I know it is no longer Wednesday but I need a posting pick me up
What are you currently reading?- On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King
What did you recently finish reading?- “Recently” being relative I last read was Bitten by Kelly Armstrong and I read it this summer.
What do you think you’ll read next? – I think I want to finish one of the Anthony Horowitz series that I started.
There is no end to education. It is not that you read a book, pass an examination, and finish with education. The whole of life, from the moment you are born to the moment you die, is a process of learning
– Jiddu krishnamurti
Dreaming Black Boy by James Berry
I wish my teacher’s eyes wouldn’t
go past me today. Wish he’d know
it’s okay to hug me when I kick
a goal. Wish I myself wouldn’t
hold back when an answer comes.
I’m no woodchopper now
like all ancestors.
I wish I could be educated
to the best of tune up, and earn
good money and not sink to lick
boots. I wish I go could go on every
crisscross way of the globe
and no persons or powers or
hotel keepers would make it a waste.
I wish life wouldn’t spend me out
opposing. Wish same way creation
would have me stand it would have
me stretch, and hold high, my voice
Paul Roberson’s, my inside eye
a sun. Nobody wants to say
hello to nasty answers.
I wish torch throwers of night
would burn lights for decent times.
Wish plotters in pyjamas would pray
for themselves. Wish people wouldn’t
talk as if I dropped from Mars.
I wish only boys were scared
behind bravados, for I could suffer.
I could suffer a big big lot.
I wish nobody would want to earn
the terrible burden I can suffer.
The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential… these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence
She lay there on the twin sized bed, making no attempt to even draw back the curtains and let fresh air in. It made me wonder when was the last time she felt the sun or the wind, or saw the sea which was right outside her door. Somewhere along the line of life she had become weak and feeble and almost detestable.
Her pale skin had shown the neglect and the wrinkles which criss-crossed over her skin told the story of her resignation to living rather than resilience towards life. Her mouth had long since lost the stern edge that I was told set a whole village of children straight. Unfortunately, now all she did was lie on the bed, day and night; occasionally she got up to the bathroom or eat. But that was only ever with help.
She had a mind as clear and memories as vivid as yours, but seldom could be motivated into conversation unless it reflected on age old memories. It perplexed me how someone could hold so much information but have so little motivation to share .
Her life was one which made you question the tenacity of man and your own will. If the backbone of a village, mother to seven plus two, plus two could be content with living the rest of her life, unmoving from an airless room, then where would you be? Who would you turn into?
Or heritage and ideals, our code and standards – the things we live by and teach our children – are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings.