Today is the Tea Party Express protest in D.C. and yes I believe as Americans we have a fundamental right to freedom of speech (so long as no one is hurt). But, I do have one major concern: who defines patriotism?
Patriotism is NOT political. Watch the number of people who wrap themselves in the flag and claim to be 'real Americans.' Like Obama? Then you are not a real American. Think Obama is a U.S. citizen? Then you are not a real American. Want health care reform? Then you are not a real American.
When someone tells you that you are not a real American, chances are you are.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
If Looks Could Kill...
In Glances
Written By Larry J. Knight, Jr.
She pretends not to care,
though there’s truth
in her eyelashes;
they revel too much,
communicate in code
her heart’s intent;
indifference overpowered
by tiny wisps of hair
that bat when her eyes
are strangely fixed upon me;
the rawness of her restrained smile,
the language of her silence,
the verbiage defined within her
stare, speaking a million words
resonating without a syllable;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her look;
translate the message
hidden in her reluctance to speak;
transcribe the cryptogram
that’s her expression:
a tiny curl of the mouth
becomes discontent;
wandering eyes
become avoidance;
a tilted neck,
a search for comprehension;
she looks, curiously,
eyes seeking some shred of reason,
I translate:
her heart beckoning her to love,
her brain, diluting want with logic;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her looks;
she knows that tomorrow
is nothing more than mythology,
fantasies promised to those
willing to embrace the sanctity of chance;
realizes more than anything
love’s a chemical,
that it poisons
if taken too much;
she’s always consumed mine in moderation,
taking only as much is needed;
she pretends, if only for now,
that she doesn’t care,
doesn’t feel,
doesn’t want to love me;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her looks;
study the concealed lexis
existing beneath the surface
of her faint, vacant expression;
needing some answer,
some insight
to quench my curiosity,
and know what truth she hides
yearning to break free.
Copyright 2005 Larry J. Knight, Jr.
Written By Larry J. Knight, Jr.
She pretends not to care,
though there’s truth
in her eyelashes;
they revel too much,
communicate in code
her heart’s intent;
indifference overpowered
by tiny wisps of hair
that bat when her eyes
are strangely fixed upon me;
the rawness of her restrained smile,
the language of her silence,
the verbiage defined within her
stare, speaking a million words
resonating without a syllable;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her look;
translate the message
hidden in her reluctance to speak;
transcribe the cryptogram
that’s her expression:
a tiny curl of the mouth
becomes discontent;
wandering eyes
become avoidance;
a tilted neck,
a search for comprehension;
she looks, curiously,
eyes seeking some shred of reason,
I translate:
her heart beckoning her to love,
her brain, diluting want with logic;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her looks;
she knows that tomorrow
is nothing more than mythology,
fantasies promised to those
willing to embrace the sanctity of chance;
realizes more than anything
love’s a chemical,
that it poisons
if taken too much;
she’s always consumed mine in moderation,
taking only as much is needed;
she pretends, if only for now,
that she doesn’t care,
doesn’t feel,
doesn’t want to love me;
she’s quiet,
I’m cool,
she resists,
I decipher her looks;
study the concealed lexis
existing beneath the surface
of her faint, vacant expression;
needing some answer,
some insight
to quench my curiosity,
and know what truth she hides
yearning to break free.
Copyright 2005 Larry J. Knight, Jr.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Memories
An Elegy
Written By Larry J. Knight, Jr.
I’ll miss your innocence;
the way you danced
by moonlight,
without a song,
down St. Charles Avenue,
carelessly,
whispering into the night,
tracing your fingertips
on the trunks of trees
as you moved pass them,
your arms outstretched,
like wings,
balancing you,
giving you flight;
I’ll dream of your baptism,
when you were immersed
within transient waves of jazz;
the way you floated
down the River Walk
on its notes,
effortlessly;
how you, and the waves
of the Mississippi,
moved synchronously
in that spring air;
I’ll miss the glow
of your white satin dress
at midnight,
the curve of your figure
and your smile in a seamless tandem,
your eyes reflecting
the moon;
how your Southern gentility
charmed new souls
with just a glance,
they fell in love with you,
as did I.
Copyright 2005 by Larry J. Knight, Jr.
Written By Larry J. Knight, Jr.
I’ll miss your innocence;
the way you danced
by moonlight,
without a song,
down St. Charles Avenue,
carelessly,
whispering into the night,
tracing your fingertips
on the trunks of trees
as you moved pass them,
your arms outstretched,
like wings,
balancing you,
giving you flight;
I’ll dream of your baptism,
when you were immersed
within transient waves of jazz;
the way you floated
down the River Walk
on its notes,
effortlessly;
how you, and the waves
of the Mississippi,
moved synchronously
in that spring air;
I’ll miss the glow
of your white satin dress
at midnight,
the curve of your figure
and your smile in a seamless tandem,
your eyes reflecting
the moon;
how your Southern gentility
charmed new souls
with just a glance,
they fell in love with you,
as did I.
Copyright 2005 by Larry J. Knight, Jr.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Finding the Right Words
What Matters Most
By Larry J. Knight, Jr.
As most of you know, Rosa Parks, an icon of the Southern Protest Movement, died last night. She was 92. All day today, I thought about what I could say that would encapsulate how I felt about this woman. It just seemed as if no words would suffice; that was however before I read the tribute postings on The Detroit Free Press' website.
As I read each of the poignant and intimately written postings, I found my words. Sure, I can be verbose at times, but in light of everything that Rosa Parks stood for, I felt that simplicity was best. In this case, minimalism would win. It is a widely known fact that Mrs. Parks was humble in her greatness; that she felt that what she did way back in 1955 was not some grand gesture, but more of something that just had to be done. As I considered the sad truth that we, not just African-Americans, but the entire world population, had lost a revered, loved, and honored citizen of the human race; a person who single-handedly changed our world, not to mention the world's perception of African-American women, I found my words, and I began to type...
"Thank you, Mrs. Parks...from an entire generation."
As I stated, simplicity was required.
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