Respect and honor
to our
Black soldiers
brave and true
Highly decorated
but also
segregated
You went
and fought
one war
they told you
they needed you for,
wishing they didn’t
But we all know
you went
and fought
two wars
and won
them both
Thank you.
Welcome back
to your people
and
Welcome Home
to your country
too.
From the savannah
the deserts
the grasslands
the veldt
and the jungle
The music played
On the ship
In the cabins
In the master’s house
and the whipping sheds
and the cotton and tobacco fields
The music played
And at sunset
Heads lowered over
Unmarked graves of
Old men and
Innocent children
The music played
From the Underground Railroad
through the rise of Pullman Porters
The music played
Through Jim Crow
and chain gangs
The music played
Through hard times
and celebrations
Through vibrant
ululations
and rising expectations
The music played
In the Deep South
through the screams
and cries wrought
by night riders
and cross burnings
The music played
Over the sound
of barking dogs
and high pressure hoses
The music played
Through Malcolm, through Newton,
and Martin and Jesse
The music played
Through the first black…
The music…
We must teach the songs
that kept the voices lifted
though hearts were heavy
Kept the flames lit though
our dreams of freedom were
constantly extinguished
Kept hope alive through our best
writers, artists, and orators.
The music played, and plays still
And it will play on
as long as we remember,
And if
we
teach it well,
long after
we’re
gone.
He will rise to lead
his nation
to greatness
He will serve
his queen and heirs
by standing firm
keeping his word
and controlling
his spirit
He will guide his people
through wisdom
with knowledge
only he may
possess,
for kings do
not deal in
common things
Secrets revealed to him
are on a higher plane,
a riskier level
War is ever at his gate
Strife sniffs at his table
Death watches his bed
and yet, his people
love and honor him
for his integrity
and fairness
they delight in
the peace at their borders
and their countenances
reflect his prosperity
Long is he revered
and with bittersweet
Mourning he will be
remembered
such is
the legacy of
strong, wise
kings
These chains
seized
my hands
and
my feet
Forced my eyes
to look up
at the searing sun
of my homeland
retreating as the
waves took me
to foreign, hostile
shores
Long did I wear them
and suffer under their weight
Long did I fight against them
and when they resisted me,
I fought some more
Against my flesh they
burned and chafed
and pressed me down
Against the stones I
slammed them
over and over
We fought for days
Decades
Centuries
And yet you do
not understand…
I was forged
into a weapon
by these chains
You carried me
and used me,
made me privy to
the intentions
of your heart
and the schemes of
your mind
And now
after all this fighting,
the chains are loose.
But if you think to bind me
again
to your service
at my life’s expense
You will see
that I am a
Warrior
now,
and no man’s
Slave,
My mind,
Unsheathed
My flesh,
Unbound
Not to your peril,
but to my own
Benefit
And these
broken chains
no longer have
Dominion
over me.
(Negasi is Ethiopian for ‘Royalty’)
The jungle rains
make smooth
the tracks of
his journeys,
and hide away
his bones
His kingdom
long emptied
of treasure
and people
and time
His throne
succumbs to
the loving embrace
of encroaching
tree branches
Vines of ivy
and small berries
the birds glean
in high summer
spiral round his
decrepit scepter
in
vernal abandon
Snakes
burrow
in the
holes
of
looted
gold
Drums
Dance
and
Ululations
of celebration
have turned to
morning
birdsong
The moonlight
Dirge
sung
as he passed
through the
mourning throng
has become the
chirring
of crickets
and the
croaking
of toads
But the
Strength
of his
Spirit
has
forever
altered
this land.
Author’s Note: I remember standing on the stoop of my grandmother’s brownstone in Harlem, and we watched a line of people form because the drug supply had come in. There were young men in business suits, mothers with baby carriages, and wide mix of ages. My grandmother turned to me and said, “This sure is a weak society out here.” Given the time she grew up in, and the circumstances she had to endure, I had no answer. Did our ancestors really fight so hard, so long to survive, so we could kill ourselves, and say it was someone else’s fault?
