Theme for English B (by Langston Hughes)

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.

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ode to 25

Beautiful History (Plumb)

Whenever you run away

Whenever you lose your faith

It’s just another stroke of the pen on the page

I know a ray of hope is all that you’ll need to see

A beautiful history

CS Lewis Song

‘Cause my comfort would prefer for me to be numb

And avoid the impending birth of who I was born to become

Brave (Nichole Nordeman)

‘Cause it’s been fear that ties me down to everything

But it’s been love, your love that cuts the strings

So long status quo, I think I just let go

Today (Steve Moakler)

Step out from the walls

It’s time to start the dancing

Stop holding all your cards

It’s time to take some chances

Up and Up (Relient K)

Yesterday is not quite what it could’ve been

As were most of all the days before..

..But I’m finally catching onto it

And now the past is just a conduit

Oceans (Hillsong United)

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever you would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

Flying for the First Time (Elenowen)

The second I start second guessing

Let go like a confession

Seeing what I was born to find

Flying for the first time

Love Alone is Worth the Fight (Switchfoot)

I’m trying to find where my place is

I’m looking for my own oasis

So close I can taste this

The fear that love alone erases

..So I’m headed down the open road unknown

And we find what we’re made of

Through the open door

Is it fear you’re afraid of?

What are you waiting for?

Love alone is worth the fight

Your Writer’s Mind

Live to Write - Write to Live

writer mind

dummy soundcloud writers mind

Writers are like aliens. We explore and dissect, question and document. We study the ways of the human heart and soul with a probing and unflinching eye. The writer’s mind is a many-faceted marvel that defies logic in order to create magic, all within the constraints of twenty-six letters and a few punctuation marks.

The writer’s mind is prone to wandering. Writers do not live life the same way non-writers do. We are more of the world and yet always slightly apart from it. We exist simultaneously in multiple worlds – the “Real World,” the world as we see it, and worlds of our own devising. It’s no wonder then, what with our minds being in two or more places at once, that we sometimes appear distracted or a bit dotty.

The writer’s mind is full of wonder. We are endlessly curious about everything and everyone. We are avid people…

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creating with the creator

Jared Byas

I have been wrestling with what it means for God to be Creator. According to my reading of Genesis, this does not mean that God creates something out of nothing but that he creates order out of chaos, beauty out of ashes. Creativity, in this sense, is redemption.

So, what does it mean to be created in this God’s likeness? Perhaps, yes perhaps, it means we were born to create. And perhaps being creative is deeper than just being good at art. Maybe creation is about redemption, taking ashes and making something new.

There are two lies I hear often enough that I must consciously refuse them:

First, that we are not all creative. As a Christian, I cannot believe this. We are creative if we are human because we bear the image of the Creator. We are creative if we take pain and create joy, take material loss…

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just as i am, without one plea (by charlotte elliott)

Just when you have no words of your own, along comes a poem that says it all.

 

Just as I am, without one plea

But that thy blood was shed for me

And that thou bidd’st me come to thee

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am and waiting not

To rid my soul of one dark blot,

To thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, though tossed about

With many a conflict, many a doubt,

Fightings and fears within, without,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;

Sight, riches, healing of the mind,

Yea, all I need, in thee to find,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, thou wilt receive,

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;

Because thy promise I believe,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am; thy love unknown

Has broken every barrier down;

Now to be thine, yea, thine alone,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

the fall (gungor)

This. This is who I am.

This is who we are.

And until we acknowledge it to be so, we are running away from the truth, refusing to hear what He says, “Turn your face to me.”

The Fall

by Gungor

The Fall, the Fall, Oh God, the Fall of man,
The fruit is found in every eye and every hand,
Nothing, there is nothing yet in truest form,
We walk like ghosts upon the Earth,
The ground it groans.

How long? How long will you wait?
How long? How long till you save us all, save us all?

Turn your face to me.

The light, the light, the morning light is gone,
And all that is left is fragile breath and failing lungs.
The night, the night, the guiding night has come,
Uniting lover with his bride more precious than the dawn.

How long? How long must we wait?

Turn your face to me.

Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent.. ~Rev. 2:5a