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Being Bold: Quotes, Poetry, & Motivations for Every Day of the Year

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Richelle E. Goodrich

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“Season's Greetings by Stewart Stafford Season's Greetings To those we are needing, While I am leading The Festive charge. Christmas love is fleeting, The snow is sleeting, And there's every chance of feeling, A thaw in my cold heart. Season's Greetings everywhere, Let War cease and all be fair, A heart that's full of Christmas cheer, Bravely faces the New Year. And so, we feast and celebrate, For those we've lost, we contemplate, Christmas is an emotional stocktake, Of those still here and those that are late. The year winds down to that last date, Resolutions tempting fate, New Fear's Eve, many hate, And choose to socially-isolate. Season's Greetings while you can, To every woman, child, and man, Season's Greetings, don't you wait Hold back now, and it's too late. And in the end, all we do, Is create memories for the few, Who mattered while we strode this earth, Then back to the place before our birth. Season's Greetings, decorations down, Bittersweet crunching sounds, Topple the tree to live again, Twelfth Night, the inevitable end. © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”

PoetryPoemChristmasXmasChristmas CheerSocial DistancingNew Year S EveSeason S GreetingsTwelfth NightChristmas Truce
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Is Celie actually ugly? Asks the charismatic star playing her on Broadway. How many times over the years I have explained this. Celie and her “prettier” sister Nettie are practically identical. They might be twins. But Life has forced on Celie all the hardships Nettie mostly avoids.... Endless labor that would demean and soon obliterate the observable loveliness of the most queenly slave. I wanted us to think about how superficial is our understanding of beauty; but, also, how beauty is destroyed.”

PoetryBeautyPoemPerceptionTraumaUglinessHardships
Book:Taking the Arrow Out of the Heart
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“Prison is not a good idea because it puts two people in prison: the prisoner and the guard. And the rest of us become inheritors of The Fugitive Slave Law, requiring us to turn in people who seek their freedom through the Underground Railroad or the overland express, or face the consequences of the full force of the law for not doing so. Newspapers, radio, television, and movies have made us afraid of our fellow citizens who are accused of being heretics, witches, christians, Jews, Muslims, drug lords, drug users, prostitutes, sodomites, anything somehow different from what we think we are or should be but not afraid of slum lords, union busters, corrupt and graft-taking politicians, insider traders, employers paying less than minimum wage, college presidents shutting down debate.”

PoetryFearPoemPrisonDifference
Book:Acolytes
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“It was wrong. It was wrong to pay the same dime yet have to walk to the back of the bus. It was wrong to have to pass a "white" school to go to a "colored" school. It was wrong to have Colored and White signs. It was wrong that Emmett Till was murdered. It was wrong that the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church was dynamited. It was wrong that Medgar Evers was shot in the back and bled to death in his own driveway. And whatever was not right could be, if not corrected, then certainly reproved by people with kinder hearts, better minds and the courage to speak out for their beliefs.”

PoetryRacePoemRacismPrejudiceAfrican AmericansBlacksRace RelationsWhitesJim Crow
Book:Acolytes
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“Advent Season by Stewart Stafford A house bedecked in verdant wonderment, With lights that mirror the starry firmament, Where the Christmas Star did once shine, To guide worshippers to the Divine. The wreath on the door is a welcome portal, For any passing cheerful mortal, Wishing to enjoy warm company, And mountains of gravy-drowned turkey. Nostrils fill with cooking scents, That waft through the house with excitement A feast to consume on the 25th, After the Man in Red has paid a visit. Children orchestrate great noise, And sit and play with gifted toys, While adults watch and reminisce, On childhoods past and favourite gifts. The Wheel of Time turns, Festivities End, And the year itself begins again. In Time's juvenile crawl, Or adult speed, Life zips forward, and history repeats. © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”

PoetryPoemChristmasTime PassingAdventChristmas DinnerChristmas DecorationsChristmas PastChildhood ChristmasesChristmas Star
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“After my mom died she ate my father up completely. She would have hated it. Every minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird. If I had to live on without you I know I could not do it. But I hope, I have this vision of you walking unencumbered, with your shining hair in the sun. I have not seen this with my eyes, but only with my imagination, that makes pictures, that always wanted to paint you, shining; but I hope that this vision will be true, anyway.”

LifeDeath
Book:The Time Traveler's Wife
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