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POETRY & POWER

Slam for lunch?

4/26/2016

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Lunch...My favorite class period, where I learn the most information that actually applies to the growth and development of my character was somehow different on 4/22. Instead of my lunch consisting of regular "tea-time" as my fellow classmates refer to daily gossip, we was served with Slam Poetry! Joy started this rotation of extremely hot poetry with one of her own poems about self ignorance which I still to this day reflect upon! Many of our classmates were extremely shocked to see Joy share such a powerful poem due to her timid personality. Her poem had left many of us excited to see more performances and poetry. (You rock Joy!)

After Joy, we had Davon silence the room completely with her poem stating "But see, ya'll don't dream a woman into Africa until she's gone, write her poems and tell her how much you miss her but never actually lay claim to her." Which had many of the males in the room on hush mode with that big bite to swallow. (Appreciate women! Appreciate BLACK women) Reflecting on this poem still has me in awe on my worth and the worth of the many Queens before and after me. 

While mouths were still gaping, A very well known voice throughout City College had something big to say with a little motivation from me of course! Tobias tried to act like he wasn't a poet at heart with a message, so I had to kindly remind him that I know he wrote poetry because we used to rap in our Sophomore technology class. (Mixtape is well on its way) Once he started reading his poetry I felt like a proud mother because I knew of his capabilities he is just so silly! His very powerful poetry piece stated "Hypocritical stereotypical 'I love god but can't fully embrace Christianity' people hurt people." which had many people taken back because the content of his poem was very powerful but the voice it was coming from is known to be very silly. By Tobias sharing his poem it made people look at him in a new light. A poet with a big voice, big heart with a heavy message to display. 

After Tobias shared his amazing poetry about the hypocrisy of the images of religious people and the questioning of the intention of their faith, I was full and prepared to sit back and reflect on my own life experiences but many voices around me was wondering why I hadn't shared any of my work. Many people knew me for being very outspoken and never shy but in this moment...the infamous Jamesha Caldwell was shaking in her own boots. I was worried about the opinions of my peers (which I never do, but I'm an artist whose sensitive about my shit.) , Not only was I worried about the opinions of my peers but my global politics teacher was sitting in the room! Talking about pressure! But then I remembered who I was and my classmates have never known me to stand down from a challenge and they weren't going to start to perceive me as a punk. 

My poem goes like this....

"My body is my temple. 

My body is my temple. 

So let me get this through your fucking mental. 

You touch me without my permission, I'm going to show I'm not a victim. Get it through your cranium, your cerebral system, your nucleus , that powerhouse that makes your powerhouse twitch. 

I'm going to be more than a bitch. I'm going to be more than that witch. Imma show you a magic trick on how my tongue can turn into a whip. That'll give you whiplash so fast you better think fast, because my knuckles will turn to braze and you'll see my golden mask. 

Golden mask made up of women who have been beaten, battered, brutally attacked, Can't speak out and you know that that's a fact, Imma rewind this shit back because I used to be a young women who didn't have voice, But I found that shit from within in that deepend because I didn't have a choice. My story goes likes this. 

When you get tied, you get tired. No one saw my tears, played on my fears, destroyed my sense of pride that I hide from reality. Sink into a depression that drowns the souls of the forgotten, Murdered by the Rotten, corrupted by the disrupted. But my 4'11 me had to have a fight with the enemy because when you get tied, you get tired. I burned those chains, through them into acid rain and said that I am free, and I'm going to find and only be me. 

So my sisters that have no voice. I speak for you, I know what you've been through. I see only you for you. Ma, I know bitch isn't tattooed on your forehead. And I know you just want those niggas to go head, but I know your mama taught you respect, a simple ideology that niggas seem to neglect. 

Seems like, We going to have to protect each other, Because we are all we got. We are unknown creations, simple revelations, with complex conversations. We are young women who stand down to commands, we don't take demands, We are told to withstand from anything that isn't lady like, Brady like, and don't dare us to be crazy like because that'll really piss them off. 

But fuck them. It is in our Constitution of Vagina and I as a fellow citizen say that we should expect respect, we should have the option to neglect, and if you see me uncomfortable, bystander you should respond and protect. "- Jamesha Caldwell


At first it was silent, my breathing came to a complete halt. Then a rupture of applause came out. I was breathing again. Emotions was running high. The poem was very personal for me and if anyone had disagreed I was prepared to settle it like the cowboys. I knew that poem was legit, when my Global Politics teacher complimented my work. I knew my poem was legit when my friends who didn't know I wrote poetry complimented my work. I knew my poem was legit when I started believing that my work was good. 

-And that was Slam Lunch! Is anyone hungry? Because I'm full! 






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Poems, Bus fare, & the Mayor — By Patrice Hutton

2/10/2016

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​This semester, eighteen Baltimore City high school students have joined eighteen Johns Hopkins undergraduates to take Poetry and Social Justice, a course in The Writing Seminars Department at Johns Hopkins University. The undergraduates are taking the course for credit, and the Baltimore City students are taking the course because they love poetry. (You can read more about this collaboration between Writers in Baltimore Schools and Johns Hopkins here and here).

I’m not a poet, but I'm part of this class to coordinate student transportation. On Monday afternoons -- when two vans set out to pick up the 18 Baltimore City students who are taking this course -- I wish I had multiple cell phones.  Both the east and west-side vans make three pick-ups at schools, and after class each van makes nine drop-offs. Two weeks into class, we’re still working with the transit company to smooth out the routes, and consequently, I remain in constant contact with the students. I accompany students on one of the routes home, and last week, the bus was silent. Some students stared into math books and others dozed against the windows. After a full day in high school and then a class at Johns Hopkins, the kids were exhausted. The kids have been saintly in their patience--waiting in the rain, trekking across campuses to locate the bus, and not giving up and going home during the difficult first day of the routes.


