*~*Grits in Life*~*

Hello Death

Darkness lies in front of you

A knock breaks into your heart

And soon you realize it's all true

Death is knocking on your door

Are you ready to let go?

Are you going to brace that dark muddy floor?

*~*~*Fatima*~*~*

My Papa's Waltz

My Papa’s Waltz

by Theodore Roethke

Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath   

Could make a small boy dizzy;   

But I hung on like death:   

Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans   

Slid from the kitchen shelf;   

My mother’s countenance   

Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist   

Was battered on one knuckle;   

At every step you missed

My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head   

With a palm caked hard by dirt,   

Then waltzed me off to bed   

Still clinging to your shirt.

 

 

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Drunk father, little boy clinging onto his drunken father, while mother watches. What image does that give you? I mean watching a drunken father dance around a kitchen, while pans and pots are clanging their way down the shelves...dude, seriously, the dad is like drunk, get up and do something. I mean if the kid were getting abused it's a different story, but if you're getting abused would you stand still in front of your father...clinging onto his shirt? 

Overall, this poem may have different paths to it, depending on how you actually look at it. Abuse really isn't here, I just know for a fact that the father is drunk, while he dances clumsily with his son. Would you really do that? A son that's young, watching his father stumble about? Nah, not so much.

The Knight- Poem based on "An Incident"

The Knight

He ran
He rode
He rode the bicycle 
That led him here to there

But one day
He rode down the cracked roads
Of the country
His sisters waved to him
From the door

He smiled
Yes, he smiled
Sisters, sisters, how valuable you are to me

He rode happily down the road
Suddenly the cracks overrode him
He falls

He feels a sickening taste
In his mouth
A hard object piercing his tongue
For it is his tooth

Turning he looks at his sisters
Sisters, sisters, sisters, look at me
And slowly the crying sisters rushed 
To the brother's aid.

An Incident

Incident

Once riding in old Baltimore, Heart-filled, head-filled with glee; I saw a Baltimorean Keep looking straight at me. Now I was eight and very small, And he was no whit bigger, And so I smiled, but he poked out His tongue, and called me, "Nigger." I saw the whole of Baltimore From May until December; Of all the things that happened there That's all that I remember.  _________________________________________________________________________________ A response to the poem:   Did the poet who is the narrator of the poem deserve what had happen to him? Did he deserve being called the terrible name the little boy who was close to his age had said? I mean maybe the little boy didn't know what the word meant and he heard his family say it when an African American walked by. Sometimes it isn't always the kid's fault, maybe the upbringing in his house wasn't as perfect. But I guess the poet got scarred by the memory. I mean, did he really deserve it? That's kind of messed up. I guess the kid who called him the name needs to know what the word really means. And if he already knows, he should be scolded or asked of to never say it again.

Observations

Observations: is it just me or is the sky darkening the peacefulness of the picture? The perfection of the picture, and how peaceful and harmonious the image is until the darkness that looms in the sky takes over. The thing that interests me and caught my attention was how the sunlight and the sun like break open the only light in the foggy sky. Does fogginess make the sky dark, if so, then does that like move toward the painter's feelings? Why is everything so foggy? Is that how he/she's feeling? If yes, then why is the depressing edge higher in the sky rather than down below with the animals? Does that mean that the depression is overriding all the other regular feelings? Is there something the artist is trying to tell us, if so what exactly? Why is there so little of water? Is that supposed to be there, has it rained before? Or was that just a place where there was lots of water and that's why the deer are approaching: to get a drink but there really wasn't anything there. Is that how the painter is feeling? That when they need someone to depend on, like how a human depends on water, that the person who they need isn't there for them and so they just look around depending on a different person, just the way the deer are depending on a new resource of water?

This painting is jumbled up with so many different thoughts and emotions that it's a bit confusing on knowing what exactly does the painter want to express when they painted this?

The Flowers

 

The Flowers

Each one has a motive

Each one has a place

Some may land on the graves of the dead

Some may be held on a weddings day

Like a human

They each have faults

Crooked, ripped, stepped on

Pretty, ugly, just plain deceiving

The same time they are purer

Than us humans

Where's Freedom Of Religion Now?

I've been pushed plenty of times from different folks to take of my headdress in which Muslims refer to as "Hijab." I refused, and guess what happens? I'm being cursed and pushed away. Why does it have to be like that? Why can't everyone be treated equally? What's their problem against me wearing it? And what's their issue against it, can't they live their life while we live our own, without anyone to interfere with it?
No, it isn't possible. And personally I don't think it's ever going to be possible. I will be questioned wherever I go. I will, but guess what? I will live with it.

Okay if there are  terrorists, I'm not saying there aren't, why do they have to be the role model for the whole of Islam? In an article by Terry Ross, he explains that there may be "terrorists" in Islam, but we shouldn't have that view for the whole of the society. 
He agrees that there certainly are Christian "terrorists," those who show a terrible image of Christianity out to the world, and the Christians aren't being targeted. Why is it different with us Muslims?

At points even I wonder, why we are being treated so badly, why? Do we deserve what's happening to us. Do we burn the Bible? Do we? Do we? No, we don't, why does our Qur'an have to be burned? Tell me that, and sometime soon, maybe the flames that burn within me, will come to a rest.
The tears that are hidden well behind my lids will erupt, my life isn't turning the way I want, and nobody has a say in it.