Category: Poetry

Why You Leaving Now, Daddy?

Back then

the shovels,

picks, hoes,

rakes, pitchforks,

axes and scythes

were held high

on tired shoulders

that had to make it

through

one more day

to eke out

a hardscrabble

living

under people

with hardscrabble hearts

 

They sang and joked

and laughed between

the grunts of effort

that went into

breaking ground

 

Their sweat brought

the flies and mosquitoes

 

Their existence brought

bullies carrying violence

 

But their thoughts were

on their wives and children,

who knew that when their men

left them

it was to make the

best life

they could until

they could do better

 

There was hope in their toil,

and love in their hearts

and it hurt them to see their women

standing with the children waving, sad smiles on their

little faces, and his wife with

worry in her eyes even though

she smiled too

 

He might run into the wrong man today…

 

Coming home tired,

to a cooked meal,

and children on his lap,

and a warm bed with

the love of his life

holding him close.

 

So

 

Now that the chains are off,

Now that you’re free

Now that you can dream your own dreams

and lift up the next generation

 

Why you leaving now, daddy?

Why you in jail now, daddy?

Why did you shoot that other Black man?

Was he a daddy too?

Why you don’t come by to see us?

Why is mama crying?

Did you hit her again, daddy?

 

Don’t you love us anymore?

 

Daddy? Daddy?

 

Don’t go…

 

Why you leaving now, daddy?

 

 

Weapons of the Heart

Always

at the heart of it

is a weapon

 

A kingdom’s fate

A love’s revival

A warrior’s life

A prophecy fulfilled

 

 

Always

at the heart of it

is a weapon

 

Discarded

Forgotten

Dulled

Unblooded

Uncared for

 

But a weapon

all the same

 

Waiting patiently

for a hand

to lift it

up into the light

 

to transfer its

Power

 

anew

 

Go on…

 

pick it up

and

feel its

heartbeat

pulse

in harmony

with

your own

Aren’t You Tired?

Hatred

takes

time and energy

 

Hatred

wears away

the good in us

by gradual degrees

of erosion until

you no longer

realize

you’re empty

inside

 

Hatred is

tiring to

perpetuate

 

Hatred is

tiresome to

its victims

and targets

 

Hatred

is based

on

private preferences

in a

public world.

 

 

Let us be done with

Hatred

and be about

the business

of rebuilding

the land

we now share

and each other

 

We will never

purge evil

as long as we

practice it

look the other way

when it occurs

take pictures of it

say “Glad it’s not me.”

and

convince ourselves

‘it will never change

because we can’t change.”

 

Why not?

 

A Moment of Weakness, A Lifetime of Pain

Your life upended,

just wanting to feel good

for a moment,

 

The serpent slithered down

and flicked your ear with

a silver tongue

 

Betrayed, you were

hung up

strung out

and dying slow

 

The jester bested

the king

 

And the pain of your need

dimmed the light of your soul

 

You’d say anything

Do anything

Kill anyone

 

And now

the programs sprout

like mushrooms

pretty with disease

nutritious with bacteria

 

And you live in

cold and wretched

shadows

 

in cold and wretched

places

 

with a cold and wretched

heart.

 

and cold and wretched

voices in your head.

 

I would reach out to you,

but you won’t put your hand out,

except to pull a weapon on me

and have me supply your

demon’s need

 

Sometimes I just gave it to you,

because I knew you once

and recognized your shell.

 

I can’t return home,

And you can’t leave.

 

Is this goodbye?

 

I wish we knew

I wish it wasn’t

I hope it isn’t

 

but as we idolize

the parasite

that infested you

as he drives his Escalade,

his rims spinning as he goes

nowhere, a reflection

of both of you,

 

I can only look in from

the outside,

and say

I’m sorry

our

friendship

our

brotherhood

could not make you

feel good enough about

you

 

I still hold out hope,

my brother, that one day

through your nightmares

a dream will come instead,

and

you too, will remember

the man you

used to be

 

I’m standing in the light

calling

waiting for your

crawling shadow

to pass the dirty window

 

I’ll still be here

when you answer,

if you answer,

but

it’s up to you now…

Humanity Redeemed

3/5 of a person?

Property?

 

Stripped of dignity

No sense of civility

To the brink of insanity

 

See, the white man wears no placard

to identify himself.

He marches, but he is

 

separated,

 

to prove the point that

his species

is not in question

 

He will never be called

‘boy’ ‘Charlie’

‘nigger’ ‘coon’

‘savage’ ‘monkey’

 

He will not need to be protected

by the anti-lynching law (there had to be

a law, because lynching was addicting…)

and

Jim Crow doesn’t peck away

at his humanity

 

We would have our humanity back;

Not that it went away, but the effort

to remove it was prolonged, intense,

and relentless

 

And even now, still flares

like solar arcs

 

So yes,

we would take our humanity back,

and whether you like it or not…

 

We don’t need

your permission.

 

You Can Try

You can try

to taste

those luscious

Blackberry

lips

 

You can try

to stay in

the eye of the storm

in those patient

piercing eyes

 

You can try

to get her

to drop

the warlike

stance

and the

Deadly Weapon

 

You can try

to meld those

hips

to the contours

of your hands

 

You can try

to part her

thighs and get

her to

Surrender

 

and if you do,

you will

die a

different

Death

 

and wanting more…

 

you will smile, and

reach for her

 

And have to

do it all

again

A Story Told in Song

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.

Breaking Chains

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’s Song

(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.

 

 

Still On Tryal

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.