In collaboration with one of my favorite poets, we have created these two poems with two different , yet similar points of view.
Slaves moved from the fields to the railroad jobs
not called by their name, but names they called them.
Working on the railroad was hard for blacks
they risked their lives jumping from car to car
the color of their skin ruled what they did
taking risks not really a choice, you see.
Laws kept the black man from more skilled jobs
even though they had exceptional skills.
Laying track though rough lands and tunnels too—
shovels, picks, axes, explosives were used.
Bring along the wheelbarrows, ropes, and mules
driving heavy spikes precisely trued up.
Precision was important for setting rails
no doubt any slight difference caused death.
Derailment came if not measured right
and the black man made sure others were safe.
Black prisoners had the riskiest jobs
often left to die when falling from cliffs.
Nothing to be said for their souls right then;
they considered them less than valued life,
and the way they became such laborers
did not match the crime or even confirmed.
A Pullman job was prestigious, true
but they treated them just like equipment.
Life back then, the way they treated black men,
inspired the movements of civil rights.
Sleeping Car Porters had a brotherhood
inspired by treatment of these nameless souls.
It would be many years before a change
many souls would march for their civil rights—
Randolph, King, Malcolm X to name just some
to step forth for souls until kingdom comes.
This poem was inspired from research I have done after learning of the black prisoners who lost their lives working for the railroads and the suspicious ways they came into being imprisoned. And for the treatment of railroad workers who went straight from slavery to continued enslavement, yet believing in a dream.
How much of what we say is going to happen is ironic
some go about predicting the future
and then looking back what was said would happen
has happened before they said it would
so how much is yet to be and has already happened
so predicting may be accurate or premature
history is in the making
whether it has already been made in prediction
or has been planned to make it come true
or just let it happen
or is there another point of view
it has happened before
do you remember this to be true
Some little known or maybe, by now, greatly known facts about Paul Revere might just surprise you. And who wrote the famous poem about Paul Revere? Henry Wadsworth Longfellow If you go to that link you can read his poem about Paul Revere.
For today’s prompt let’s try a history poem. It could be about an important to you time in history, it could be about what we would say about these current days if these days were history, it could even be fake history such as creating your own version of history. It can be anything you wish it to be. I have ideas and just not sure which will land on these pages today.
Let’s get at it! Please be sure to share 🙂
Belinda looked out the window, her red strands stringing her eyes, still crusted with sandman’s presents; This was her routine each and every day, gazing to the lands and wishing for her dreams to come true; Closing her eyes, stating her wishes into prayers, she then bounced up onto her feet and bounced into the nursery, letting her little brother know her presence.
Smiling, squirming, hiccupping from his milk filled belly, Cleveland wiggled his chubby legs in delight from seeing his sister, clearly loving the routine of being greeted by her cheerfulness; Grasping him carefully, Belinda pulled him up and into her arms, hugging him while singing to him her favorite made up song, written especially for him.
“Baby Cleveland, cheery boy, you are my most favorite joy, how I wish to help you grow, always and ever more to know; How I love you, yes I do, and I always will, it’s true; One day when you are grown up, you’ll still be my buttercup, never will you leave my heart, you have been there from the start.”
Giggling and pulling her long tresses, Cleveland clearly adored his big sister, enchanted by her blue-green eyes, he poked at them with his chubby fingers, before reaching for his own as if comparing them with his own rich blue orbs; Carrot tops matching, these two were like two peas in a pod, so to speak, but there was one thing for sure, they were also very different; This was one thing that Belinda would be sure about: personalities.
Just down the road, a few houses down, Barton was also up for the day, doing his routine of chores before going to school, knowing his homework was likely suffering, he had routine responsibilities which took him away from book learning; Sure to make up for his father’s own duties, Barton needed to see to it that his mother did not suffer any more than she already seemed to, as her sighs of sadness prevailed; Taking a moment to take his mother some fresh tea, Barton took her hands in his, gazed into her brown eyes, moist from longing, and told her how beautiful she was and how it was going to be another good day, all before Barton gathered up his books and lunch, putting soles to the dirt road, hoping to catch Belinda on the way to school.
Waving goodbye to her mother, Belinda bounced out the door, books and lunch in hand and looking about, hoping to see Barton as he always made her smile; Sure as the sun shone, there he was picking up his step when he eyed her, almost running to her side; “Good morning Belinda,” Barton breathlessly greeted her, “I hope you don’t mind if I carry your books,” And with this, Belinda smiled at Barton, handed him her books and smiled, nudging along with their hands waiting to be held.
This is my Six Sentence Story for this week in response to Denise’s prompt word: Routine
Perhaps you would like to publish a story to this prompt. You can go to Girlie on the Edge and check out the rules of the blog hop. It’s a lot of fun!