Douglas Manuel ~ 2019 Poets & Writers' Connecting Cultures



hell sites Education Center which is an organization a school and a home a therapeutic residential home in school for children in the foster care system and the kids couldn't come to read tonight because well it's late and they need a lot of supervision so we invited two of the teaching artists who have been working with the kids to read some of their work and their own work with that I just would like to introduce our first leader from health science representing hillsides the amazing wonderful funny smart poet teacher some of these are really the students writing them so I'm going to read two of their poems and then one of mine this one I asked them to think about the language of Prayer and think about how oftentimes our poems are just prayers so this one is called a pet pig pet pit II for the girl who picked the Apple had pity for the one who broke the rules had pity for the one who threw the first stone have pity for the one who thought of hate and let it stay there having pity for the one who was filled with discontent the one was killed the one who has waged wars have pity for the lives loss for the fear of change have pity for the corrupt posers have pity for the two-faced have pity for the attention seekers have pity for those who refuse to see others as equals pat pity for those stuck in the past have pity for the girl who picked up the Apple have pity for this sad sad pitiful race these students are from middle school to high school so when you hearing these Jules know that that's what kind of body they came this one's a little bit longer it's to paint but they're actually written in this beautiful calligraphy I was showing listen if you guys can see it but yeah that's another beautiful thing I feel sighs I think it was up having a calligraphy artist come in and do their part so this one is a little poem I told them about going off that I remember I remember clothes dancing with my arms dangling straight down beside me as far away from the girl I love that I could be I remember rubber coin purses and open like a pair of lips with squeeze I remember a boy gets weighed down and one big gulp followed by a big loud belch I remember the only time I saw my mother cry I was eating a pecan pie I remember moving my father would say keep your hands out from under the covers has he said good night but he said it in a nice way I remember what I thought that if you did anything bad the police we put you in jail now I think they'll kill me I remember when polio was the worst thing in the world at least that's what old people say I remember the first time I met Frank O'Hare but that didn't happen because I'm copying a poem and I he'd met them there spring was the evening and he was wearing only a white shirt at least that's what the poem said and I'm copying the poem and I'm wearing blue jeans I remember that he seemed very theoretical and decadent those are words I didn't know until I read the poem I remember just being outside city limits and firecracker boobs I remember basketball and not knowing how to dribble I remember the elevator and how you just can't look at anyone I remember dangerous stories about BB guns and I remember spinning spinning spinning really fast until I couldn't stand up might come bless the mic need to be more of these beautiful poems by these students so up last night the debate yeah like blade a a glare was thrown across the room that I think is legible to anybody who's from the kind of places that I'm crewman my daddy often tells me that America will show you what time it is and yeah this poem was about a time when America showed me what time it was like the gentleman who was stuttering last night when he caught that glare thought that that's smoke last night so he found out what time it was – this means called Edit round we shouldn't raise makes babies in the south kate says if I Drive up the crest of another ill on our way into Kentucky the South where he mid being leaves a sweat mustache where a truck with a confederate flag painted on the back windshield Skinner's off in front of us in its bed avoiding our eyes a boy with blond hair split down the middle like a pie let him open into the book of songs his shirt is ugly skin drapes a big coat for his bones his clavicle sure I wanna know who's driving this raggedy truck how the bullets and look at this how much break me a black fist over that flag how would the truck that find its way into the ravine I went to stepping on the gas I passed the truck okay and I both turned our heads the boys smiles and leaves the man driving does it turn his head keeps his eyes on the road Kate turns red as she draws her fingers and surface and with nothing left to do I stared at the whites of her eyes thank you so much

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