The Eyes of Home

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

 

Black Magi

Black Magi

your strength is wasted,

killing over slabs of

cracked, crumbling concrete

that will outlast

the return

of your bones

to dust

 

Black Magi

your lives are wasted

when the blood

of your

slain brother

soaks your soul,

and the wails

of his mother

are your lullaby

as you look at the same

Moonlight

through the bars of your cell,

and she does the same

through her gone baby’s eyes.

 

Black Magi

your knowledge is wasted

in kilos of grams,

hidden in luxury cars,

poisoning our future,

your neighborhood,

chipping at foundations

you desperately need.

But you got yours, right?

 

Black Magi

your wealth is wasted

on basketball shoes that are

Free

to the person they’re named after,

made by slaves in other foreign lands

(you know you’re not home, right?)

 

Black Magi

Gather your belongings

Now

 

Call your loved ones to your side

Today

 

Black Magi

the stars bid you

travel far,

and one of them falls

when one of you

turns back to die

 

Black Magi

Your son has questions

only you

can answer

 

Black Magi

Your daughter

has smiles

only you

can share

 

Black Magi

Your woman

cries tears

only you

can dry

 

Black Magi

The years of

your harvest

are spent in rehab,

then just spent,

And poisoned seeds

again take root

through the husk

of what used to be

Fertile and Wise and Strong,

the shell of what used to be

You

 

Black Magi

Stop

Think

Repent

But mostly,

Stop.

Black History Month

A proud people,
A nation of farmers
warriors
families
royalty
nomads
scholars
keepers of tradition
stewards of the world’s
most varied wildlife
sitting on a wealth
of gems and minerals

Captured, netted, chained
transported, thrown overboard,
sold,
whipped, stripped, beaten,
broken, lynched
castrated
burned
raped
thrown in jail
segregated
attacked
stereotyped
blackface

caretakers
workers
artists
singers
musicians
athletes
speakers
teachers
actors
dancers
astronauts
scientists
inventors
architects
soldiers

writers
poets
rappers of
Black
consciousness

feared
copied
lied about
blocked
redlined
discriminated against
hated

stay silent
keep humble
pray and wait
don’t protest
get out
go away
go back

rise
strive
break free
survive
think
live
be

We
Still
Here

Black
Right
Here.

 

I Look Forward to Spring

This seemed to strike a chord…let me know what you think. Enjoy.

Beyond Panic

I look

forward

to spring

I look

backwards

to run

I close my

eyes

when walking

and try to guess

what I

bump

into

I look

sideways

standing,

waiting for

the bus

I look

up at the stars

in the winter

sky

and

I look

forward

to spring

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

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And So What Shall We Say?

And so what shall we say

here at the end of day,

Here at the cold of fiery dusk

Before extending our feet

and hands

toward the hearty

crackling hearth?

The fire that blazes there

used to be

between

us

but has cooled

like the surface of

the moon,

and seems to have

fallen

down a crater

of its own making.

And so what shall we say?

‘Goodbye’ seems too trite.

‘Farewell’ is too polite.

And ‘so long’ has become

‘too long.’

Perhaps we shouldn’t say

anything.

And kiss.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015