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Ce blog est à destination de tous les élèves qui souhaitent enrichir leur connaissance de la langue anglaise. Chaque jour, des cours nouveaux expliqués... (cliquez sur le drapeau de votre choix pour lire la suite dans la langue voulue)

Students' Corner

Monday 1 february 2010 1 01 /02 /2010 10:12
- Posted in: Students' Corner
Hey,

Please, I ask you to vote for your 3 top poems. The winner will be rewarded!
Just post a comment in this article and say which poem you prefer and why (in English of course!).
All poems have finally been displayed! You can be proud of yourselves.


Take care,
M. Hattais.
By English Prof - Community: English On Line
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Monday 1 february 2010 1 01 /02 /2010 09:57
- Posted in: Students' Corner

orianePoem #11

Spotlights are making me feverish.

The warm sweat flows in my mouth,

The caustic salt creaks my lips.

My throat – my ghastly skin is flaming.


Colored companions are plucking my strings.

Corrosive notes under keys,

At a highly spiced cadence.

Furious vengeance against the torturer.


One band, one fight, one voice.


One shooting

Icy, white and iodized skin.

A black body on the scene.

No more voice.


 



Poem #12

The White World

At the top, below, to the left, to the right,

In front of me and behind me, all is white,

Everywhere and always, from dawn to midnight,

It's white...


When I woke up: no more fights,

I was ready to receive my rights!


benjamin 1


I heard promises of freedom, promises to my heart,

But actually, they just rang in my head.

Now I run during the day, during the night,

Against the sand, against the wind,

From morning until twilight!

Because there's a monster behind!


benjamin 2


A terrifying monster with a white hood!

What does he want? Nothing good...

He's thirsty? Maybe he wants to drink my blood?


It's a white world, it's a blinding world,

Without life and word!

What's my horizon?

Just death and prison...


Now I'm suffocating, noiselessly,

I'm much too tired to flee.

I smell the odor of death: I'm over.

My rights will come, but later...

benjamin 3


 



Poem #13

Flames appear,

Some men

With a hood look at them;

They light up the night,

and bring heat.

Carried by the wind,

They rise up towards the sky, veiled:

A warm light

Lost in the darkness.

Somber souls

Clearly dressed

Have given their penalty.

What burns have become common,

A bitter smell known of all.

It's the fate

of the rebel Negroes.


 


Poem #14 - A Sinister Night (click to enlarge)

justine

 

 



Poem #15 - All these eyes on me (click to enlarge)

eliott

 


 

Poem #16 - Segregation in the US (click to enlarge)

killian

 

 


Poem #17 - Segregation (click to enlarge)

Manon  

 

 



numérisation0004Poem #18 -

 

Vile acts,

With the devil you made a pact.

In white you are dressed,

Black when we are naked.

We have all the same red blood,

Treated as dogs,

Beaten, hounded down and burned,

Your hatred on us is unchained,

Hatred in this State is the key,

It is what you were taught by the KKK.

During your necktie parties,

You represented white supremacy;

The smell of our bodies in decomposition

Did not make you change your position.

May God feel sorry for your souls!

Listen to the blues of the black people.

 

By English Prof - Community: English On Line
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Thursday 14 january 2010 4 14 /01 /2010 09:34
- Posted in: Students' Corner

Poem #6

Red bodies on trees replace green leaves.

Their blood replaces their sap.

Crows eat their eyes instead of fruit.

The sun glitters on the dewy settled on the naked bodies.

Their voices stump as the night approaches.

People jubilate in front of this white hood.

The next day, birds will be gone to make way for flied and rats.

It's only the first of these sad meetings.

Trees will be useful too

So that whites play with blacks for a long time.


 



jérôme slangen illustration 1Poem #7

Black people used to be enslaved

Black people used to be in cotton fields

In New York, children hear the noise of work always

In New York, we can see homeless guys and ghettos nowadays.

Blacks have the right to sit in the front of buses however

They live in Manhattan never.

Sweat is trickling down our foreheads but

jérôme slangen illustration 3We are not close to nearing our goals.

One of us reached the American dream in our society,

He lives in the White House with his family.

This success sometimes has a bitter taste in my district

But also gives place to hope as music.

 

 


 



Poem #8

Everybody says I am a monkey

They say I am ugly.

Nobody understands me,

I feel so lonely.

I just want to live in a country with justice.

I just want to live in a world in peace.

I just would like to be able to sit on the bus,

But they don't want us.

I would like to have the same rights

But unfortunately I'm not white.

I would like to change the mentality

And to have consideration, not pity.

 

 



nadègePoem #9

Our love is a forbidden fruit.

But hidden, it is so sweet.

The scent of flowers in her hair,

This partition is unfair.

Suddenly, goosebumps overcome my body;

Overt, our love is going to rot.

It would be the final stroke.

I never can hold his hand,

Otherwise I'll be hanged.

The fear to die in suffering,

The fear to lose that loved being.


 



 



clairePoem #10

In this South...

In the deep South,

Youngsters and aged ones work in these white and soft areas.

They sing in unison like free birds in Spring;

Their singing gives rhythm to their work.

In the deep South,

The others gloat.

The light of the fire reflects in their eyes;

The ground is marked by their red steps.

In the deep South,

Reigns a dramatic and horrible atmosphere.

The wind brings the smell of warm tar,

Branches are creaking like bitter screams.


This South is the world of whites.

By English Prof - Community: English On Line
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Sunday 3 january 2010 7 03 /01 /2010 18:23
- Posted in: Students' Corner
Hey,

here is the first post of the students' corner, i.e. the place where your creations are going to be published. You can be proud of what you have accomplished.

Please, I ask you to vote for your top poem. The winner will be rewarded!
Just post a comment in this article and say which poem you prefer and why (in English of course!).
All poems will finally be displayed but you need to vote each time a new post is published.
Take care,

M. Hattais.




Poem #1:

selmaThe sky is crying blood

And their hearts are torn into thousand pieces

A black body is ill, then whites don't

Know that they are killing him?

Owing to this segregation, sadness

Is filling blacks' habitations.


Why is this world divided?

There isn't difference between individuals

So why are people racist?

It's time to draw up the balance sheet,

and to erase the rotten bloom,

Red color. Stop to loom,

fruit of trees, it is so sweet.

And let them drag corroded fruit in trees.

It's only one solution and keys

Of luck to treat our world.


Racism today remains one fundamental

Feature of advanced societies. In these

Societies, there are half devils and half children.

Black people used to be discriminated against.

Stop it...

Forget it...




Poem #2:


A failed claim for freedom

In cotton fields are slaves,

Black wrecked lost in a white sea.

The poor are making the rich's wealth

In gathering softness under the burning sun,

In suffering freely with the smell of sweat.

Then a single voice tries to relieve their pain,

Supported by the others crying their suffering.

But the screams bring a deafening silence,

Interrupted by the cracks of whipping,

Drawing red lines on the black backs,

Killing the burgeoning hope for freedom

With the painful taste of blood.

 


 

Poem #3: 



On a limb of a tree
Was hanging something
Like a strange piñata
Like a dark cicada.

A little kid was playing.
He didn't hear the violent wind,
Didn't remark the smell of burning
Of the black and bloody skin.

He just caught and burst,
Just touched and cut,
To find what type of surprise
Were hiding these bulging eyes.

Suddenly, with the stick in his hand,
His white and spotless face
Became queerly warm and red.
In his mouth, a sickening taste.

A mother who was crying,
A father and his hatred,
Now you know the real gain
Of this strange and bloody game.

 


 

Poem #4:


Good Morning in the golden fields.

The warm breeze blows on ears of wheat

Which are playing with my hands.

In the warbling of the birds,

I can smell the fragrance of the recent crop,

And feel a few rain drops.

There's a lone poplar tree in front of me.

Warm blood at the roots

Whereas mine's freezing.

The atrocious smell and sound of the worms in the rotten corpses

Are sickening but I can't feel anything anymore.

In a deadly hush in the pouring rain

My mind is empty.

Pop... Mom... are the only two words I know now.

Why can't I have a shield to protect ourselves?

Why can't I have a sword to take revenge?

Why am I so weak?

Good morning in the golden fields.

 


 

Poem #5

 

I'm walking in a little and silent street.

The white moon is shining in the black sky.

A sudden cry is making me shiver,

On my right, three bodies moving.

Dark in lights

Whites on black

A drop of blood is falling in the ground.

Punch with their fists

Kick in the legs

A hard mass is crashing in the soft mud.

A silver knife is driving in the sweet flesh,

A cold breeze is shedding warm blood.

Unbearable smell and dreadful laughter,

A black man's beaten to death in the alley.

 


 

By English Prof - Community: English On Line
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