toute l'année nous vous donnons des notes et des conseils pour progresser. Comme vous, nous souhaiterions avoir un retour sur ce que nous faisons de bien et de moins bien; vos impressions sur cette année nous permettrons de faire un bilan et de réinvestir le meilleur de nos cours pour les années à venir.

Alors prenez env. 10 min de votre temps pour remplir cette enquête. Vous pouvez indiquer votre nom en bas du formulaire si vous le souhaitez.

Sachez que j'ai été très content de faire cette année avec vous même si les périodes n'ont pas toujours été faciles et que je vous souhaite le meilleur pour l'avenir.

Take care,

Mr Hattais. 

Cliquez ici pour remplir le questionnaire

puis sur SUBMIT en bas du formulaire

pour valider l'envoi de vos réponses.

Merci. 

Hi guys, 

you will finally be able to vote for your top poems so as to win the award. The votes are open until the end of the vacation of April. You can only vote once of course and you can't vote for your own poem; you'll need to put your name in the "name" box so that I know who hasn't voted yet and who has voted for what poem.

 After reading all your work, please fill in the questionnaire at the bottom of the article and decide which one you like best. Unfortunately, the poems without illustration will have a penalty of 2 votes since they are not complete. If your poem is one without picture, sound, and / or video, and you want to be part of the contest and apply for the 5 more points dedicated to this criteria ("illustration corresponds to the topic of the poem and is well chosen and displayed = 5 points"), I highly suggest you sent me this illustration asap and move your fat ars*s!

 As for those who haven't given me their poems, they will get a plain zero if I don't get them by Tuesday BY MAIL ONLY (word document + jpg / wmv / mp3 illustration or link).

Thanks for understanding and completing what is necessary for you to complete!

#1

A gentle breeze in the trees, a soft light on the meadows, 

Locusts are singing for the sun while magnolia heaps praise on air.

Life is great, weather is mild.

But suddenly, birds tear up the sky

Like an army, head for the roots and start to attack the ant hill.

They harvest the ants' labor without any compassion for their trying to work. 

The birds are killing all the ants except some who succeed in taking refuge

Under the bitter dead magnolia while the sky becomes grey.

Just one ant succeeds in easily escaping: the Queen.

Thanks to her majestous wings, she has avoided the ridiculous birds.

She also picks up the labor of her servants and then let them

Die under quick and violent pecks.

Once this carnage finished, great life starts again:

Locusts sing for the sun again, magnolia heaps praise on air again.

Life starts again as if nothing has happened.

This attack is a representation for those Jim Crow Laws of the wild.

#2

I wake up in the early morning

With on my mind all these insults about the color of my skin

It seems that I look like a chimpanzee.

I prepare myself for the next boxing match.

When I enter the fray, the audience boos me and shouts:

"Championzee"

I'm ready to fight with all the rage in my fists.

The beginning resounds with these only two sounds:

"Dring, ring"

I enter the ring.

Right, left

Left, right

I'm hitting my enemy as they hit my ancestors.

It's done, he is K.O.

I saw his body falling down as the black bodies submitting to torture.

I feel my blood on my face but it's nothing compared to all the blood poured out of black people.

#3

When the sun went up in the sky

The young James opened his eyes

And looked at the trench of his life.

Three months in the mud

With the smell of corpses, and fear of death.

The Nordists heard a blast.

The trenches quaked under their feet,

His hands invaded by a quaver.

Like the other soldiers,

He was ready to shoot, ready to kill

His American brothers.

The familiar smell of powder

Waved in the wind,

Remained in the mouth

As a shell exploded beside him.

A blood stream in the trench colored the mud

With a dirty red.

A shot hurt his chest, death was coming to take him.

The sun illuminated the battlefield

And the absurd savagery of humanity.

"God, what is your goal?"

#4

We are black

You are white

But human before anything else.

Our rights were taken

We were given Hell instead.

You have destroyed our lives

And killed thousands of us.

But you can't stop us

To think about our dreams

And one day to be free.

Now I want to tell you that

You can touch my soul

You can see my sorrows

You can smell my heart

You can hear my shouts

But you can't feel my pain.  

Blood, Bless, Death.

We just said please

But now you are too blind to see that

Together we have to be one.

You have to take a chance

To correct your mistakes.

# 5

The Dream of a Black Slave

I am a black slave,

I am black like the night,

Dark as this one,

Black as the KKK's heart.

  I have a dream,

  Only one,

  Just one.

  I'd like on day the bells of freedom

  To sound all over the United States.

  I'd like the pure light of freedom

To clear up the darkest places of the South.

That light, symbol of liberty, softens the hardest hearts.

I hope that the scent of freedom reaches the highest summit

And the farthest villages of the United States.

  Ring bells of freedom.

  Ring onto all regions, States, towns, and villages.

  Ring onto all hearts.

I hope that one day I can see it with my own eyes.

I hope that one day I can touch that dream with my hands.

I hope that one day I can taste this wind of change.

Fee l it, the change is back.

But unfortunately for the moment,

I'm just a Negro ;

Black as night,

Dark as this one.

