Category Archives: art

Strange Fruit of Peculiar Trees…

***The phrase “strange fruit” refers to the lynching of black people in the south during the first half of the 20th century. The term was inspired by a poem written by a teacher named Abel Meerpol, a Jewish man that belonged to the Communist party. He wrote a song  that was published in 1937, after viewing a graphic picture that vividly captured the inhumane acts of the lynching of black men. Sadly, lynching still occurs today, in the 21st century.

Strange fruit dangles from peculiar trees,

with the stench of injustice, still blowing in the breeze.

The sorrowful cries of souls oppressed,

swing to the rhythm of the times and growth unprocessed.

 Sometimes fruit falls away from the trees,

in hopes of a reprieve, another chance to ‘be’.

But fate often blows the strange fruit back,

to peculiar trees, so weathered and cracked.

Beaten and worn from the weight of many souls,

all the lives cut short and maturity stole.

If these fruit could speak, what would they say?

“Same fight, same struggle, just a different day.”

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Free Images: Dreamstime.com & Google.com

Cotton Bleeds….

 

History-filled pages continuously bleed,

the crimson red truth of the cotton seed.

The relentless days of a ‘thankless’ job,

non-existent wages, for decades robbed.

To live another day, a bittersweet reward.

Oh, the power of prayer and one accord.

Prayers, hymns, the old negro spiritual,

survival tools of the daily ritual.

From the sweat of the brow to the aching feet,

 exhausting work that is never complete.

The silent suffering, harbored deep in the soul,

frame the unspoken stories that have yet to be told.

The fluffy white softness of a pristine look,

deceiving the eyes, of all the blood once took.

 The blood, sweat and tears that nurtured these seeds,

are painful reminders, that cotton does bleed.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Images: Free Google Images

Worst Day Ever?

Hello fellow blogger friends! Every now and then I come across a piece that I find so fascinating, that I just have to share it with you all. This piece is amazing but be sure to follow the instructions at the bottom to get the full affect! Enjoy!!

By Chanie Gorkin

Today was the absolute worst day ever

And don’t try to convince me that

There’s something good in every day

Because, when you take a closer look

This world is a pretty evil place.

Even if

Some goodness does shine through once in a while

Satisfaction and happiness don’t last

And it’s not true that

It’s all in the mind and heart

Because

True happiness can be attained

Only if one’s surroundings are good

It’s not true that good exists

I’m sure you can agree that

The reality

Creates

My attitude

It’s all beyond my control

And you’ll never in a million years hear me say

Today was a very good day

**Now read it from bottom to top, the other way,

And see what I really feel about my day.

Numb…

Sometimes in life we just go numb,

emotionally drained, down to the last little crumb.

The pain of life is often too much,

open wounds are raw and sensitive to the touch.

But once people go numb, what does that mean?

How dull the senses, that once were keen?

Will the treatment of others continue to worsen?

The obvious affects on each and every person?

Once people are numb, can they ever come back,

from a road of darkness and eternal black?

Or is it a conscious choice that one makes,

to take the risk, putting everything at stake?

Upon their return, will they have changed?

Will their once dismal thoughts be newly arranged?

Only time will tell, a journey incomplete,

so tired the bodies and calloused feet.

At least when people are numb, they don’t have to feel,

the layers of pain that slough off and peel.

Maybe being numb is not such a bad thing.

It helps to soften the pain of life’s sting.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Men Cry From the Soul…

Related imageRelated image

In the moonless darkness of the soul, the men cry,

without a clue or an inkling why.

Voiceless are they, in the darkness of night,

longing for slumber, that is nowhere in sight.

What to do? This is not how men behave,

grappling and reaching for the rest that they crave.

Quickly swept away by their own waterfalls,

self-made currents that stifle their calls.

Hollow are the souls that harbor these men,

tear-stained trails mark where they have been.

If the moon does appear, will it shed some light?

For a vision renewed, restoration of sight.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

 

Images:  Free Google Images

A Man Who Sits Alone…

Admiring the beauty of the surrounding land,

and the home he built with his own two hands.

In his comfortable chair, always facing the east,

for a few precious moments, not a care in the least.

Often daydreaming of someone special and rare,

the perfect reason to place another chair..

Or would the peace he’d known, soon be disturbed?

Would his tranquil life somehow be curbed?

He wondered if things should stay just as they are?

As he searched for the answers beyond the stars.

Just as sure as the changing of the seasons,

A man who sits alone, does so for a reason.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall