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Showing posts from January, 2013

Insecurities

Insecurities

A beautiful flower in the midst of trees
Reaches for light
But is shadowed by insecurities.
Talked down to by towering presences,
The seemingly less desired attempts to grow higher,
Paints itself,
Gets thinner,
Puffs out its chest
In the place where light barely shines.
The trees notice and ohh and ahh
But their bending puts the light out of reach.
The flower makes more changes,
Cuts off its petals
Tries to be a tree.
A flower trying to be a tree
Is a flower with insecurities.
A fake tree is a thing without beauty.

  --Ethan Seevers (Grade 11)


Chiekh Anta Diop

Chiekh Anta Diop (1923–86) has influenced contemporary African thought and broken ground in the fields of Egyptian history and linguistics. As a professor of history in Dakar and as head of a carbon dating laboratory, he was able to build up a public office of classical African antiquities.

Diop trained as a historian and a nuclear physicist. Although the Sorbonne did not accept his doctoral thesis in history, it was published and had a great influence on Egyptology, changing the traditional views of a great divide between Egypt and the rest of Africa (Nation nègre et culture, 1954). The discussion continued in the UNESCO General History of Africa, Volume II, which presents a balanced view of the ancient Egyptians who were united for the first time by Menes, a Proto-Saharan ruler.

Towards the African Renaissance: Essays in Culture and Development, 1946–1960 (1996) was originally published in French as Alerte Sous Les Tropiques (1990) and is based on essays Diop wrote between 1946 and …

The Maw

The Maw
Abigail H. Neff (grade 10) Christian Educators Academy



Raccoon Sniffing. Silent steps in the night. Sensory overload coming from the shed like structure. Now to figure out how best to get to it. The tree, yes the tree next to the fence would be quite a good vantage point. Ahhh! The tree is proving more productive than he had expected. A branch grows right alongside a smaller one from the sapling inside the pen. He can get right in without making any noise. Lucky him. Going far enough from home to find such a succulent feast, and being slight and sly enough to shimmy in without much trouble.      Now he is on the ground. Foolish No-furs, they hadn’t yet put a door on the feast zone. He can just walk right in and take his pick!       He sidles up to the black square, preparing himself.      A light above the No-furs porch comes on. Cursing in his head he retreats into the shadows. A No-fur girl comes out the door, her two dogs coming out with her. Uhg, one of them is big.....and sm…

Messengers Dance

Angels and RNA

by Walt Hearn

The limitations of my mind require
Forgetfulness, a planned abandonment
Of territory, retreat under fire--
Brain bombarded by what we invent,
Discover, conceptualize. Seminars
I often skip, unless the speaker's topic
Startles me, like seeking life on Mars
Or setting forth some bold submicroscopic
Solution to a problem I really care
About: What causes cancer, for instance. Then
I make room, and age-old questions haven't a prayer,
Like the number of angels on that ancient pin.
Yet, recurring patterns sometimes can be seen:
Do many messengers dance upon one gene?
From here.

T.S. Eliot's Poem The Journey of the Magi

The power of Eliot's poetic imagination here adds the striking dimension of personal realism to this momentous old story.


An Epiphany Poem

THE EPIPHANY OF OUR BLESSED LORD

In the golden light of these gifts
Incense rises.
In those days when God was young
In the cowshed;
Then steward to that couple by the lake,
The water pots filled with water,
The water made wine.
Little boats on the Sea of Tiberius,
Like eighteenth-century virginals:
Simple: the sort of sketch Picasso would do
On his napkin to pay for his dinner.
Delicate crafts like musical instruments;
Old man Hermon over the lake,
And a meandering of currents down to Masada.
‘Will you come again, Jesus, and tell us that it’s true –
that it’s all true;
And we are not mere husks or empty shells
Cast upon that shore?’
There is life here,
I am under the velvet skin of it,
And the ointment with the purple,
The alabaster box and the woman’s tears.
I love, I think,
But I know not what I love:
Teach me, my God and King.
And when the twilight broods
Over Magdala and Cana,
Capernaum and the little house where once thou sayest,
‘Whether is easier to say, ‘Thy sins be forgiven thee, or else,
Arise, take up…