#6

#7

At night cold and black

A crowd joyful and white

A fire burning and alive

Innocent children laughing and playing

The feast is ready

The meat is on the steakhouse

The wine is in the mouth

Puppets come on stage

The game is simple

Freed from their shackles

They're in the center of attention

For the scene of the moment

Tied around the neck

Set on horses

A sign of the manager

And the wine

#8

If you look in the mirror

Can you see the horror?

If you condemn this man

You throw a brother in jail.

We have the same blood odor

Even if our skins are a different color.

Like a monster you hated me

Why all this persecution?

And the separation.

We want freedom

Black people are victims of shame

And our hearts are cold like the rain

We can feel the cold around us

For you, we are like poison

Your insulting words

Are like a blast

For you we are like dog food

But in reality we are just men like you.

#9

  The color of my skin defines my seat when there are white people inside the bus. The color of my skin makes it that I am different. I have to stand up and nobody will touch me. 

• Listen to me, Listen to me with attention.

  Yes, you have to pay attention because at the moment when I am talking to you, I am on the verge of tears. We live in the same country; we have the same nationality; but it's a fact you know, I am considered as another substance. My head is dark. I am hungry. I dislike violence, I dislike discrimination. Tell me, where is justice? We are all human beings but for all of them I am a monster. I am a slave, I am an animal, I am nothing... When I am working on the street they look at me with disgust. Tell me, where is racial equality? Tell me, where are my rights? Life is short; we have to say stop!

  I don't understand when I see people who participate in lynching parties who are happy when black women are victims of violence and children too.

  I have a dream one day all of this segregation in all cultures will change.

#10

Free me from this love.
Break this barrier between us
This weight is becoming heavier.
It crushes me like a tank.
This situation hurts me
I wonder how you can smile.
I'm digging the grave of despair
Why? I'm white and you're black?
They don't know what we have in our hearts.
Why worry about the colour?
Pink is adorning all our hearts.

Everywhere in the world
Blacks are black and are gauging
Their merits compared to whites
I say blacks are black
Because there are two ways of being black
The first is a question of skin pigmentation
The second is to respond
To all the clichés that make the word.

#11 

(hors compétition)

I have to take this bus, the bus where I am not like everybody, I am "colored".

First, stares weighing on me, I am « it »
Then, looks compassionate
I am Ray

I walk and their words resound like crystal
While there; they sound like honey, repairing all evil.

I smell this hatred against the "Negro" who's sightless
As if we infested their scent of freshness

Then arrive these sensations in my throat just like the juice of endive, bitter
Which reflect my disgust to them, and which decrease when I get closer to "my brothers"

At the bottom, a sign, the sign of our difference, we are "colored"
The limit between them and us, as if we were animals, wicked.

#12

(hors compétition)

One night in a cold and little town,
In an old and miserable house, a mother was about to cry
Because she knew that she was losing her daughter;
But she had to smile for the memory of her child
Who, at that moment, was on the verge of tears in the house of a slave owner.

 #13

(hors compétition)

Black people were segregated
They were stared at by white people
They were looked down upon, rejected and separated
At school, at the restaurant, on the bus, at the hospital
The sound of freedom they were hearing
Was just a proclamation of a fake freeing
Deprived from their civil rights
Black people were prohibited to be in a public place
Because segregation laws were put into place
They could not break rules
Otherwise, they were destroyed for undermining the laws
The scent of the end of slavery
Was transformed into the smell of the beginning of lynching party
Black people's flesh
Had still to suffer from bashes
They had to live with goose flesh
Their places in this world were only for their corpses
Because they were still executed with ropes replacing their shackles
Black bodies were transformed into dead bodies
They still had to bear this bitter situation
Because of white people's racism, aggressions and its aggravation.

 #14

(hors compétition)

 #15

(hors compétition)

 #16

(hors compétition)

Many were dying
There were thousands who were suffering
Families have been decimated
People were burned by the sun’s heat
Men have been exploited
Night celebrated a lyching party
"Oh white people were so oblivious!"
The battles were a big hit
      Many families are scattered
      Many people are tortured
Men, women, children are separated by society
The atmosphere was synonymous of black
Day has no effect or no existence
     Trees were haunted by the spirit
     Trees were fed by blood
 Blooming flowers were transformed by the smell of burning flesh
Any living thing was against me
What is the interest of this show?
         White people?
        Why?

 #17

(hors compétition)

Fill in the questionnaire below and select your favorite poem

let's vote for the best visual. The top three creations will be rewarded with one bonus point! So let's vote and post comments to justify your choice!

Take care,

Mr Hattais.

You can click on the icons below to open them. Please wait until the book is completely charged before opening it or you might not have access to all the pictures and / or audio illustrations.

Notice that I haven't been able to include the audio files I had received too late. I will include them (maybe during the vacation but not now). Unfortunately, there are still some mistakes and and typos but I haven't corrected them either (NO time.... :s).

Hope you have enjoyed completing this project even if I am totally aware it was straining (i.e. extremely tiring) for both you and me. What you have achieved is of great level.

You can be proud to show your work around! Congratulations to you all!

Take care,
Mr Hattais.

1	2
3	4
5	6
7	8

Now that you have read / listened to the fairy tales, it's your turn to elect the best one!

Fill in the survey below:

Poem #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!

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!

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...

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

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

Poem #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.

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.

Poem #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

We 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.

Poem #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.

Poem #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.

Poem #1:

The 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.