After months of preliminary rounds with over 200 young poets hailing from the SF Bay Area, 12 finalists stepped up to the mic at the Sydney Goldstein Theater on April 6th for a night of spoken word poetry at 2019 Teen Poetry Slam Finals.
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I rose up at the dawn of day—
`Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray’st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.’
Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.
For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.
I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I’ve a wife I love, and that loves me;
I’ve all but riches bodily.
I am in God’s presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.
For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he’d pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur’d, Mr. Devil, I won’t pray to you.
Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.
He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don’t value such things as these,
You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.
• William Blake
When my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears,
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse;
My breast was full of fears
And disorder.
My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder:
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,
Some to the wars and thunder
Of alarms.
“As good go anywhere,” they say,
“As to benumb
Both knees and heart, in crying night and day,
Come, come, my God, O come!
But no hearing.”
O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee,
And then not hear it crying! All day long
My heart was in my knee,
But no hearing.
Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
Untuned, unstrung:
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipped blossom, hung
Discontented.
O cheer and tune my heartless breast,
Defer no time;
That so thy favors granting my request,
They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rhyme.
• George Herbert
Source: Poetryfoundation.org
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
• Dylan Thomas
Source: Poets.org
Rudy Fransisco is an American poet and author who’s won several awards and published multiple poetry books. In this poem, Rudy challenges us to stop complaining and start living. What is your favorite line from this poem?
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The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
Source: discoverpoetry.com
Touch it: it won’t shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here’s yesterday, last year —
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
Source: hellopoetry.com
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
Source: poetryfoundation.org
Laying underneath the stars,
On a warm silent night.
Your arms are wrapped around me,
And everything feels right.
You kiss me sweet and softly,
I feel your warm gentle touch,
You help me feel protected
Under the sweet night sky rush.
My world before me is perfect.
There’s nowhere else I want to be,
Except laying underneath the stars
Hand in hand, you and me.
Just when everything is perfect,
And you seem so delicately sweet,
A rush of wind comes past me
As I’m swept beneath my feet.
Nothing could be more right,
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
Let’s take a walk my only love,
Hand in hand, you and me.
Source: netpoems.com
When I fall in love,
I want to be
with her
always;
In happiness,
to smile with her,
and be the one
to hug her near.
In sadness,
to cry with her,
and be the one
to dry her tears.
When I fall in love,
I will spend my
every waking
and sleeping
moments
with her
and catch each
moment in its
eternally
lovely
form.
When I fall in love,
I will miss her
the very moment
I say ‘goodbye’
and my heart
will yearn for
the very moment
I say ‘hello’.
When I fall in love,
all my old hurts
and pains
will seem
lost and
faded
away
and I will be
strong and
brave
once
again.
When I fall in love,
I want you
to be happy
always, ever
and feel like
the happiest
person
of them
all . . .
Because that’s
what I will feel,
when I fall in love,
with you.
Source: netpoets.com
