National Poetry Month 2020 Day 13: “Doubtless” & “What would it be like?”

I love “Doubtless” as inspiration to be my imperfect, unusual, wild self in the face of fear and
outright resistance. I first became acquainted with it in the wonderful book “Hip Hop Speaks to
Children” compiled by Nikki Grimes and there are vocal tracks available as well, such as this one:
https://soundcloud.com/dphillip4-1/doubtless-by-steve-ericson-1 It made for a wonderful
choreographic collaboration with my 6-8th grade students in the Dole Middle School Dance Crew
(the messy notes for this are the image for today’s post) and I hope they took it’s message to heart.

Doubtless

By Steve Ericson

When I was seven,

I looked to heaven

And dreamed

Of going to the moon

But pretty soon

Somebody came along

To change my tune.

They put me down.

Bang! There my dreams lay 

On the ground.

Thank God, eventually

I came around

And dreamed another dream.

At first it seemed

A good idea to hide it,

Confide it

To absolutely no one.

But that was no fun,

Besides, I realized

I couldn’t. They joy it gave me

Just wouldn’t

Be stopped up. It popped up

At the most

Inconvenient times,

Effervesced in all my rhymes.

But, hey! Joy

Is not a crime, though

Some people 

Make it seem so.

Does anybody here know 

what I mean?

You share your dream

And right away

People laugh, 

Try to dissuade you, 

Do what they can to

Plant a seed of doubt.

Listen: you’ve got to

Root it out,

Laugh last, push past,

Pursue. Be you--

Whoever that is--

Dream intact.

And don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

And if you move, 

Remember:

Pack your dreams.

They’re portable. 

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be totally, arrestingly beautiful? I imagine it would

have advantages as well as challenges. As a younger person it had more appeal to me, like a
special power, while now I realize we all have many talents and powers so I am less fixated on
appearance. 

What would it be like? (to be the most beautiful woman in the world)

By Blythe Stephens

“Three EIGHTY,” he said. “Do you have eighty cents?”

“There are four dollars there,” I replied.

“Oh…OOPS!” He squirms. “Sorry,” and hands over two dimes.

I never do get very good service.

Everyone who serves me seems distracted.

Nobody has it quite together around me.

Arrested by some mysterious power.

Trailing behind me

Ribbons of self

That skim and tickle

All those who glimpse me,

Leaving an indelible mark.

I am an image that they deem worthy of attention

And desire to replicate.

“What is it about her?” they ask themselves.

What is so remarkable?

So unforgettable?

Everyone wants a piece of this loveliness,

But is intimidated.

Rapt.

Just a tiny savory taste

That lingers on the tongue.

Radiant.