We Are Beautiful and Ugly Too
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
The Classic Corner: Langston Hughes tribute
Co-Hosts - Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze
Part XXIV in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.
James Mercer Langston Hughes ( February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967 ) was a central figure in the Harlem Renaissance - the flowering of black intellectual, literary, and artistic life that took place in the 1920s in a number of American cities. A major poet, Hughes also wrote novels, short stories, essays, and plays. He sought to honestly portray the joys and hardships of working-class black lives, avoiding both sentimental idealization and negative stereotypes. As he wrote in his essay “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain,” “We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame. If white people are pleased we are glad. If they are not, it doesn’t matter. We know we are beautiful. And ugly too.”
Hughes is one of the earliest innovators of the then-new literary art form known as jazz poetry. He incorporated the syncopated rhythms and repetitive phrases of blues and jazz music into his writing.
Many Harlem Renaissance writers were deeply concerned with racial pride and with the creation of purely African-American poetry. Since jazz music was an important part of African-American culture at the time, Hughes and others like him adapted the musical genre to create their own, singularly African-American voices that could easily be distinguished from the work of white poets. Many of Hughes' poems, such as "The Weary Blues", sound almost exactly like popular jazz and blues songs of the period, and vice versa. His work is also highly evocative of spirituals.
From 1942 to 1962, as the civil rights movement was gaining traction, he wrote an in-depth weekly column in a leading black newspaper, The Chicago Defender.
Guidelines
Write up to 2 New Poems honoring Hughes inspired by any one or more of his poems. We feel listing particular poems may be constricting, and want you to follow the inspiration wherever it leads.
Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poems by Eliot. The more we feel you "capturing his essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score. This will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience - a wide range of factors.
The Rules
1. Up to two entries per DUP persona.
2. No erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW ( Extreme Content Warning ).
3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300.
4. Any form is acceptable ( but studying the poet is advised ).
5. Webmiss has already created #LangstonHughes in the theme list. The page will automatically generate as soon as eight entrants hashtag the theme. Do NOT copy paste your poem to the competition, it must be linked to your page with the below information.
6. In your poem's notes, provide links and or titles to the poem(s) by Hughes that inspired yours. Without these, we have no way of determining if you were truly inspired by Hughes or simply swapped fresh words into his existing poetry ( which is a form of plagiarism ).
LASTLY**** ALL NON-ELIGIBLE ENTRIES WILL BE REMOVED. This is not a competition to deliberately ignore guidelines so as to advertise your work.
Comp will be judged by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze. As in the past and in the event there is a tie, we will call in third ( and possibly fourth ) judge.
You have one month; best of luck to all entrants!
Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
Forum Posts: 5134
jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
154
Joined 9th Nov 2015 Forum Posts: 5134
Fallen Angels
( after Langston Hughes )
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head,
Recitin’ in a rhyme of my own kin.
A rhythm that I’m dancin’ in my bed,
A black man in a coffee-flavored skin.
To see me on a slave ship below deck,
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head.
An’ here we are a-pitchin’ till we retch,
I pray I’m only dreamin’ an’ not dead.
The ship is swallowed in a sky of red,
As if ol’ Satan’s army is a swarm.
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head,
The cries of fallen angels in the storm.
To all the slaves each turnin’ on a wheel
As ev’ry chain an’ shackle now is shed.
A time to kill becomes a time to heal,
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head.
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head,
Recitin’ in a rhyme of my own kin.
A rhythm that I’m dancin’ in my bed,
A black man in a coffee-flavored skin.
To see me on a slave ship below deck,
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head.
An’ here we are a-pitchin’ till we retch,
I pray I’m only dreamin’ an’ not dead.
The ship is swallowed in a sky of red,
As if ol’ Satan’s army is a swarm.
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head,
The cries of fallen angels in the storm.
To all the slaves each turnin’ on a wheel
As ev’ry chain an’ shackle now is shed.
A time to kill becomes a time to heal,
I’m waken’d by a po’em in my head.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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Heaven_sent_Kathy
Forum Posts: 177
Thought Provoker
9
Joined 1st Nov 2017 Forum Posts: 177
Red Rose Blues
( after Langston Hughes )
The rain is falling down upon the grave,
I’m by myself without a friend in sight.
