Cream Of The Crop: Nothing Gold Can Stay Response

Perfection is perfect but only for a little while. Perfection, once achieved, revels in its accomplishment until the glory subsides. Perfection ages with the minute no longer retaining its pinnacle. Perfection decays, wilting under the heat of time. And so, with all of humanity, does to dust perfection return.

Infatigability: The Emperor of Ice Cream Response

Let all who scram and toil and jump and hustle and gesticulate and flounder and despair and attempt and protrude and affix and connect and hope and fix and destroy and type and wrench and dawdle and breathe and direct and assist and obey and be and cram and ponder and laugh and carry
be soothed, for the sun will set no matter what they do.

Thoughts of Fury: A Poison Tree Response

Anger is a weed. It comes where not wanted and without vigilance makes its home.
Without care, the weed takes root, developing into rage, stealing nourishment from the garden.
Untended, the weed will spread evolving into wrath. Growing and flourishing, consuming the lawn. Finally, it shows its head and blooms its flower and makes it seen and looks elsewhere to sow its seed.

Façade: The Ants Response

How wonderful is life in the eyes of an elementary school student. How bright and hopeful  and full of opportunities is the future!
As kids, we see life as this amazing experience, until it actually happens to us.
Then we see the stagehands and gears of life, hidden behind a brightly lit veneer. We see we were lied to, but how else could we be told of the horror that is life?

And so we move on as does life.

True Beauty: An Emerald is as Green as Grass Response

True Beauty                                                                       
Beauty is a concept that many desire to laugh, to love, to just fit in looks will take you higher
But when a present is shared with people around the fire they discard the wrapping to get what's inside

The Sponge: Gathering Words Response

Across town lies the school with its metal doors and shelves and shelves of books and knowledge.
But the halls aren't empty They are filled with people who walk and talk about themselves, others, the weather whatever they wish to.
I walk the halls silent I have no need of talking, for each speak enough to occupy the tongues of three.
They berate, they gossip, they laugh, they joke I observe it all, and take it in Wishing sometimes that I could tune it all out.
Turn the volume down and let silence play.

On Being Brought from Africa to America Response

Cole Thompson                                                                                                                                         

This poem brings up many conflicts. It's talking about a redeemed soul, brought to Christianity.


But there is something off when you dig deeper. Black slaves may have been converted when brought to America, but they faced persecution on other fronts. They became objects, captured in Africa, forced into crowed ships, shuttled across the Atlantic, and then were expected to work hard labor, facing cruel AND unusual punishments or even death if they resisted. The picture this poem paints is incomplete. It doesn't sound like a black slave. The perspective is twisted, presenting the transportation of Africans to America as only an act of religious redemption.

The question is, why did blacks need the basis of religion to be considered worthy of whites' acknowledgement?