Transcript Inaugural Poem [critique or post your own]

NowPublic ^ | Jan. 20, 2009 | Elizabeth Alexander

[smokingfrog]

Inaugural Poem

The following is a transcript of the inaugural poem recited by Elizabeth Alexander.

---

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

[smokingfrog]

I bet we have some FReepers that can do better than this.

[ferri]

man. i was afraid that poem was going to be like The Song That Never Ends. LOL

[Tarpon]

That’s a work of art, to change it would destroy it’s essence.

[optiguy]

I’m aware some stare at my hair.
In fact, to be fair,
Some really despair of my hair.
But I don’t care,
Cause they’re not aware,
Nor are they devonaire.
In fact, they’re just square.

They see hair down to there,
Say, “Beware” and go off on a tear!
I say, “No fair!”
A head that’s bare is really nowhere.
So be like a bear, be fair with your hair!
Show it you care.
Wear it to there.
Or to there.
Or to there, if you dare!

My wife bought some hair at a fair, to use as a spare.
Did I care?
Au contraire!
Spare hair is fair!
In fact, hair can be rare.
Fred Astair got no hair,
Nor does a chair,
Nor nor a chocolate eclair,
And where is the hair on a pear?
Nowhere, mon frere!

So now that I’ve shared this affair of the hair,
I’m going to repair to my lair and use Nair, do you care?

—George Carlin

[Bigg Red]

There are 4-year-olds who could do better.

[Viking2002]

'I bet we have some FReepers that can do better than this. '

'There once was a man from Nantucket........'

[21twelve]

Sounds like she might have been channeling Jim Morrison (The Doors) during some acid trip that went bad for her:

An American Prayer (by Jim Morrison)

Do you know the warm progress
Under the stars?

Do you know we exist?
Have you forgotten the keys
To the kingdom?

Have you been borne yet
& are you alive?

Let’s reinvent the gods,
All the myths of the ages
Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests
[have you forgotten the lessons
Of the ancient war]

We need great golden copulations

The fathers are cackling in trees
Of the forest,
Our mother is dead in the sea

.......

O great creator of being

Grant us one more hour to
Perform our art
& perfect our lives

The moths & atheists are doubly divine
& dying

We live, we die
& death not ends it

Journey we more into
The nightmare
Cling to life
Our passion’d flower

.......

[freebilly]

Minor league poem by a minor league talent....

[smokingfrog]

Change is nigh,
Hope is high,
Pundits sigh,
and Bush says: "bye, bye."

Power is lost,
Power is gained,
Peaceful transfer,
Is that the answer?

Some go to parties, dances and balls,
Some stay at home, looking at walls,
We see many so overwhelmed that they weep,  
But as for me, I'll just hang with my FReeps.

[manic4organic]

There once was a man from Kenya

Who sold some coke as a teen, yeah!

He baffled the sheep

Helped by media creeps

And to his crook friends he says "be seein' ya."

[Ballygrl]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This day really sucked
It’s almost over, woohoo

I think I did better then the poet :)

[Blue Highway]

I hope that was sarcasm... Michael Medved said it best that this woman is a failed attempt to be a wannabe Dr. Seuss...

[Pining_4_TX]

Here ya go!

Poem For President Obama Upon His Inauguration

There once was a man from Chicago,

Who said to the White House will I go.

With a confident smile

and a truckload of guile,

He’ll take down your assets to zero.

[grey_whiskers]

There was a young Negro from Kenya
Who agreed with Helicopter Ben, Yeh.

Economics so wrong
It was such a Sad Song
Jimmy Carter sounded like Enya!

[grey_whiskers]

...who liked to watch Kirby Puckett.

[Fiji Hill]

I bet we have some FReepers that can do better than this.

How about this one?

Jane Fonda's red
Violets are blue
Stalin is dead
I wish she were, too

[Tzimisce]

This poem sucks $h!t. How much did we pay for this?

The sad part is that it will win all kinds of awards....

