This Poem was Submitted By: Latorial D. Faison On Date: 2005-10-05 22:59:24 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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I lift my head from the palms of my hands and extend them to you      come and be my dove  and I'll set you free to dream, esteem and tell little black babies      what America means  I close my eyes as the blood trickles down youthfuol cheeks and frowns      burning with desire for babies  whose babies  are not yet born the beautiful ones      often born without a chance

Copyright © October 2005 Latorial D. Faison

This Poem was Critiqued By: Marsha Steed On Date: 2005-11-04 12:56:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.61538
Latorial, This is a sad lament. Born without a chance. . . so indicative of too many. Taking your inner lines in tandem, we get: come and be my dove what America means burning with desire for often born without a chance babies That says something in and of itself. An inner message surrounded by plethory.. (I'm sure others have pointed out the typo of "youthfuol instead of youthful".) Babies/ babies Born/ Born Duplicates your meaning and punches the continuing difficulties we face. One other technical comment, in the first stanza, the syntax is incorrect. "I lift my head from the palms of my hands and extend them to you" Says that you are extending your head, for that is the subject. Identifying them would make it correct: I lift my head from the palms of my hands and open my grasp to you Or some such. Your passion comes through clearly. (and I love the font, what is it?) M

This Poem was Critiqued By: Troy D Skroch On Date: 2005-10-23 06:20:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Latorial, I love the measure of your voice in this and the quality of the thought. I see the "cycle" you allude to with your words. The image of the "blood," figuratively speaking, is excellent, coupled with your title and intent. Ah, the "beautiful ones", "the perfect people", "the beautiful people." I deal with some of this everyday. And no matter how hard one tries, another comes along to redefine the term and put somebody else down. I was not born to "beautiful" circumstances, yet feel that all life is "beautiful." Though, I think you are working toward a goal of "acceptance" and equality, regarding the question of race and color. I find irony in that "beautiful ones," I speak of, perpetuate their own "cycle." After reading this poem several times, I dropped, "often born without a chance." Wait, don't yell at me for editing, I just think that "whose babies are not yet born the beautiful ones," is such a great line and says, almost, the same thing, especially, when I go back and reflect on the questions the title brings to mind. I really like this poem. I like how you handled it. I know that doesn't make sense, but those are the words that I feel. ok, getting sloppy, here I go the image of the head from the hands--thoughtful and tired in a way the open palms-- trust and honesty the dove--a messenger dream, esteem--- I like the message and the rhyming what America means-- that's a tall order, simple, complex, happy, sad and changing the flow of blood-- the living cycle the burning desire-- but of course, this is life we speak of the beautiful ones-- enough said This is the work of an artist. Best, Troy
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-10-15 11:04:58
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
It takes two to tango as the saying goes. Is this act of procreation simply for that, or is it because of lust? There has to be more to do, to tell those to use condoms, etc. There is more to this poem than meets the's not only black babies that don't stand a's the whole freaking race of the world. Will it ever end? (that's an open ended question).
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-10-08 11:45:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Latorial–I studied on this for some time, and although not comfortable with my review, here goes. Even though hopeful words are present (extend, dove, free, dream, esteem, desire, babies, born, America) the tone is as forlorn as is the pro- spect for any redemption; “...whose babies are not yet born the beautiful ones often born without a chance” The title inferences repeated (historically) similar events in the lives of this faction of humanity. Moreover, scribe’s offering speaks to dire circumstances seemingly with no break in this “Cycle”, and therefore laments a sad, very sad commen- tary of society as a whole. A chilling write. Sorry, if I’ve missed your intentions. Welcome back. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: charles r pitts On Date: 2005-10-08 06:24:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
this describes to me the moment when, engrossed in the despairs, fears, helplessness of a world gone mad all around you, you see your child crying simply because you are sad. this is when u reach for them and promise to yourself to be strong for them. beautiful. charlie
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jillian K Sorenson On Date: 2005-10-07 00:08:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Why black babies? Odd that you decided to distinguish between races of babies, is there some particular meaning to that? One typo "youthfuol" should be "youthful." I'm not quite certain what this poem is it an anti-abortion poem? It's nicely written anyways.
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