenced by racism, bringing us to the question, how can racial and gender stereotypes affect people’s behavior? It is almost instinct to stereotype people, using what you know about people like them to figure out what they are like. Stereotyping is seldom harmful, but when the stereotyping becomes discrimination and scapegoating—it has gone too far. The stereotype that all black people are criminals made Zimmerman more vigilant, and finally caused him to kill the kid.

What occurred in Sanford, Florida on February 26 2012 was truly a tragedy, but one we must learn from and never forget. This act of racial injustice is a powerful reminder that racism is still an ever present reality in our world and we must strive to end it. Trayvon Martin was nothing but an innocent boy with his whole life ahead of him, whose death reminds us of what many people before him and many yet to come will face. Hopefully the extensive media coverage and controversy surrounding this tragic incident will help make people more aware of the need to end racial profiling once and for all.

Some Things Happen for a Reason

            That bizarre first week of winter was one I doubt any of us will ever forget. It was like seven straight of mayhem in Maycomb County. On Monday, the news of Mrs. Radley’s death pervaded throughout the town. The sheriff told us that the death was caused by a heart attack and that no one would face charges. This was a big disappointment for Jem and I, we had been hoping that Boo Radley had conspired to kill his mother for keeping him locked up all those years. Jem had meticulously thought up a plan to sneak into the courthouse had Boo been arraigned. When Atticus returned from the Radleys place we were bursting with questions, but we tried to remain calm. Jem said that Atticus wouldn’t answer him if he asked about Boo, so was the one forced to interrogate him myself; our efforts went without prevail.  

            The days were colder than usual for that time of year. We burnt through many mounds of firewood that winter—each leaving a fire smoldering in our rooms all night long. When I awoke at the break of dawn I was bewildered by the sight before my eyes. I lay in bed for a few confusing moments, trying to apprehend the white mystery substance blanketing our yard. More than a century had elapsed since the last time Maycomb saw a white winter. Even Atticus said he had never seen snow in his lifetime. Jem and I headed outside to explore the foreign substance that painted everything white. Jem said he knew how to build a snowman, but I didn’t believe him. We had to retrace our tracks so that we wouldn’t ruin whatever bit of snow that had stuck said Jem. Combining the snow from Ms. Moudie's and our yards we created our very own snowman of Mr. Avery. Atticus was impressed with our work until he noticed Mr. Avery’s public parts, which he made us cover up. Ms. Moudie wasn’t nearly as impressed with our work as Atticus was. The snow was loads of fun, but by the end of the day I was yearning for the sweltering summer heat.

            Night approached sending the temperature plummeting to far below freezing. With multiple fires burning in each household, a disaster was imminent. Calamity struck in the early hours of the morning. Atticus awoke me dressing me in a jacket and sending me hurrying to the walkway in front of the Radley’s place. Outside there was complete anarchy as men women and children dashed to and fro. When Jem and I arrived at the fence in front of the Radley’s place, we quickly assimilated into the crowd of onlookers watching helplessly as Ms. Maudie’s place burnt to ashes. Part of me wanted to rush in there and help the men remove the furniture from the house, but I knew that Atticus’s rare over-protective demeanor kept me shackled to the far side of the road. The house eventually burnt to the ground, luckily without a single casualty. Everyone was a bit shaken up by the whole thing; and we all pitied the poor soul who would have to break the news to Ms. Maudie in the morning.

When Atticus returned to where we had been staying he asked Jem how I had acquired the blanket that had been draped over my shoulders. Jem and I had a short dissension over how it had gotten there until we finally came to the impossible conclusion. Boo Radley. The name nearly made me puke, he had been standing right behind me but I had failed to see him. Ms. Maudie returned the next day to find her house in shambles. I expected her to be horrified or at least sad, instead she was unusually content. She lionized the men who had risked their lives rescuing what ever furniture they could from her house, but said that she had wanted to burn that house down for years. Ms. Maudie said now she can plant a bigger garden in her yard—I guess some things happen for a reason. 

WW6 Secret Life of Bees

Dearest Zach,

            The days don’t seem as meaningful as when I am in Tiburon. New York is almost a whole different world, the bright lights and never ending honking of horns. The days are shorter and the weather is colder, but luckily I am assimilating into the life style pretty well. The city always seems to be in a state of anarchy, which I can never figure out and I will admit that I find it bizarre how the people can go their whole lives without ever leaving the bustling streets of the city. I would do anything for a peaceful week with you in Tiburon, telling stories on the front porch and eating your delicious honey.

            You cannot even begin to apprehend how hard I have looked to try to find a honey that could even compare to your lip-smacking, mouth-watering honey that can turn anything into a delicious treat.  The next time I visit Tiburon I will make sure to stock up on enough honey to last me for a full year.

            I have fabulous news for you! So after writing my first two novels a publisher from L.A. wants me to write a memoir! She says that with such a calamitous childhood the book is sure to be a success. Oh Zach I can never repay you for what you did for me. If not for you telling me to imagine that I had a future in writing, I would have never been free from the shackles of confidence that kept me from succeeding. I owe everything to you and truthfully I lionize you for all that you did for me.

            Four years have elapsed since I began writing my memoir and with the optimistic feedback from my publisher the release date seems imminent. When I was asked who I wanted to dedicate this book to the answer was obvious- you. I’ll make sure to send you an autographed copy before it is even released so you can be the first to read it.

            I wasn’t able to handle the sweltering heat of L.A. for too long before I had to return to New York. My publisher says that the “tropical climate” is like paradise- but on the inside I know she can’t take it either. I was on a talk show while was there, fun-right? Well not exactly, the lady interrogated me for a full hour, bombarding me with questions. We got into a bit of a dissension when the lady- who I later found out came from a racist family in Alabama- asked me how I possibly could have dealt with having to live with a family of African Americans, growing up.

            They seemed to love my story of the time when the group of KKK members saw us go into the movie theaters and on a whim conspired a plan to kidnap you. You will never believe how nervous I was for those 7 stressful hours when the police were searching for you. They probably would have never found you had they not checked Alex Moore’s house so meticulously and found the secret passageway heading to the cellar. I sometimes try to imagine what my life would have been like without you, but I just shield myself from the horrible thoughts. I could not stop laughing when I heard that when Alex Moore was arraigned he tried to plead not guilty, saying that he thought you were homeless and he was offering you a place to stay the night.

            Hopefully I can pass through Tiburon while I’m on my book tour in Charleston. Until then I give you my best wishes.

                                                With all my love,

                                                                        Lily

P.S. I hope Rosaleen is doing well, give her a hug for me.