That's why I'm saying some doesn't have to be your top one, but I think it would be great if we could all just read out some of our favorite pieces and just create a poetic space together here on Swell. I will go ahead and start us off with the next swell, and I really look forward to hearing what everybody reads. I'll starting us off with Dylan Thomas's
Do not go gentle into that good night old age should burn and rave at close of day Rage Rage against the dying of delight the wise men at their end and no dark is right Because their words have forked no lightning they do not go gentle into that good night good men the last wave by crying how bright their frail deeds might have danced in a green Bay Rage Rage against the dying of the light Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight and learned too late they grieved it on its way do not go gentle into that good night grave Men near death who see with blinding sight blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay Rage Rage against the dying of the light and you my father there on the sad height curse bless me now with your fierce tears I pray do not go gentle into that good night Rage Rage against the dying of the light
Caged Bird By Maya Angelou A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats down stream to the current ends and dips his wing in the Orange Sun rays and arts to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks Rowan, his narrow cage, can seldom see through his bars of rage. His wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trail of things unknown but longed for still
Glenda Thomas
@glendatartist · 1:23
We wear the mask by Paul Lawrence Dunbar We wear the mask that grins and lies it hides our cheeks and shades our eyes. This debt we pay to humanguile with torn and bleeding hearts we smile and mouth with myriad subtleties why should the world be overweise?
Tim Ereneta
@Tim · 1:10
Ah to be alive on a midSeptember mourn fording a stream, barefoot pants rolled up, holding boots pack on Sunshine ice in the shallows Northern Rockies, rustle and shimmer of icy Creek waters. Stones turn under foot, small and hard as toes. Cold, nose dripping, singing inside Creek music heart music smell of sun on gravel. I pledge allegiance. I pledge allegiance to the soil of Turtle Island and to the beings who thereon dwell one ecosystem in diversity under the sun, with joyful interpenetration for all
Swell Team
@Swell · 0:15
This is called mushrooms by Sylvia Plath. Overnight. Very Whitely, discreetly. Very quietly. Our toes, our noses take hold on. The Rowan. Acquire the air. Nobody sees us, stops us, betrays us. The small grains make room. Soft fists insist on heaving the needles, the leafy bedding, even the paving, our Hammers, our Rams earliest and eyeless perfectly, voiceless wide in the crannies, shoulder through holes
Bowie Rowan
@bowie · 0:25
I'm nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us. Don't tell. They'd advertise. You know how dreary to somebody. How public like a frog to tell one's name. The Livelong June to an admiring bog
Go away, go away and please don't slam the door. Last night I saw upon the stair a little man who wasn't there he wasn't there again today oh, how I wish he go away
