Fondue Party Poetry

Hey everyone!

Scroll on down and check out the awesome poetry from the event!

We ended up running out of fondue (I think we ordered enough for 100) and the last time I heard the count was about 130ish (if someone actually knows fix this please). The speaker was great and it was nice to have someone who actually lived through it speak at our event, and the poets' poems were really good, and I can only guess that we had yummy fondue-that is what I get for being late-no fondue.

Hopefully next year it will be even bigger, better, and tastier!

Look at me and tell me what you see

Look at me and tell me what you see

Should a young man like me dream dreams that seem impossible to reach

Should I write to breach those who’ve been taught to break the mold

Whose thoughts of gold are caught in this world’s onslaught

Which brought upon distraught and they fought to fill in what’s internally missing

Just as I’ve been, millions maybe even billions of browned skinned young children

This generation sealed in a nation where the thirteenth amendment didn’t emancipate enslavement

Dig deep to reveal what’s concealed under the pavement and you will see minds of all ages in cages

Barred together, tarred and feathered, charred in weather, scarred forever

So now we spar together

To fight for rights and despite that I write these letters

It’s clear that we’re still far from better

I guess it’s hard to sever this instilled mentality

So now you’ll see we stand on corners casually

Passing weed, crack, and speed reaching for success passively

Until you feel the breath of reality on the neck of a fallacy

And you gradually step closer to death or prison

Now in a prism that’s best left bereft

But I guess its slavery depth is one of the best kept secrets

Because, this institution, we despise but decide to keep it

Inside we feed it what we believe are diseased pieces

This is a war but I don’t need battle fatigues or a saddled steed

I’m not trying to dabble in greed

No I’m not asking for forty acres, any favors, or even reparations

No need for any form of repayment to replace with what’s been taken

The only thing that can save man are prayers to a savior

The flavor of victory is no mystery to history

For history has persistently overpowered equality

You’ve lost a part of you and I’ve lost a part of me

Through the middle passage you can follow me

To strange fruit hanging and dangling from hollow trees

To those who suffered in Dachau Auschwitz, Belsen, my apologies

My heart goes out to those lured from overseas

Sold into sex slavery

Those set in debt bondage forever

Sprayed with fire hoses and dogs unleashed

Through the Tallahatchie the blood leaked

Walked three hundred eighty one days just for a seat

And I still wonder what is the price to be free

-Daniel Travis

The List of Things I’ve Never Done

You’ll have to forgive me.
I’m a little nervous.
I guess you could kind say that this is my poetry debut.
I’ve never done anything like this before.
So I thought about it
And made a list of some of the things that I have never done.

I’ve never seen the sun set below the horizon of a never-ending field, while riding in the back of
a flat bed truck after a hard day’s work.
I’ve never had the chance to listen in on Philosophical conversations, held by educated men,
while I served them coffee or Brandy.
I’ve never been able to provide diamonds for all of the beautiful girls in the world, let alone all
the girls that I have loved.
I’ve never traveled to the heart of New York, where I was able to peddle goods, on street
corners, to earn money for those who paid for my trip.
I’ve never worked in coffee fields for an hourly wage that is much less than the price being paid in the purchase of the final product.
I’ve never been forced to walk the midnight streets of L.A. making in money for pimps by
doing favors for strange men.
I’ve never had to work in shops that are defined by the perspiration that comes from my long hours and manual labor.
I’ve never been sprayed with pesticides while working in heat that could boil your blood.
I’ve never had to wade in the water while being watched over by mercenary men with machine guns held hand-in-hand.
I’ve never been knocked out and kidnapped from my family only to come to in a house full of
broken girls.
I’ve never been kidnapped from my home, given drugs and brain washed into wanting to fight as
a child soldier.
I’ve never seen the last look on my father’s face while I was torn from his arms and taken away.
I’ve never had my virginity stolen from me when I was 10 years old.
And I’ve never been born into a system, where I didn’t have a choice, but only a way of life.
I’ve never done any of these things before.
So the least I can do,
is take on these nerves,
and create awareness for those who have.


-Luke Boggess

How I Relate to Slave Labor

I walked into the M.T. Cup

(where the coffee’s not great but

at least Myles hires cute girls

for minimum wage

to work behind the counter)

with an Indianapolis Star

in my right hand

and the idea of a drink on my mind.

“Black coffee please.”

Because that’s what great poets do

as they read the daily news

as if to taste the pain of the world

through

the plain color of a plastic lid.

With my idea in my hand

and the paper on my mind,

I paid the cute girl with a tip,

left her with a smile,

and made my way outside

to where the people sat around black circles

and discussed grey topics

as the insides of their cups

began to show their true colors.

While I

made my way

to a spot below shade

and set down my black pack

that reminds me of a book bag

that I once had when I was seven years old

that read:

“Made in China”

on the front pocket

below the emblem of

my favorite basketball team.

I remember asking my mom

“Why was this made by Chinese

if they didn’t speak English?

if they don’t know who the Chicago Bulls

were?

And if they’ve never seen Michael Jordan

play ball before?”

Answering my own question

before she had the chance to explain

I came

to the conclusion

that it must have been a mistake.

So they donated it to America.

Knowing a little more on the topic

now

but thinking about it a little less,

I took a seat at the table

and a sip from my drink.

It was warm outside that day.

So I, removed my Nike cap

that was Made in China.

Unzipped my Columbia fleece

Made in China

Exposing my gray J. Crew T

Made in China

And tugged at the legs of my jeans

Made in China

Adjusted the shades on my face

Made in China

And leaned back,

and propped up on the table

my red, white, but mostly blue

converse

that were Made in China.

And I thought about how comfortable

I was

as I read those censored stories

about the poor

and about the raped

and about the abused.

And I sipped from my black coffee

as if I could taste the pain of the world

through

the plain color of a plastic lid.

-Luke Boggess