Getting the Baltimore City high school students to and from Johns Hopkins feels like a miracle. Perhaps this is why I speak in the language of saints and their patience.

When I founded Writers in Baltimore Schools eight years ago, I wrote in my application to the Open Society Institute Baltimore Community Fellows program that I anticipated student transportation being a challenge. This was a hunch I had, having spent four years living in Baltimore as a Johns Hopkins undergrad. But it was only in practice that I truly came to understand what this meant. In 2009, when WBS held its first open mic, only one student showed up. This 4th grader attended because a teacher drove her, as her mother worked during the after school hours.

Baltimore students typically get to and from school with an S-Pass, a bus pass that lets them onto the bus up until 8 p.m. on weekdays. S-Passes do not work on the weekends. On weekends, students are on their own to pay for bus fare.

For the Poetry & Social Justice course, we’re fortunate to have Johns Hopkins footing the bill for our two vans. We worried about relying on students’ S-Passes, as some of our events would end past 8 p.m. (like last night's BreakBeat Poets’ performance after class, which most of our students stayed for). However, apart from our bus trip to camp, WBS typically does not have the luxury of chartering vehicles. I dream that we someday will be able to, but until then, we transport students to and from extracurricular literary events through kind volunteers and Uber rides. And Baltimore is a city full of extracurricular literary events.

Recently, I got looped into a Twitter conversation with Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake about this issue of student S-Passes not working on weekends. Backstory: I’d gone on a Twitter spree (below), which was spotted by a local activist, who then reached out to the Mayor.


Picture

@MayorSRB
 has responded several times to report that she’s looking into the issue, and I’m grateful to have her sustained attention. To ensure that this dialogue continues, I have embarked on a project of tweeting at her anytime I see an event that my students might enjoy attending.
​

Know of a literary event that Baltimore students might enjoy attending? Send it my way (@patricey), and I’ll both pass it along to students and ensure that Mayor Rawlings-Blake continues to understand what kind of opportunities Baltimore students regularly miss out on due to transportation challenges.

Patrice Hutton

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I am A Dream. — By Bryonna Reed

2/7/2016

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Every February thousands (if not millions) of students and educators across America, and the world, take a journey into black history as the historic feats of Martin, Rosa, and Malcolm are displayed. 

What about the grandeur of the everyday dreams which grace the streets of cities? Do we recognize the beauty in the dreams of teenage mothers who face the constant crossroads of statistics, reality, and internal struggles? Do we acknowledge the work of the student athlete who give 110% at practice knowing they have three papers due by Friday? 

They deserve their dreams.


I say this month we gaze upon the beauty, creativity, and innovation in everyday.
 
I challenge you to go out each day and recognize the daring work of a young person striving against the odds to make it.

Take the unique 29 days to marvel in the dreamers you witness accomplishing their incredible things. Onward from the brilliance and botany of George Washington Carver to the next scientific superhero. Compliment the work of the next Benjamin Mays, Empress Candace, or Toni Morrison. 

Support the dreamer. Propel the world.

Look.
Listen.
Learn.


The children have something-- everything-- to say, but will you be brave enough to hear them?


Comment below if you know a young person who deserves their dreams. 
​Share the fiyah.
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Sweetheart. — By Bryonna Reed

2/6/2016

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 "Ay sweetheart!"

The speed of light and sound ain't got nothing on the rhythm of my beating heart right now.

Trust me.

My anxiety could outrun Jesse Owens and Usain Bolt, then teach The Flash a thing or two about running a mile in these shoes because this sugar honey ice tea right here is not easy.
You try dodging bullets on the daily ride home and see how you like it.
Bullets like unwanted tongue lashing from a unknown figure in a black jacket who looks like he could be my neighbor's dad.

Am I overreacting? 
Nah.

I mean sure, maybe he's just trying to get to know me--in ways only my doctor and the woman who changed my diapers knew how.
But from where I'm standing his words burn like alcohol on a paper cut and I left all my band aids at home.

What's my problem?

I mean, maybe it's the constant cultural exploitation of my body as a market for music, clothing, and cosmetic sales while I sit back and wonder when MY beauty will be good enough to go from black market to center stage.

I mean it gotta be somethin' like that right?

Nevamind the fact that he's most likely, with 86% confidence, undressing me as I stand outside for 15 minutes waiting on a 22 west bound bus that is most likely, with 95% confidence, about 5 blocks away, but I'll just keep my eyes down. 

He can't bother what he can't see right? Oh wait, avoiding eye contact doesn't make me invisible? Shoot.

Did I mention the minimum 3 homeboys with him (just in case his verbal bullet wounds to my ego, identity, and self-esteem aren't enough)?

Man, I'm just trying to avoid being that 5'5, 140 lbs somebody's daughter on Fox 45 after prime time because I know that in a house somewhere between Northern Parkway and Charles Village I'll be charged with "asking for it".

Oh yeah, Ruby Woo by MAC definitely should come with the warning label:
"In case of any public appearance, like anywhere, ever, this lipstick becomes synonymous with yes to all sexual, romantic, or just plain arrogant advances."

Note to self: I was born with this skin, this hair, this life, so somewhere I'll always be asking for it.

BRYONNA REED
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    Young Writers in Baltimore . . . 

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