the Contemporary Evil

This is a powerful poem.  I hope you enjoy it.

Love, light and blessings

Vee

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 contemplation

By:  Vickie M. Ortiz Vazquez

I am tired, of you

I am tired of you and those like you
Taking away without re-precautions
Lurking, using your authority to get away
Surfing to the light as if nothing has taken place
Smiling
Breathing
Laughing

I am tired, of you
I am tired of you and those like you
Hiding behind peacock feathers, beautiful colors
Disguise that fools everyone, including you
Contemplating when would be your next fix
You walk among us smiling, breathing, laughing
As if nothing is out of the ordinary, just another day
Your life mirrors what everyone knows yet refuses to act on
Refuses to stand up, shout no more
Rise above, fight against you

I am tired, of you
I am tired of you and those like you
Vociferando lies, fables that continues to weave the shield that protects you
With every call a menace is release upon us
Trusting we wait, hope opens the doors
Suddenly; pitch black
She said, he said

I am tired, of you
I am tired of you and those like you
Hiding behind the oldest, largest legal gang of the world
Oath to protect and served
Unbalanced, to find minimum to no protecting, serving
Deaf ears to what she said, experienced, lost
Struck not once but twice within the same moment
Entrust with life, not enough to be heardI am tired, of you
I am tired of you and those like you
My skin opens, bleeds with every news of your protected lifestyle
Your privilege life hiding behind the color blue
Walking along a white man’s anthem
As old as the blues
Weeps uncontrollably my skin
Not seen, not heard, nor spoken
Swept under the rug my pain, her lost and unfortunately her inheritance
Mind, I can be your grandmother, mother, sister, daughter
Don’t fix upon me the undesired, unwanted
I am tired
Aren’t you?

Invictus

William Ernest HenleyWilliam Ernest Hanley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley (August 23, 1849 – July 11, 1903) was a British poet, critic and editor.

Henley was born in Gloucester and educated at the Crypt Grammar School. The school was a poor relation of the Cathedral School, and Henley indicated its shortcomings in his article (Pall Mall Magazine, Nov. 1900) on T. E. Brown the poet, who was headmaster there for a brief period. Brown’s appointment was a stroke of luck for Henley, for whom it represented a first acquaintance with a man of genius. “He was singularly kind to me at a moment when I needed kindness even more than I needed encouragement.” Brown did him the essential service of lending him books. Henley was no classical scholar, but his knowledge and love of literature were vital.

After suffering tuberculosis as a boy, he found himself, in 1874, aged twenty-five, an inmate of the hospital at Edinburgh. From there he sent to the Cornhill Magazine where he wrote poems in irregular rhythms, describing with poignant force his experiences in hospital. Leslie Stephen, then editor, visited his contributor in hospital and took Robert Louis Stevenson, another recruit of the Cornhill, with him. The meeting between Stevenson and Henley, and the friendship of which it was the beginning, form one of the best-known episodes in English literature (see Stevenson’s letter to Mrs Sitwell, Jan. 1875, and Henley’s poems “An Apparition” and “Envoy to Charles Baxter”).

In 1877 Henley went to London and began his editorial career by editing London, a journal written for the sake of its contributors rather than the public. Among other distinctions it first gave to the world The New Arabian Nights of Stevenson. Henley himself contributed a series of verses chiefly in old French forms. He had been writing poetry since 1872, but (so he told the world in his “ advertisement” to his collected Poems, 1898) he “found himself about 1877 so utterly unmarketable that he had to own himself beaten in art and to addict himself to journalism for the next ten years.” When London folded, he edited the Magazine of Art from 1882 to 1886. At the end of that period he came into the public eye as a poet. In 1887 Gleeson White made for the popular series of Canterbury Poets (edited by William Sharp) a selection of poems in old French forms. In his selection Gleeson White included many pieces from London, and only after completing the selection did he discover that the verses were all by Henley. In the following year, HB Donkin in his volume Voluntaries, written for an East End hospital, included Henley’s unrhymed rhythms quintessentializing the poet’s memories of the old Edinburgh Infirmary. Alfred Nutt read these, and asked for more; and in 1888 his firm published A Book of Verse.

Henley was by this time well known within a restricted literary circle, and the publication of this volume determined his fame as a poet, which rapidly outgrew these limits, two new editions of the volume being printed within three years. In this same year (1888) Fitzroy Bell started the Scots Observer in Edinburgh, with Henley as literary editor, and early in 1889 Bell left the conduct of the paper to him. It was a weekly review on the lines of the old Saturday Review, but inspired in every paragraph by the vigorous and combative personality of the editor. It was transferred to London as the National Observer, and remained under Henley’s editorship until 1893. Though, as Henley confessed, the paper had almost as many writers as readers, and its fame was mainly confined to the literary class, it was a lively and influential feature of the literary life of its time. Henley had the editor’s great gift of discerning promise, and the “Men of the Scots Observer,” as Henley affectionately and characteristically called his band of contributors, in most instances justified his insight. The paper found utterance for the growing imperialism of its day, and among other services to literature gave to the world Rudyard Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads.