21 Friday Dec 2018
As I settle into adulthood, I am realizing that I have less room to make mistakes. I am also realizing that instead of living in fear, I should have been more open to making mistakes, while taking as many risks as possible, when I was younger. Therefore, I wrote this poem to express my sentiments towards this realization. Thank you for watching and please comment your thoughts!
04 Monday Apr 2016
Posted in creativity
Tags
children, dreams, image, imagination, poem, poetry, read, reading, smile, wonder, writing, young
Where did our dreams go?
Where inside us is the child hidden?
Lost fairy tales where wonder and smiles lie waiting
between reality
and dusty pages.
What happened to the universe
of unending wonder
where we’d coast on the wings of imagination?
01 Friday Apr 2016
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Care, home, love, loyal, loyalty, Passion, peace, poem, poet, poetry, safe, travel, writing, young
“Don’t tell me what to do”
“No promises”
But we knew
We would be chained to each other’s wishes.
A care even earth
Has seemed to be loss of words to
Though it has witnessed
The spectrum of men’s feelings.
06 Sunday Mar 2016
Posted in books, creativity, Uncategorized
Tags
art, artist, books, create, love, poetry, Short story, Story, write, writer, young, Young writers
Hello everybody,
A friend of mine is currently working on a story. She posted the story on wattpad (linked below) and would really appreciate it if people would read it, share it with others and comment their thoughts as she updates the story. Also, if you like it and would like to stay in the loop with the other parts of the story as she posts them, please follow her. Thank you very much!
05 Friday Feb 2016
Posted in Artist
Tags
art, beauty, black, ethnicity, king, lady, love, natural, poetry, queen, race, royal, unique, young
Today, I followed a young lady on Instagram because she is an artist.
All over her page were her prints:
Bold, innocent and kind, like saints.
She is an artist and though many did not realize it,
She kept sprinkling her art like a farmer dropping seeds and living it up to the soil to take advantage
Artist:
Art. An individual who makes their existence an art and produce art.
Art:
The person who always bothered you or amazed you with their constant ideas that were so different from ours.
These ideas are art.
Being “different” is too vague
But the art in it is: not being reluctant to take the other path no one ever takes, even though there’s a 99% chance you will suffer.
The art is the personality
The artist—the person who overwhelms you with the weight of their unique being.
She makes you know that:
She might be like this other girl walking down the block
But hell no! They ain’t the same because her charisma is different
And that other girl is not as passionate when applying coconut oil!
A definition the generation I am currently living in has seemed to be lost to,
A definition so few of us are living in that it is, at times, a constant struggle for the artists
Themselves
To be clear to the beauty of it.
The blacker the Berry, the sweeter the juice.
Was in my head a few pictures and likes through
African “Black” American feminist with a down-to-earth connection with her cultural background and nature;
The type of young lady I look at
And after hours of amazement, my court rules I will never be fit for her.
The type of young lady who puts her foot down and stupidity shakes
She is THE ONE natural beauty takes
The beauty in being a Black Female.
Some say, “Blacks used to be Kings and Queens”
But individuals like her show: blacks ARE Kings and Queens.
Blacks used to reign
Anyone can be a king and queen but so few can reign.
Poetry is art
But
Personality, I put apart
To praise the more and more
Her art is her Juice
Her skin, the blacker Berry
Copyright © 2016 by Charles Joseph Augustin
30 Saturday Jan 2016
Source: You Fought Demons
19 Saturday Dec 2015
Posted in poem, poetry, Uncategorized
Tags
church, facts, freedom, happiness, kids, poem, poet, poetry, poetrybycharlesjoseph, SirCharlesThePoet, young
When I was younger, getting on my knees indicated that I was being punished.
And that was bundled by a storm of anger and a whiff of Shame
Fortified by a few lashes.
Ouch!
So I never understood when my pastor kept on telling me I have to kneel before the Lord and that is how I will find happiness, comfort in Him and freedom.
It made no sense.
Copyright © 2015 by Charles Joseph Augustin
Sircharlesthepoet 