- Poem: Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring By William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;They were but sweet, but figures of delightDrawn after you, – you pattern of all those.Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play.
- Music video: Disturbed – Another Way To Die
- Poem: Music when Soft Voices Die (To –) By Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the belovèd’s bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.
- Music Video: Remember When by Alan Jackson
- Poem: Remember By Langston Hughes
RememberThe days of bondage—And remembering—Do not stand still.Go to the highest hillAnd look down upon the townWhere you are yet a slave.Look down upon any town in CarolinaOr any town in Maine, for that matter,Or Africa, your homeland—And you will see what I mean for you to see—The white hand:The thieving hand.The white face:The lying face.The white power:The unscrupulous powerThat makes of youThe hungry wretched thing you are today.
- Music Video: I Do by Musiq Soulchild
- Music Video: I Do by Jessie James Decker
- Poem: Do Not! By Stevie Smith
Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,Who are you that you should so lightly hold him?Are you not also a man, and in your heartAre there not warlike thoughts and fear and smart?Are you not also afraid and in fear cruel,Do you not think of yourself as usual,Faint for ambition, desire to be loved,Prick at a virtuous thought by beauty moved?You love your wife, you hold your children dear,Then say not that Man is vile, but say they are.But they are not. So is your judgement shownPresumptuous, false, quite vain, merely your ownSadness for failed ambition set outside,Made a philosophy of, prinked, beautifiedIn noble dress and into the world sent outTo run with the ill it most pretends to rout.Oh know your own heart, that heart’s not wholly evil,And from the particular judge the general,If judge you must, but with compassion see life,Or else, of yourself despairing, flee strife.
- Poem: Bread By W. S. Merwin
for Wendell BerryEach face in the street is a slice of breadwandering onsearchingsomewhere in the light the true hungerappears to be passing them bythey clutchhave they forgotten the pale cavesthey dreamed of hiding intheir own cavesfull of the waiting of their footprintshung with the hollow marks of their gropingfull of their sleep and their hidinghave they forgotten the ragged tunnelsthey dreamed of following in out of the lightto hear step after stepthe heart of breadto be sustained by its dark breathand emergeto find themselves alonebefore a wheat fieldraising its radiance to the moon
- Poem: My Cup by Robert Friend
They tell me I am going to die
Why don’t I seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.
- Poem: [Let Us Gather in a Flourishing Way] By Juan Felipe Herrera
Let us gather in a flourishing waywith sunluz grains abriendo los cantosque cargamos cada díaen el young pasto nuestro cuerpopara regalar y dar feliz perlas pearlsof corn flowing árboles de vida en las cuatro esquinaslet us gather in a flourishing waycontentos llenos de fuerza to vidagiving nacimientos to fragrant ríosdulces frescos verdes turquoise strongcarne de nuestros hijos rainbowslet us gather in a flourishing wayen la luz y en la carne of our heart to toiltranquilos in fields of blossomsjuntos to stretch los brazostranquilos with the rain en la mañanatemprana estrella on our foreheadcielo de calor and wisdom to meet uswhere we toil siemprein the garden of our struggle and joylet us offer our hearts a saludar our águila risingfreedoma celebrar woven brazos branches ramaspiedras nopales plumas piercing burstingfigs and aguacatesripe mariposa fields and mares clarosof our faceto breathe todos en el camino blessingseeds to give to grow maiztlánen las manos de nuestro amor
- Poem: I Sing the Body Electric 6. by Walt Whitman
The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,He too is all qualities, he is action and power,The flush of the known universe is in him,Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,Each has his or her place in the procession.(All is a procession,The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,For you only, and not for him and her?
- Poem: If We Must Die By Claude McKay
If we must die, let it not be like hogsHunted and penned in an inglorious spot,While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,Making their mock at our accursèd lot.If we must die, O let us nobly die,So that our precious blood may not be shedIn vain; then even the monsters we defyShall be constrained to honor us though dead!O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!What though before us lies the open grave?Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!