[denydenydeny]

This is what the lovely inaugural poem reminded me of:

Dark and lonely on a summer’s night
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Watchdog barking
Do he bite?
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Slip in his window
Break his neck
Then his house
I start to wreck
Got no reason
What the heck
Kill my Landlord
Kill my landlord
C-I-L-L
my l a n d l o r d

—Tyrone Green (a.k.a. Eddie Murphy)

[A CA Guy]

Obama is forced to make a choice on the record and can not just vote present; he wets himself!

[Viking2002]

Nice save.

[Islander7]

THE FACELESS GROW DEATH GRABS THE FLOWER.
WHERE IS THE HOT LIGHT?
NEVER PUSH A TRUCK.
WHY DOES THE WINDOW GO?

WHERE IS THE SMALL WINDOW?
O, OOH TURD!
WHERE IS THE MISTY LIGHT?

JACKHAMMERS FAITH LIKE RAINY HUSTLES.
THE COLD RUN FAITH GETS THE DRIVER.
DAMN, AH TURD!
TALK ROUGHLY LIKE A LOVE CITY.
THE COLD WALK FAITH BUYS THE TRUCK.

NEVER GRAB A TRUCK.
THE FAST TALK EXHAUSTION PUSHES THE STREET.
WHY DOES THE FLOWER SHRINK?

THE ROUGHLY WALKS LIKE A FAST GIRL.
WALK CALMLY LIKE A SELL WINDOW.
THE QUIETLY RUNS LIKE A DARK CORNER.
NOISE IS A NOISY TRUCK FAT.
WORK IS A COLD LIGHT FAT.
WHERE IS THE DEAD DRIVER?

THE CALMLY SHOPS LIKE A DARK CIGARETTE.
FACELESS, MISTY CORNERS ROUGHLY SELL A RAINY, HOT SKYSCRAPER.

---

Makes as much sense as the crap she wrote.

[grey_whiskers]

Thanks, but you're a Viking. I live in Minneapolis.

Look out for the last line of the limerick, it's a doozy!

A woman whose clothing was strewed
By breezes which left her quite nude
Saw a man come along
And, unless I am wrong
You expected this line to be lewd.

Cheers!

[Notasoccermom]

This poem smacks of wealth redistribution...only struggling Americans, children and underpaid teachers are mentioned...it implies that anyone rich and successful is not capable of love.

[smokingfrog]

Tomorrow is a King Sized Drag, man!

[Notasoccermom]

Why not just read the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians?

[Intolerant in NJ]

More vision and sensitivity in the instruction manual for my HD TV.....

[Islander7]

Maynard! is that you? How’s Dobie?

[HKMk23]

Ping to The Poet Laureate of The Flying Castle.

Upon a field of white now lies the single gauntlet, thrown Cacaphony, pain-ed prose, impov'rished, by thy pen pwn3d

[miele man]

This reads like something Peggy Noonan would write.

[informavoracious]

What IF the mightiest word were love, indeed. The unborn children then might be allowed to live, and not be murdered in that one, last, safe place; their mother’s womb.

[A message]

ROTFLMAO !!!!

Yes it does make as much sense as the inaugural poem.

Bravo! Bravo!

[Swordmaker]

Only some one who wrote appallingly atrocious poetry like the poem below would think that was poetry worth elevating to inaugural poem status...

UNDERGROUND

Under water grottos, caverns
Filled with apes
That eat figs.
Stepping on the figs
That the apes
Eat, they crunch.
The apes howl, bare
Their fangs, dance,
Tumble in the
Rushing water,
Musty, wet pelts
Glistening in the blue.

by B.H. Obama

[NicknamedBob]

"Upon a field of white now lies the single gauntlet, thrown ..."

I wrote this one yesterday, in response to a similar challenge, which was to use her theme, if you could decipher it.

Steps

Morning calls us to the sound of distant hubbub,
We hum along to get into our stride,
The world is waiting, walking, waking,
A single phalanx standing side by side,

We walk into the future with our brothers,
We stare into the darkness up ahead,
The unknown waits for us to light the way,
Behind us is the kingdom of the dead.

And as we march we sing a song of union,
Let every voice sing out a sound of joy,
For every step we take will make us stronger,
Let every man step forward from his boy.

The echoes of the voices once behind us,
Come back as whispers as we look,
Far up ahead where shining glory draws us,
The prophecy we once read in a book.

NicknamedBob . . . . January 20, 2009