Explore Poems: Culture
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- By Ari TisonMy dad used to call me Eagle Eyes. I was the one to find eagles, owls, blue jays
on a dark day. He called me so until my brother was born infant and grew to boy.
Having heard my name, as younger siblings... - By Suma SubramaniamI come from a country so far away
that you may have visited only in your dreams.
My face does not bear the pale color of my palms.
I don’t speak your language at home.
I don’t even sound like you.
If you come to... - By Suma SubramaniamYou cannot pronounce my name.
“Soor-ya.” Not “soar.”
Surya—the sun god.
Mom always tells me that a smile heals everything.
So I try.
I sit beside you in the cafeteria
and smile.
You look down at your food
and eat your cheeseburger,
I eat the lemon rice in my... - By Tanaya WinderWake up, greet the sun, and pray.
Burn cedar, sweet grass, sage—
sacred herbs to honor the lives we’ve been given,
for we have been gifted these ways since the beginning of time.
Remember, when you step into the arena of your life,
think about... - By Cedar SigoHow to fall asleep easily on the beach, to dig clams, to dream a net made of nettles, a medicine of marsh tea boiled out to the open air, a memory of cedar bark coiled, resting for months in cold...
- By J. Patrick LewisSo many places have fabulous names,
Like Fried, North Dakota,
The Court of St. James,
Siberia, Nigeria, Elyria, Peru
The White Nile, Black Sea,
And Kalamazoo!
The Great Wall of China, South Pole and Loch Ness,
And 104 Fairview—that's my address!
Thousands of spaces are places to be—
Discover... - By Margarita EngleTwo sets
of family stories,
one long and detailed,
about many centuries
of island ancestors, all living
on the same tropical farm...
The other side of the family tells stories
that are brief and vague, about violence
in the Ukraine, which Dad's parents
had to flee forever, leaving all... - By Margarita EngleThe first story I ever write
is a bright crayon picture
of a dancing tree, the branches
tossed by island wind.
I draw myself standing beside the tree,
with a colorful parrot soaring above me,
and a magical turtle clasped in my hand,
and two yellow wings... - By Margarita EngleI came to Panama planning to dig
the Eighth Wonder of the World,
but I was told that white men
should never be seen working
with shovels, so I took a police job,
and now I've been transferred
to the census.
I roam the jungle, counting laborers
who... - By William BlakeMy mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree
And sitting down... - By David L. HarrisonGather 'round, ye scurvy mates,
I'm signing on a crew.
You there! Can ye tie a knot?
Ye’ll do.
I'd say you've snatched a purse or two.
Ye'll do.
Does the thought of plundered gold
make ye shiver?
Make ye bold?
Ye'll do.
Ha! You’re rotten through and through!
Ye'll do.
Phew!... - By Carole Boston WeatherfordI sang my songs so much
that they became
the soundtrack for my dreams,
the melody of my moods,
a room I lived in,
and a balm for my wounds.
I sang my songs enough
to know them backward
and forward, enough
to wonder if they could lift me
from... - By Carole Boston WeatherfordCarole Robertston,
Who loved books, earned straight A's,
And took dance lessons every Saturday.
Who joined the Girl Scouts and science club
And played clarinet in the high school band.
A member of Jack and Jill of America.
Carole, who thought she might want
To teach history... - By Marilyn NelsonImagine a child at your door,
offering to do your wash,
clean your house, cook,
to weed your kitchen garden
or paint you a bunch of flowers
in exchange for a meal.
A spindly ten-year-old, alone
and a stranger in town, here to go
to our school for... - By Jean ToomerPour O pour that parting soul in song,
O pour it in the sawdust glow of night,
Into the velvet pine-smoke air tonight,
And let the valley carry it along.
And let the valley carry it along.
O land and soil, red soil and... - By Graham Foustthey own everything
- By Sherman AlexieMy mother sends me a black-and-white
photograph of her and my father, circa
1968, posing with two Indian men.
“Who are those Indian guys?” I ask her
on the phone.
“I don’t know,” she says.
The next obvious question: “Then why
did you send me this photo?”... - By Ava Leavell HaymonYou are food.
You are here for me
to eat. Fatten up,
and I will like you better.
Your brother will be first,
you must wait your turn.
Feed him yourself, you will
learn to do it. You will take him
eggs with yellow sauce, muffins
torn apart and... - By William MillerWee Willie Winkie
Rins through the toun,
Up stairs and doun stairs
In his nicht-gown,
Tirling at the window,
Crying at the lock,
“Are the weans in their bed,
For it’s now ten o’clock?
“Hey, Willie Winkie,
Are ye coming ben?
The cat’s singing grey...