A woman of the streets committed sin,
With no man of her own chose suicide.
And yet I’m God I’m helpless what to do,
The rain is falling down upon the grave.
Beneath the stone she’s buried in the cold,
While I on high between can only watch.
The flowers that I grow within the yard,
Only to kill herself when Winter came.
The rain is falling down upon the grave,
As couples passing by will never know.
Above, my perfect world is where I stay,
Awaiting Spring for roses red to bloom.
I’d send her red, red roses ev’ry day.
The rain is falling down upon the grave.
The rain is falling down upon the grave,
I’m by myself without a friend in sight.
A woman of the streets committed sin,
With no man of her own chose suicide.
And yet I’m God I’m helpless what to do,
The rain is falling down upon the grave.
Beneath the stone she’s buried in the cold,
While I on high between can only watch.
The flowers that I grow within the yard,
Only to kill herself when Winter came.
The rain is falling down upon the grave,
As couples passing by will never know.
Above, my perfect world is where I stay,
Awaiting Spring for roses red to bloom.
I’d send her red, red roses ev’ry day.
The rain is falling down upon the grave.
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16697
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16697
slipalong
Forum Posts: 852
Dangerous Mind
41
Joined 1st Jan 2018Forum Posts: 852
The blues I knew
In the main parade
lounging on the bar with a dead beer
Heard strains from a small honky-tonk
Needin some more suthrn cheeer
The piano man he played
The ol blues in shades of grey
tun'es my granny sang
Pullin me to hum along
From hard work and pain
The blues down payment
Not content but lament
From blood and toil was it distilled
Dat coin dat paid the bill
Drums his foot while we all nod
The blues of street of dust and hot
Dat beaten fields of sweat
The shackled, servile just like dogs
Us smiled as one and sang to god
Inspiration "The Weary Blues"
lounging on the bar with a dead beer
Heard strains from a small honky-tonk
Needin some more suthrn cheeer
The piano man he played
The ol blues in shades of grey
tun'es my granny sang
Pullin me to hum along
From hard work and pain
The blues down payment
Not content but lament
From blood and toil was it distilled
Dat coin dat paid the bill
Drums his foot while we all nod
The blues of street of dust and hot
Dat beaten fields of sweat
The shackled, servile just like dogs
Us smiled as one and sang to god
Inspiration "The Weary Blues"
Written by slipalong
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case28
Alexander Case
Forum Posts: 2084
Alexander Case
Dangerous Mind
42
Joined 16th June 2013Forum Posts: 2084
Related submission no longer exists.
russell_snow
Forum Posts: 25
Twisted Dreamer
4
Joined 19th Mar 2019Forum Posts: 25
Opportunity Bridge
(1920's jazz poetry)
We were born crawlin' on de
Coal side of de tracks
We were born crawlin' on de
Cold side of de tracks
Burnin' holes in our pockets
Soon's we buyin' a shirt an' some slacks
An' we were born dyin' on de first
Day we walked
We were born dyin' on de first
Day we walked
Now we hearin' 'bout a life to live
Out beyond de docks
Lawd knows our train
Left de station an' it's long gone
Lawd knows our train
Left de station an' it's long long gone
Long long, long long gone
Saw dreams crossin' a river
Without us ridin' along
An' if I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
(Woooooo!)
If I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
(Woooo wooo-)
Takin' you along
Oh
Takin' you along
Yes, when I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
Said when 'had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
Lawd, I'm bringin' de
Whole world with you an' me
Up an' o'er that ridge
We were born crawlin' on de
Coal side of de tracks
We were born crawlin' on de
Cold side of de tracks
Burnin' holes in our pockets
Soon's we buyin' a shirt an' some slacks
An' we were born dyin' on de first
Day we walked
We were born dyin' on de first
Day we walked
Now we hearin' 'bout a life to live
Out beyond de docks
Lawd knows our train
Left de station an' it's long gone
Lawd knows our train
Left de station an' it's long long gone
Long long, long long gone
Saw dreams crossin' a river
Without us ridin' along
An' if I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
(Woooooo!)
