Another day dawns.
Doubts rain down.
Buckle it.
Y'er pissing in the wind matey.
Doubts rain down.
I feel myself slipping.
I feel myself weakening.
Doubts rain down.
I hear the words of others.
Please keep on.
Hold that line.
Hold that line.
Arts of the Possible.
"We may feel bitterly how little our poems can do in the face of seemingly out-of-control technological power and seemingly limitless corporate greed, yet it has always been true that poetry can break isolation, show us to ourselves when we are outlawed or made invisible, remind us of beauty where no beauty seems possible, remind us of kinship where all is represented as separation."
Adrienne Rich.
Caged Bird.
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the
current ends
and dips his wing in the
orange suns rays and dares to
claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his
narrow cage
can seldom see through his
bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his
feet are tied so he opens his
throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a
fearful trill
of things unknown but longed
for still
and his tune is heard on the
distant hill
for the caged bird sings of
freedom.
The free bird thinks of another
breeze
and the trade winds soft
through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a
dawn-bright lawn and he
names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the
grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a
nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his
feet are tied so he opens his
throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a
fearful trill
of things unknown but longed
for still
and his tune is heard on the
distant hill
for the caged bird sings of
freedom.
Maya Angelou.