“The CIA put drugs in our neighborhoods.”
And we used them.
“The government put guns in our neighborhood.”
We used those too.
So let me ask you: If I put a bomb on your doorstep,
and you take it inside, and it blows up on you,
who’s responsible for the damage it caused?
The key to countering conspiracies is sabotage,
not compliance.
Break the strings
Become a real man
instead of a ‘real nigga’
And free yourself.
For real.
Author’s Note: This photo was taken at the Slave Museum. As the little girl’s mother was explaining what happened, she hugged the statue and said, “Everything’s going to be okay.” This is a poem that reflects that faith…
They sure tried:
To strip us culturally
To bend us spiritually
To break us physically
To give us second best
To question our humanity
To question our intelligence
They sure tried:
To stop us from voting
To stop us from organizing
To stop us from demanding
To stop us from marching
To stop us from praying
To stop us from fighting
To stop us from protesting
To stop us from singing
They sure tried:
To deny us access
To reduce our numbers
To convince us we don’t belong
To tell us we had nothing
they didn’t give us
To stop us from voting
To erase us from history
They sure tried:
To tell us to get over
the very history they
imposed
on us
They sure tried:
To tell us we’re violent
Ignorant
Beastly
Savage
Sexual predators
Dopefiends
Whores
and Pimps
and
Criminals
They sure tried:
To keep us illiterate
To keep us afraid
To keep us unaware
To keep us drunk
To keep us in vice
To keep us down
They sure tried:
To keep us enslaved
We tried too:
To be patient
To be non-violent
To suffer
To fight through the system
To die on our feet
But we got tired of trying
because they mistook
patience
for weakness
So we said
No,
and we said
No longer
And we said
No more
And we said
Our lives matter
And now they try
to say it’s our fault
they have to kill us.
And now, in 2016…
We find that
the
Tryal
is far from over
But if we stand
and work
and build
and teach
and love
TOGETHER
the verdict
is
Victory.
Jazz Dancer
balancing
brassy bronze
jazz sax solos
with your
ballet shoes
Notes in the air
scoop up
your feet
and you dance
on
beams of wood
and
bars of music
Ah, there you are,
Spinning en pointe…
En garde, my heart!
(but I’ve already lost this fight;
in fact, I’ve taken a dive for love)
In your movements
I hear Beale Street
In your eyes I see
Storyville
and
Birdland
and
Paris
Your feet write rhythms
Your hands transpose keys
Your elegant fingers twirl them
together into something
Transcendent and Divine
You are a
Jazz Dancer
and I
a mere mortal
crying with gratitude
at the
Miracle
you’ve given
me.
His smile speaks of contentment
I pray his times of discontent are brief,
though they are certain.
His hand on the windowsill
lingers between
exploring and safety
I pray that he ever be connected to home,
and adventurous in his exploration
His expression
is full of innocence
and peace
I pray that a fragment of
each remain resistant to a
frenzied, hostile world
His eyes,
so bright and clear
guide me back
to my ancestral
family
the way Polaris
guided the Railroad
passengers,
And gave them
Sanctuary
far,far away
from
Home.
I pray we find each other
and be complete
How regal our princes
How handsome, how bold
How bright eyed and dignified
Even when sold
How regal our princes
How strong in their ways
Though chased, caught and netted
And emptied of days
How regal our princes
How proudly they stand
In shivering sickness
Inside a sick land
How regal our princes
Imprisoned in chains
And beaten and broken
For freedom took pains
How regal our princes
Their blood flowing down
Their hands pricked with nettles
Their skin glistening brown
How regal our princes
Their voices that sang
Of freedom and justice
As white church bells rang
How regal our princes
Their sacrifice great
With hope their descendants
Would not bear this weight
How regal our princes
We thank you, we do
There would be no us
If it wasn’t for you
How regal our princes
Now faded with time
Remembered and honored
In this humble rhyme
Beyond Panic 