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#Paul Laurence Dunbar
batgovernor · 4 days ago
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Potcake Poet's Choice: Juleigh Howard-Hobson, 'I'll Keep My Ghosts'
Potcake Poet’s Choice: Juleigh Howard-Hobson, ‘I’ll Keep My Ghosts’
“…presence, if it has been real presence, does not ever leave.”–May Sarton I’ll keep my ghosts. Each morning down we go Through the hallway, where they begin to show As grey reflections of themselves in frames That do not answer when I call their names But swirl and curve around me, to and fro. Sometimes, in this house that they used to know So well, their unseen numbers swell and grow Until I…
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elizabethanism · 11 days ago
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I found you and I lost you,
All on a gleaming day.
The day was filled with sunshine,
And the land was full of May.
—Paul Laurence Dunbar
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lachkegeetanjali · 13 days ago
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Lucid Lily
I know I didn't keep up with posting everyday this month but I am going to try harder this may! May, May bless us! and now let's get to know the flower inspiration for this month.
The flowers for the month of may are Lily-of-the-valley and Hawthorn.
Lily-of-the-valley is a fragrant flower signifying sweetness, humility, and a return to happiness whereas Hawthorn signifies hope and supreme happiness for anyone who receives them.
It was not long ago that I came across Paul Laurence Dunbar and I am absolutely fascinated by his writing style, there is something in his writing that resonates, having me to wish that I should read more of his poems but for now I will leave you in silence to enjoy this beautiful piece written by him.
THE LILY OF THE VALLEY
Sweetest of the flowers a-blooming
In the fragrant vernal days
Is the Lily of the Valley
With its soft, retiring ways.
Well, you chose this humble blossom
As the nurse's emblem flower,
Who grows more like her ideal
Every day and every hour.
Like the Lily of the Valley
In her honesty and worth,
Ah, she blooms in truth and virtue
In the quiet nooks of earth.
Tho' she stands erect in honor
When the heart of mankind bleeds,
Still she hides her own deserving
In the beauty of her deeds.
In the silence of the darkness
Where no eye may see and know,
There her footsteps shod with mercy,
And fleet kindness come and go.
Not amid the sounds of plaudits,
Nor before the garish day,
Does she shed her soul's sweet perfume,
Does she take her gentle way.
But alike her ideal flower,
With its honey-laden breath,
Still her heart blooms forth its beauty
In the valley shades of death.
sources:
https://www.almanac.com/content/may-birth-flowers
https://www.libraries.wright.edu/special/dunbar/poetry/191
Thank you for reading!
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sheshallfromtimetotime · 15 days ago
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In Summer Time
When summer time has come, and all The world is in the magic thrall Of perfumed airs that lull each sense To fits of drowsy indolence; When skies are deepest blue above, And flow'rs aflush,—then most I love To start, while early dews are damp, And wend my way in woodland tramp Where forests rustle, tree on tree, And sing their silent songs to me; Where pathways meet and pathways part,— To walk with Nature heart by heart, Till wearied out at last I lie Where some sweet stream steals singing by A mossy bank; where violets vie In color with the summer sky,— Or take my rod and line and hook, And wander to some darkling brook, Where all day long the willows dream, And idly droop to kiss the stream, And there to loll from morn till night— Unheeding nibble, run, or bite— Just for the joy of being there And drinking in the summer air, The summer sounds, and summer sights, That set a restless mind to rights When grief and pain and raging doubt Of men and creeds have worn it out; The birds' song and the water's drone, The humming bee's low monotone, The murmur of the passing breeze, And all the sounds akin to these, That make a man in summer time Feel only fit for rest and rhyme. Joy springs all radiant in my breast; Though pauper poor, than king more blest, The tide beats in my soul so strong That happiness breaks forth in song, And rings aloud the welkin blue With all the songs I ever knew. O time of rapture! time of song! How swiftly glide thy days along Adown the current of the years, Above the rocks of grief and tears! 'Tis wealth enough of joy for me In summer time to simply be. -Paul Laurence Dunbar (x)
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devilinthemeadow · 20 days ago
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This week's poem
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the-final-sentence · a month ago
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Oh, weep then thou awakest!
Paul Laurence Dunbar, from “Dreams”
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ochyming · 2 months ago
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Death
Storm and strife and stress, Lost in a wilderness, Groping to find a way, Forth to the haunts of day
Sudden a vista peeps, Out of the tangled deeps, Only a point-the ray But at the end is day.
Dark is the dawn and chill, Daylight is on the hill, Night is the flitting breath, Day rides the hills of death.
                   — Paul Laurence Dunbar
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nakeyab · 4 months ago
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"We Wear The Mask" Group Show at Higher Pictures Generation
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“We Wear The Mask” at @higherpicturesgeneration curated by photographer D’Angelo Lovell Williams @dangelolovellwilliams ❤️ Exhibiting artists include: Trent Bozeman Nakeya Brown Larry Cook Faith Couch Russell Frederick A.K. Jenkins Clifford Prince King Darryl DeAngelo Terrell Derrick Woods-Morrow Show on view Dec. 21 thru Feb. 27, 2021
Higher Pictures Generation 16 Main Street, Ground Floor Brooklyn, New York 11201
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annavonihlenburg · 5 months ago
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Thy tones are silver melted into sound.
Overdramatic teenage werewolf to his mother telling him he has to clean up his room before he’s allowed to go out.
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mvaljean525 · 5 months ago
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Prometheus stole from Heaven the sacred fire And swept to earth with it o'er land and sea. He lit the vestal flames of poesy, Content, for this, to brave celestial ire.
Wroth were the gods, and with eternal hate Pursued the fearless one who ravished Heaven That earth might hold in fee the perfect leaven To lift men's souls above their low estate.
But judge you now, when poets wield the pen, Think you not well the wrong has been repaired? 'Twas all in vain that ill Prometheus fared: The fire has been returned to Heaven again!
We have no singers like the ones whose note Gave challenge to the noblest warbler's song. We have no voice so mellow, sweet, and strong As that which broke from Shelley's golden throat.
The measure of our songs is our desires: We tinkle where old poets used to storm. We lack their substance tho' we keep their form: We strum our banjo-strings and call them lyres.
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Prometheus
Paul Laurence Dunbar  1872-1906
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Graphic - Walter Gramatté  1897-1929
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gwydionmisha · 7 months ago
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We Wear the Mask – Paul Laurence Dunbar
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   We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise,   We wear the mask!
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gracinglys · 7 months ago
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when you copy and paste the wrong sentence into your Shakespeare essay...
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diespulchra · 7 months ago
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tamsoj · 7 months ago
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A golden bird was singing Its melody divine, I found you and I loved you, And all the world was mine.
Paul Laurence Dunbar, “A Golden Day”
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middleland · 8 months ago
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Paul looking Out of Place
flickr
Paul looking Out of Place by Latronda Mejía Via Flickr:
Central High School, Dayton Ohio, 1890. Dunbar, top left, Orville Wright, 3rd from Dunbar. From the Wright Brothers Collection of Wright State University Libraries.
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macrolit · 8 months ago
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We Wear the Mask
We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar 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       We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise,       We wear the mask!
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didierleclair · 9 months ago
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Debt collectors are scavengers. The notion of interest is immoral.
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poem-today · 9 months ago
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A poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Debt
This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief, Sorrow without relief. Pay it I will to the end — Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release — Gives me the clasp of peace. Slight was the thing I bought, Small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best — God! but the interest!
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Paul Laurence Dunbar
(1872–1906)
Image: Dunbar grave site at Woodland Cemetery in Dayton, Ohio.
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