If I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
(Woooo wooo-)
Takin' you along
Oh
Takin' you along
Yes, when I had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
Said when 'had ma own mount'n
I'd build an opportunity bridge
Lawd, I'm bringin' de
Whole world with you an' me
Up an' o'er that ridge
Written by russell_snow
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Josh
Joshua Bond
Forum Posts: 1820
Joshua Bond
Tyrant of Words
41
Joined 2nd Feb 2017Forum Posts: 1820
Let’s all go to the Quadroon Ball
Oh no, you’re mulatto, you can’t go
As the white guys ogle at the off-white gals
But the black guys can’t - no, they can’t go
I’m sort of an octoroon you see
So I should get in, yes I should get in
But my skin’s too black despite white blood
And the Jim Crow grins look meanly grim
Let’s all go to the Quadroon Ball
The music’s good, the dance-floor wide
But Federal Laws don’t reach this State
So I’m standing here, all cold, outside.
#LangstonHughes
Poem relates to Langston’s poem “Cross” which you can find here:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/150989/cross
Author’s Notes
“Racism had become institutionalised often to an insane degree. The state of Louisiana was particularly involved in what was called ‘sangularity’, the ‘measuring’ of African blood in an individual. The categories of sangularity were: Mulatto — one black parent, one white parent; quadroon — one white grandparent, one African grandparent; octoroon —one white great-grandparent, one African great-grandparent. A bit like grading a dog or cat. Each of these degrees of sangularity had its own societies and was treated differently. Quadroons often looked white and there was a famous ‘Quadroon Ball’ in New Orleans where men could go and ogle at blonde, blue-eyed, ivory-skinned girls who were not ‘quite white’. Needless to say, black men were not allowed to these parties!”
(pages 29-30 in ‘Langston Hughes: the value of contradiction” by Bonnie Greer, Arcadia Books, 2011)
PoetsRevenge
Forum Posts: 749
Dangerous Mind
29
Joined 30th June 2016Forum Posts: 749
Southern Mammy Sings (Hung Up On A Dream)
'Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly'
-Langston Hughes
Mammy done hung some clothes on a line,
All dem white sheets in a wind was flyin'--
An' ole Mammy's hair was wrapped up tight,
Oh, tight as dreams jus' crawlin' away
As if they night critters lit by day.
An' if two pennies a dream do make,
Why can't dem coins lay claim to stake
What Mammy given, shore she'll take --
It ain't enough for a fair shake
If she found dem rizen in de weeds she raked.
An' if some bird rose on the wing
Nuttin it dropped wouldn't change a thing
Dem linens' colors wouldn't never change --
Their whiteness ever would remain;
A spot of brown would be a stain
To be removed by lye and rain.
An' if there ever was a time
Mammy hung soilt laundry on de line
Colored as earth all dusty brown --
Such freedom would upset dis town
To hear the birds would sing that proud
Lawd, dey would just shoot 'em down!
.....
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly'
-Langston Hughes
Mammy done hung some clothes on a line,
All dem white sheets in a wind was flyin'--
An' ole Mammy's hair was wrapped up tight,
Oh, tight as dreams jus' crawlin' away
As if they night critters lit by day.
An' if two pennies a dream do make,
Why can't dem coins lay claim to stake
What Mammy given, shore she'll take --
It ain't enough for a fair shake
If she found dem rizen in de weeds she raked.
An' if some bird rose on the wing
Nuttin it dropped wouldn't change a thing
Dem linens' colors wouldn't never change --
Their whiteness ever would remain;
A spot of brown would be a stain
To be removed by lye and rain.
An' if there ever was a time
Mammy hung soilt laundry on de line
Colored as earth all dusty brown --
Such freedom would upset dis town
To hear the birds would sing that proud
Lawd, dey would just shoot 'em down!
.....
Written by PoetsRevenge
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wallyroo92
Forum Posts: 1858
Tyrant of Words
153
Joined 11th July 2012Forum Posts: 1858
The Beast
This piece is for the migrants who died,
Or survived,
Or have been maimed,
For the poor in search of a better life,
Praying,
That their dreams come true,
When they faced the Beast.
