Colors An Anthology of Poems

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The contributors shift the focus from domestic violence and sexual assault and map innovative strategies of movement building and resistance used by women of color around the world. The volume's thirty pieces—which include poems, short essays, position papers, letters, and personal reflections—cover violence against women of color in its myriad forms, manifestations, and settings, while identifying the links between gender, militarism, reproductive and economic violence, prisons and policing, colonialism, and war. At a time of heightened state surveillance and repression of people of color, Color of Violence is an essential intervention.

Ritchie, Dorothy Roberts, Loretta J. Ross, s. West, Janelle White. Praise "Anyone who's complacent about the successes of the feminist movement should dip into this collection. Mathews, Choice "A deeply thoughtful contribution to radical anti-violence activism. Paperback Cloth. Availability: In stock. Add to cart. Open Access. Request a desk or exam copy. Table of Contents Back to Top.

Reconceptualizing Antiviolence Strategies 1. Forms of Violence 8. Building Movement Unite and Rebel! Rights Back to Top.


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Awards Back to Top. La Figlia che Piange O quam te memorem virgo Stand on the highest pavement of the stair — Lean on a garden urn — Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair — Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise — Fling them to the ground and turn With a fugitive resentment in your eyes: But weave, weave the The Maldive Shark About the Shark, phlegmatical one, Pale sot of the Maldive sea, The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, How alert in attendance be.

From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw They have nothing of harm to dread, But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank Or before his Gorgonian head; Or lurk Herman Melville The Fish wade through black jade. Marianne Moore For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Thomas Hardy Alden Nowlan Sonoma He totaled his blue truck — slowly spun out on an icy bridge, rammed it into a guard rail.

Climbed out unbruised. Coal Creek. Middle of nowhere. A passing couple brought him home. Then three years with letters from the Motor Vehicle Department before he relinquished his license. Jane Munro b. We Wear the Mask We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, — This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while Paul Laurence Dunbar Joy Harjo b. From World of Made and Unmade In my dream my mother comes with me. We are in the meadows we call The Flats, walking the dogs. Walk straight past the water trough, she says, do not engage the moss.

Go back to the top of the page, the dream says, and leave out the suicides. In my dream I walk and Jane Mead b. Billy-Ray Belcourt. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Two Hours on the Train During two hours on the train I rerun the film of my life Two minutes per year on average Half an hour for childhood Another half-hour for prison Love, books, wandering take up the rest the hand of my companion gradually melts into mine and her head on my shoulder is as light as a dove When we Jerome Rothenberg b.

Jordan Abel b.

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Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; I am here to slay the dragon in the ready-made Susan Howe b. Dear Updike I dreaded those future aeons when I would not be present — an endless succession of days I would miss, with their own news and songs and styles of machine.

Evelyn Lau b. Ward Maxwell. On Shakespeare. Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument John Milton Of many was I sought their mistress for to be. But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore: Go, go, go, seek some other where; importune me no more. How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe, How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show, But I the prouder Of old age too, and in his bed! And could that mighty warrior fall? And so inglorious, after all! And could he be indeed so old Jonathan Swift And so their bland-blank faces turn Margaret Avison Al Purdy Deep throated base tones dissipate, swallowed by the earth; Lee Maracle b.

A Stone Diary At the beginning I noticed the huge stones on my path I knew instinctively why they were there breathing as naturally as animals I moved Pat Lowther A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky A boat, beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear — Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July.

Lewis Carroll A diamond ring. It ate promises and rants. Sue Goyette b. Richard Harrison Not Waving But Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking Stevie Smith Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public William Butler Yeats Ralph Waldo Emerson Rita Bouvier b.

Good Day Villanelle You ran naked out the door. The neighbours laughed; I chased you down. I hardly see you anymore. Did I tell you when you were little how you ran naked out the door? You got halfway down the street before I caught you in my arms. Damian Rogers b. The liturgy begins to echo itself and why does it matter? If the ground-water is too scarce one can stretch nets into the air and harvest the fog.

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Kazim Ali b. If Stone Dreams We cannot know this statue, this satyr with his head propped on a wineskin; we cannot know if he dreams. For what has been lost we are to blame, for what has been kept to be thrown away. Mary di Michele b. My Brother at 3 A. He sat cross-legged, weeping on the steps when Mom unlocked and opened the front door. O God, he said. O God. He wants to kill me, Mom. When Mom unlocked and opened the front door at 3 a. He wants to kill me, he Natalie Diaz.

Now here is your father inside your lungs. Ocean Vuong b. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, Andrew Marvell Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares Sir Walter Raleigh Insomnia If I were to sleep, it would be on an iron bed, bolted to the floor in a bomb-proof concrete room with twelve locks on the door. Kate Hall b. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.

Ezra Pound Gitanjali 35 Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Rabindranath Tagore Sometimes a Voice 1 Sometimes a voice — have you heard this? Sometimes, even in the midst of making sense or Don McKay b. Song: To Celia Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever; He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain.

Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumor are but toys Aisha Sasha John b. Solitude Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But Ella Wheeler Wilcox Oh, Hope!

How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn! For me wilt thou renew the withered rose, And clear my painful path of pointed thorn? Ah come, sweet nymph! Charlotte Smith I step through snow as thin as script Watch white stars spin dizzy as George Elliott Clarke b. Rudyard Kipling Matthew Rohrer b. Paul Muldoon b. These Poems, She Said These poems, these poems, these poems, she said, are poems with no love in them.

These are the poems Robert Bringhurst b. Sandra Ridley b. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. Dream Jobs Random Link Clicker. Royal Bath Taker. Receiver of Foot Rubs and Praise. Ingenue Emeritus.

