Grand Finale – Najai (The Logical Poetist)

Grand Finale is one of those poems that you read over and over again and you keep finding a new depth and dimension in your own life experience.  At least that’s how it is for me.  Logical Poetist, thank you for casting a radiant glow on my progressing years.  This is no Dove commercial concerned with external aesthetics for the mature woman.  Only those who have done interior construction can apply for this work.  Here, I am reminded again that it is on the mountaintop where I sing (“No more racing, gracefully pacing /humbly giving mightily living”), but it’s in the valley where I grow (“leaky pen, torn pages.../shattered emotions dry bones”).  Beautiful, gracious and honest!  What are your thoughts?  As always – Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!

Grand Finale

Leaky pen, torn pages
representative of soul sages
shattered emotions dry bones
defines wisdom and ages
desperate voice crying aloud
experiences few are proud

strong hands of hard work
smiles that speak to a minimal play
raging memory wrinkled roses
internal butterflies
metaphoric vision helps hide
alidad captures the truth inside
behind all the isms and false defines

Attempted robbery, of spiritual high
lies, lies ,cries, cries
streaming tears from souls flask
embellished result.. bask.. bask

leaky pens still extend,
pages whole souls blend
torn no more healed emotions
lubricated bones not sore
age now giving birth to wisdom
soul sages baked pages
setting stages, aromatic release

knowledgeable increase
meditation displays answers
revelation forces reflection
elation of buried complications
No more judgements God in me
simply put… sufficient
No more racing, gracefully pacing
humbly giving mightily living

(C) logicalpoetist February 2010

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I’m sick of a Rose – Gwendolyn Brooks

Ah, it’s those that “have” and those that “have less” or “have different” – “the charity children” says Ms. Brooks in “a song in the front yard.” Is the grass always greener on the other side?  You know, “A girl gets sick of a rose.” For whatever reason, this poem reminds me of relationships and routine.  I’m pretty sure that’s not what it’s about exactly, but The Write Talk is about what the poem means to me—and you.  If all I have available is lobster everyday, is it normal to crave something different?  And  if so, what will I do to get it?  Just food for thought…no pun intended.  Having a great time with Ms. Gwendolyn Brooks, a phenomenal poet.  What about you?  As always, stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!  Talk to you soon!

a song in the front yard

I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.

I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.

They do some wonderful things.
They have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine
How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.
And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,
And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace
And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

Gwendolyn Brooks
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Nothing but the Best – from Edgar A. Guest

There are some poems that are just so true you can’t believe the author was able to capture your truth with such accuracy, and The Junk Box is just that for me.  Don’t throw people away is what Mr. Guest is telling me. They are not disposable.  It makes me think of “let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”  My favorite stanza is “Despite the vices he’d display/He never threw a man away/But kept him for another day.”  Well, I guess that means my trash today may be my treasure tomorrow. This poem is so inspiring for humanity as a whole.  Everyone has a worth and can be of service in some way. This is the reminder that I do need from time to time.  Hats off to you again Edgar Guest—nothing but the best!  What are your thoughts?  As always – Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!  Talk to you soon!

The Junk Box

My father often used to say:
“My boy don’t throw a thing away:
You’ll find a use for it some day.”

So in a box he stored up things,
Bent nails, old washers, pipes and rings,
And bolts and nuts and rusty springs.

Despite each blemish and each flaw,
Some use for everything he saw;
With things material, this was law.

And often when he’d work to do,
He searched the junk box through and through
And found old stuff as good as new.

And I have often thought since then,
That father did the same with men;
He knew he’d need their help again.

It seems to me he understood
That men, as well as iron and wood,
May broken be and still be good.

Despite the vices he’d display
He never threw a man away,
But kept him for another day.

A human junk box is this earth
And into it we’re tossed at birth,
To wait the day we’ll be of worth.

Though bent and twisted, weak of will,
And full of flaws and lacking skill,
Some service each can render still.

[The end]
Edgar A. Guest‘s poem: Junk Box

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“Can’t” – The People’s Poet – Edgar Guest

Some poems are life changing and this is one if them.  Edgar Guest was known as the people’s poet and this is why.  There’s not much to say here— “can’t” gives birth to “won’t” who fathers “didn’t” who dies with “remorse.” Put can’t in the recycle bin and delete it!  What resonates with you in this poem?  As always—Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!  Talk to you soon.

Can’t by Edgar Guest

Can’t is the worst word that’s written or spoken;
Doing more harm here than slander and lies;
On it is many a strong spirit broken,
And with it many a good purpose dies.
It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning
And robs us of courage we need through the day:
It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning
And laughs when we falter and fall by the way.

Can’t is the father of feeble endeavor,
The parent of terror and half-hearted work;
It weakens the efforts of artisans clever,
And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk.
It poisons the soul of the man with a vision,
It stifles in infancy many a plan;
It greets honest toiling with open derision
And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man.

Can’t is a word none should speak without blushing;
To utter it should be a symbol of shame;
Ambition and courage it daily is crushing;
It blights a man’s purpose and shortens his aim.
Despise it with all of your hatred of error;
Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain;
Arm against it as a creature of terror,
And all that you dream of you some day shall gain.

Can’t is the word that is foe to ambition,
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and skill.
Hate it, with hatred that’s deep and undying,
For once it is welcomed ’twill break any man;
Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
And answer this demon by saying: “I can.”

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We Real Cool – #Gwendolyn Brooks

Another wonderfully succinct work that is a home run! Here, Gwendolyn Brooks embraces the adage “Live fast and die young.”  As an inner city teacher of many years, I have seen several deaths where the young person wasn’t necessarily living a fast life, but was entangled in a fast environment.  However, I also know that there does seem to be an early expiration date stamped on certain lifestyles and this is what Ms. Brooks brings to my attention.  I can here the rhythm of sex, drugs and rock-n-roll—I mean jazz—when I read this poem.  “We Real Cool” is “Real Cool” and often times “Real True.”   What about  you?  As always – Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!

We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks
We real cool. We
Left School. WeLurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

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Here’s the Written Poem – “Homeless Today”

Photography by Matt Weber

As the writer, this poem is very close to my heart and as a teacher and past social worker, it’s definitely a reality to me. Our homeless population has reached mammoth proportions and women are closing the gap.  Some say that the woman in the poem sounds angry—she is, but it’s not at anyone in particular.  It’s just the fear and pain of everyday living!  What are your thoughts today?  And as always – Stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!  Talk to you soon!


Beggar by day

Haunted by night

Dilapidated, wilted and worn

Unmasked in plain sight

The darkness is for warriors

In armor with swords drawn

Peculiar for a woman

In the moments before dawn

I was born into this life

And was hard-heartedly told

It’s not about what’s done to me

It’s to survive and grow old

Falling, falling and spinning

I rapidly descend

In this life, there is no net

you reap what you get in the end

Pug-like eyes of passersby

Mixed with sympathy and despise

Paradoxical teaching of compassion

Enveloped in fearful cries

I yell out loud to you

In my head

Don’t pity or shame me

I’m alive, not dead

Hope springs eternal

Is what a great man once said

This is how I hold on

To live life without dread

So when you walk my way

Don’t cross the street

Embrace the grandeur

inhale the reek

But for those of you who dare

Uplift your head so our eyes will meet

This will surely release us

From both our lies and deceit

~Sharon Michele Williams

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My Serious Side “Homeless Today” – #SharonMicheleWilliams

My first video!  I hope you like it.

Let me know what you think—and stay with Sharon and The Write Talk!  Talk to you later!



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