Those who traveled thousands of miles,
Along the countryside,
Through cities and towns of Mexico
On the way north,
Through the dangers and perils
Of gangs and robbers
Crooked cops,
Beaten and raped,
Who have lost limbs
Under the wheels of the iron horse
But the Beast doesn’t care.
This is for the countless stories
And some that go untold
Of the dismembered bodies along the tracks
Wailing in the night,
Those buried in graves without names,
Called in prayers by relatives in the distance,
Tears filled with fears
Escaping corrupt police,
And blood thirsty criminals,
Constantly on the attack.
The journey to freedom is a costly one,
By muggings, brutal beatings and sexual assault,
To frighten the people…
The migrants who die under the wheels of the iron horse,
Poor and desperate looking to escape,
And those who are caught
They are sent back home in the bus of tears
And many try the journey north, again and again.
So many have died,
So many have been disfigured by man and machine,
But their spirit,
Still willing to reach freedom,
In search of relatives and parents,
Can’t be broken.
In a war with no name,
These children go through hell
To once again embrace their mothers
Looking for answers and wanting to feel love
And joy, and laughter...
Their brown faces filled with hope
That they’ll reach the north
That they survived the Beast
And tell stories of those who died.
Or survived,
Or have been maimed,
For the poor in search of a better life,
Praying,
That their dreams come true,
When they faced the Beast.
Those who traveled thousands of miles,
Along the countryside,
Through cities and towns of Mexico
On the way north,
Through the dangers and perils
Of gangs and robbers
Crooked cops,
Beaten and raped,
Who have lost limbs
Under the wheels of the iron horse
But the Beast doesn’t care.
This is for the countless stories
And some that go untold
Of the dismembered bodies along the tracks
Wailing in the night,
Those buried in graves without names,
Called in prayers by relatives in the distance,
Tears filled with fears
Escaping corrupt police,
And blood thirsty criminals,
Constantly on the attack.
The journey to freedom is a costly one,
By muggings, brutal beatings and sexual assault,
To frighten the people…
The migrants who die under the wheels of the iron horse,
Poor and desperate looking to escape,
And those who are caught
They are sent back home in the bus of tears
And many try the journey north, again and again.
So many have died,
So many have been disfigured by man and machine,
But their spirit,
Still willing to reach freedom,
In search of relatives and parents,
Can’t be broken.
In a war with no name,
These children go through hell
To once again embrace their mothers
Looking for answers and wanting to feel love
And joy, and laughter...
Their brown faces filled with hope
That they’ll reach the north
That they survived the Beast
And tell stories of those who died.
Written by wallyroo92
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ClassyBird
ClAsSyBiRdMeLlA
Forum Posts: 24
ClAsSyBiRdMeLlA
Twisted Dreamer
1
Joined 24th Oct 2019Forum Posts: 24
In Between
Keep your head down child,
Don't you dare look them in the eyes,
If the white man ask you a question, you answer.
You do not speak unless you are asked to,
Mind your manners now,
It's, “Yes sir, no ma’am”.
These are the rules I was born into
Passed down by my ancestors
From the dark skinned woman and strong black man
to their Negro children.
Sometimes I wonder if these rules apply to me,
As my skin glows differently.
Master calls me his ‘Special one’
I figured that's the reason why,
I'm neither white nor black
and can’t pick a side.
My Negro Pa
don't look me in the eyes,
He don't say much to me either.
I figured he’s probably jealous of my lighter shade skin.
Master sneaks me candy sometime,
when I'm standing next to Ma.
She don't look him in the eyes
but I seen the way he looks at her,
It’s the same way my Pa looks at Ma
Sometime I wonder why I is so different
Why my eyes look like the colour of sky,
Why my skin don’t match Ma's skin,
Why my hair is different from Pa's,
I asked Ma why I’m so different,
she said, I ask to many questions
And that I should just thank God,
for making me special.
Ps. I’ve never tasted that sugar cane candy, Ma says that’s candy from the devil.
Don't you dare look them in the eyes,
If the white man ask you a question, you answer.
You do not speak unless you are asked to,
Mind your manners now,
It's, “Yes sir, no ma’am”.
