National Poetry Month

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In February we have Black History month, March is Women’s History Month, so The Academy of American Poets decided to get a month dedicated to Poetry and celebrate the literacy marvel that poetry is. In 1996 they partnered with government agency to set this up.

Many wonder what the purpose of National Poetry month is though.

For some is acquiring more poetry to be brought into the classroom. Weather that be Robert Frost or Maya Angelou. For others its make note of all the great poets we have in the world and what they are doing. Others it helps with sales of publication of written poetry and to have more community involvement overall. In an sense it is to bring light to poetry which has being shrouded in the back section of the library for too long.

Here is a list of poems from great poets of all backgrounds.


A Tear And A Smile – Poem by Khalil Gibran


I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart

For the joys of the multitude.

And I would not have the tears that sadness makes

To flow from my every part turn into laughter.


I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.


A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding

Of life’s secrets and hidden things.

A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and

To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods.


A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;

A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.


I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.


I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the

Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are

Satisfied the most wretched of people.

I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.


With evening’s coming the flower folds her petals

And sleeps, embracingher longing.

At morning’s approach she opens her lips to meet

The sun’s kiss.


The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment.

A tear and a smile.


The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come

Together and area cloud.


And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys

Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping

To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home.


The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting.

A tear and a smile.


And so does the spirit become separated from

The greater spirit to move in the world of matter

And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow

And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death

And return whence it came.


To the ocean of Love and Beauty—-to God.


Broken English – Poem by Rupi Kaur


I think about the way my father pulled the family out of poverty

without knowing what a vowel was.

And my mother raised 4 children

without being able to construct a perfect sentence in English

A discombobulated couple that landed in the new world

with hopes that left the bitter taste of rejection in their mouth.

No family no friends, just man and wife,

Two university degrees that meant nothing,

one mother tongue that was broken now,

one swollen belly with a baby inside.

A father worried about jobs and rent

coz no matter what this baby was coming.


And they thought to themselves for a split second

was it worth it to put all of our money

into the dream of a country that is swallowing us whole.

And papa looks at his woman’s eyes

and sees the loneliness living where the iris was.

Wants to give her a home in a country

that looks at her with the word visitor wrapped around their tongue.

On their wedding day she left an entire village to be his wife

and now she left an entire country to be a warrior.

And when the winter came they had nothing,

but the heat of their own bodies to keep the coldness out.

And like 2 brackets they face one another

to hold the dearest parts of them,

their children close.


They turned a suitcase full of clothes

into a life and regular paychecks

to make sure that children of immigrants

wouldn’t hate them for being the children of immigrants

They worked too hard – you can tell by their hands,

their eyes are begging for sleep

but our mouths were begging to be fed

and that is the most artistic thing I have ever seen.

It is poetry to these ears that has never heard

what passion sounds like

and my mouth is full of likes and uhms

when I look at their masterpiece

‘coz there are no words in the English language

that can articulate that kind of beauty.


I can’t compact their existence into 26 letters and call it a description

I tried once but the adjectives needed to describe them don’t even exist

so I ended up with pages and pages full of words

followed with commas and more words and more comas

only to realize that there are some things in the world

so infinite that they can never use a full stop.


So how dare you mock your mother

when she opens her mouth

and broken English spills out.

Her accent is thick like honey,

hold it with your life,

it’s the only thing she has left from home.

Don’t stomp on that richness,

instead hang it up on the walls

of museums next to Dali and Van Gogh

Her life is brilliant and tragic.

Kiss the side of her tender cheek.

She already knows what it sounds like

to have an entire nation laugh when she speaks.

She’s more than our punctuation and language.

We might be able to take pictures and write stories,

but she made an entire world for herself.

How’s that for art


All of Us By Erika L. Sánchez

Every day I am born like this—

No chingues. Nothing happens

for the first time. Not the neon

sign that says vacant, not the men

nor the jackals who resemble them.

I take my bones inscribed by those

who came before, and learn

to court myself under a violence

of stars. I prefer to become demon,

what their eyes cannot. Half of me

is beautiful, half of me is a promise

filled with the quietest places.

Every day I pray like a dog

in the mirror and relish the crux

of my hurt. We know Lilith ate

the bones of her enemies. We know

a bitch learns to love her own ghost.