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Good Samaritan Emeritus. Undersecretary of Trivial Pursuits. Chief Executive Napper. Chancellor of the Exchequer of the United Kingdom of Spring. Procurer of Unnecessary Hats. Empress of Ice Cream. Suzanne Buffam b. Here I am, a labyrinth, and I am a mess. I am located at the corner of Waterway and Bluff. I need your help. You will find me to the left of the graveyard, where the Wright Invitation to Love Come when the nights are bright with stars Or when the moon is mellow; Come when the sun his golden bars Drops on the hay-field yellow. You are sweet, O Love, dear Love, We laugh.

Everyone is half-naked in I-See-U. Behind a grey curtain, a thump and quiet invoke Code Blue. We uncover your bottom line, the Left Main of a black-and-white heart, hand-drawn Madhur Anand b. That fire known as Fog. The onion is the way fog has of entering the earth. Into the soil. Through the green leaves of the onion William Blake The limpness of a bird's legs in flight. The place, the question, the question. The place, the interest, the question.

There is the place. There is what you do in the place. There is your belief. There is the faith in a knowing. There is your instruction by the gods. There is your instruction as you are told. There is your relief From Correspondences Sometimes we are led through the doorway by a child, sometimes by a stranger, always a matter of grace changing the past, for if there is anything we must change it is the past. To look back and see another map. Anne Michaels. I think I should have loved you presently I think I should have loved you presently, And given in earnest words I flung in jest; And lifted honest eyes for you to see, And caught your hand against my cheek and breast; And all my pretty follies flung aside That won you to me, and beneath your gaze, Naked of reticence and shorn of pride, Spread like a chart my little Edna St.

Vincent Millay Page Trillium the animal in me is constant. Gwen Benaway Irving Layton — Connie Fife b. We romped until the pans Slid Theodore Roethke Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm b. Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And do run still, though still I do deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more.

Wilt thou Pierre Nepveu b. Joanne Arnott b. Experience The lords of life, the lords of life, — I saw them pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim, — Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name; — Some to see, some to Emma Healey b. Gerard Manley Hopkins Richard Lovelace Katherena Vermette b.

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Revenge Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair, And gaze upon her smile; Seem as you drank the very air Her breath perfumed the while: And wake for her the gifted line, That wild and witching lay, And swear your heart is as a shrine, That only Letitia Elizabeth Landon Afua Cooper b. Two Words: A Wedding There are things you have words for, things you do not have words for. Hail Hello from inside the albatross with a windproof lighter and Japanese police tape.

Adam Dickinson b. The Potato Harvest A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows that fly In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn; A line of grey snake-fence, that zigzags by Charles G. Roberts The Boxers We were combatants from the start.

Michael Longley b. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold, Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is such that rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee give recompense Anne Bradstreet Brenda Hillman b.

Norman Dubie b. John Clare Riprap Lay down these words Before your mind like rocks. Gary Snyder b. The Tyger Tyger! In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Opus 75, Sestina in B-flat for the Glockenspiel In the empty classroom, at sunrise, a girl sits on the floor, staring at a glockenspiel. The cranky girl has Adam Sol. Ted Berrigan The pools low lying, dank with moss and mould, Glint through their mildews like large cups of gold.

Among the wild rice in the still lagoon, In monotone the lizard shrills his tune. The wild goose, Pauline Johnson Image-Nation 21 territory wandering to the other, wandering the spiritual realities, skilled in all ways of contending, he did not search out death or courage, did not found something, a country, or Robin Blaser They Flee From Me They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune it Thomas Wyatt Leanne Betasamosake Simpson b. Wayde Compton b. Sunlight, me, I stand with the sunlight. So warm people stop in their tracks, so bright people hold their breath. All the light in Wang Xiaoni b. Raymond Souster - George Herbert Newfoundland Sealing Disaster Sent to the ice after white coats, rough outfit slung on coiled rope belts, they stooped to the slaughter: gaffed pups, slit them free of their spotless pelts. The storm Michael Crummey b. Tide Would I have seen her? The tide tugging her gently past the Comfort Inn; houses, tall and gabled, the bridge and its passersby.

This is not a hidden place. The graze and drag of her, clumsy, obstructive in the divided caress of eelgrass. No search.

9 writers who perfectly capture what it’s like for Jews of color

Eight days. Soraya Peerbaye b. Alice Notley b. Channel Firing That night your great guns, unawares, Shook all our coffins as we lay, And broke the chancel window-squares, We thought it was the Judgment-day And sat upright. While drearisome Arose the howl of wakened hounds: The mouse let fall the altar-crumb, The worms drew back into the mounds, The I wanna live, son. But which son are you? What still Canisia Lubrin b. The World Is Too Much With Us The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; — Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!


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  • This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for William Wordsworth The Cremation of Sam McGee There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, Robert W.

    Service Lady Mary Chudleigh Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Poems by Camille T. Dungy, Eduardo C. Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library.

    Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous. Camille T. Ray Black, University of Georgia. Recently a professor in the creative writing program at San Francisco State University, Dungy is currently a professor in the English department at Colorado State University. Related Content. Articles The Decade in Poetry. Podcasts Camille T. More About this Poet. Region: U. Almost Like They Wanted It. Association Copy.

    The Blue. First Fire. Appeared in Poetry Magazine. Frequently Asked Questions: From the First, the Body Was Dirt. From the Unwritten Letters of Joseph Freeman. My Lover Who Lives Far. Naming what has risen. Show More. Tell It Slant.


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