These are the rules I was born into
Passed down by my ancestors
From the dark skinned woman and strong black man
to their Negro children.
Sometimes I wonder if these rules apply to me,
As my skin glows differently.
Master calls me his ‘Special one’
I figured that's the reason why,
I'm neither white nor black
and can’t pick a side.
My Negro Pa
don't look me in the eyes,
He don't say much to me either.
I figured he’s probably jealous of my lighter shade skin.
Master sneaks me candy sometime,
when I'm standing next to Ma.
She don't look him in the eyes
but I seen the way he looks at her,
It’s the same way my Pa looks at Ma
Sometime I wonder why I is so different
Why my eyes look like the colour of sky,
Why my skin don’t match Ma's skin,
Why my hair is different from Pa's,
I asked Ma why I’m so different,
she said, I ask to many questions
And that I should just thank God,
for making me special.
Ps. I’ve never tasted that sugar cane candy, Ma says that’s candy from the devil.
Written by ClassyBird
(ClAsSyBiRdMeLlA)
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#LangstonHughes
Poem titled "Cross" inspired this piece
Link:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/150989/cross
Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
Forum Posts: 5134
jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
154
Joined 9th Nov 2015 Forum Posts: 5134
Stories On A Dime
( after Langston Hughes )
Ever since as a man full grown
With some things of my own,
From the cost-of-living wages
Of my job of six days, is
How I came to own a TV set
From a pawnshop bet,
Made by a son of a white man’s
Cancelled installment plan.
But what I see on local news,
Of cigarettes and booze,
Will never be like yesterday
When Grandpa went away.
A nickel steak at roadside eats,
Fried eggs you couldn’t beat.
Flapjacks, like dining at the Ritz,
(Run by black widow Mrs Fritz),
Pie a la mode, two bits.
Five dollars lasted for a week,
No high life of a sheik.
But for the girls back in the day
He’d always pay their way.
He had a car and as he passed
To Heaven, cheap on gas,
He didn’t need a graveyard plot
But traveled there a lot.
Ever since as a man full grown
With some things of my own,
From the cost-of-living wages
Of my job of six days, is
How I came to own a TV set
From a pawnshop bet,
Made by a son of a white man’s
Cancelled installment plan.
But what I see on local news,
Of cigarettes and booze,
Will never be like yesterday
When Grandpa went away.
A nickel steak at roadside eats,
Fried eggs you couldn’t beat.
Flapjacks, like dining at the Ritz,
(Run by black widow Mrs Fritz),
Pie a la mode, two bits.
Five dollars lasted for a week,
No high life of a sheik.
But for the girls back in the day
He’d always pay their way.
He had a car and as he passed
To Heaven, cheap on gas,
He didn’t need a graveyard plot
But traveled there a lot.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16697
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16697
Less than 24 hours to enter! The judging has already begun!
Thank you to all entrants who braved the classics this month!
Thank you to all entrants who braved the classics this month!
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Forum Posts: 177
Thought Provoker
9
Joined 1st Nov 2017 Forum Posts: 177
A Time No Weather Came
( after Langston Hughes )
It was a time no weather came,
The truant children all ran out.
The hydrant blasts like summer rain
As joyful bodies leapt about.
From windowed tenements’ hot air,
It was a time no weather came.
Grandmother’s rocking in a chair,
A ceiling fan slow-turns in pain.
So wasn’t breeze or wind to tame
And not a bird flew in the sky.
It was a time no weather came,
For days my tan skin never dried.
A busy cricket through the night
Is chirping to his lady flame,
From city towers’ lofty heights;
It was a time no weather came.
It was a time no weather came,
The truant children all ran out.
The hydrant blasts like summer rain
As joyful bodies leapt about.
From windowed tenements’ hot air,
It was a time no weather came.
Grandmother’s rocking in a chair,
A ceiling fan slow-turns in pain.
So wasn’t breeze or wind to tame
And not a bird flew in the sky.
It was a time no weather came,
For days my tan skin never dried.
A busy cricket through the night
Is chirping to his lady flame,
From city towers’ lofty heights;
It was a time no weather came.
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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