I accepted the 30/30 challenge offered by a group of fellow poets. This is the result. Thirty poems written in 30 days.
Poem#30 (4/30/2015) North American African Poet
i am a poet
language and ideas
are my meat & bread
the eye a tool
that captures the light spilling
on to the fully dressed fig tree
the flight of birds
the wind over the grass
the pain in a mothers eyes
the hunger in a childs
the anger in a mans
i listen for the meaning behind the words
waiting for the truth
like an off schedule bus
reflecting reflecting reflecting
like a mirror the
things that pass
through me living with the things
that will not pass away
but cling stubbornly to life
myths that crumble when examined
lies manifest to protect the guilty
the unevenly cut pie
the wolves selling merry-go-round tickets
law in the land of the lawless
the ugly secrets bandaged by
a flag and an anthem
living in the nation
buried deep within the nation
there is another rhythm
a steady rising wave
another drum beating
real reality lives here
not the story in books
funky non commercial real
realness is Africans dancing
in front of the white house
demanding freedom and the american
way come out to talk
its telling the truth no matter
what it sounds like
or what they want to hear
its not caring when they see
you point the zombie finger &
make that high-pitched squeak
that denotes they have noticed
you are awake traveling in stealth
with the sheep when wolves smell
lions and guerrillas they panic
cause they are unruly
refused to be ruled by wolves
won’t ape the story
on the news they are noisy
hard to control and known
for waking sheep i like lions
& apes
& sheep that are
awake so for them
i tell the truth
i write the songs
& the eulogies
explain the difference
between what is &
what needs to be
i am their poet
eating their pain
carrying it inside
trying to transform it into
food for the battle
bandaging the wounds
sucking out the poison
outing wolves
urging them to move forward fearlessly
i am the drum beating inviting the dance
i am the drum beating calling the dancer
i am the drum beating
i am the drum
Poem#29 (4/29/2015) No Apologies
i offer no apology
for my tone
the tilt of my head
my gaze
my embracing of my intellect
or my clear thought
not one
god gave ’em to me
deal wit ’em
Poem#28 (4/28/2015) Today
the sun rose & so did i
a new beginning for the
moments it takes light to
reach the brain then one remembers
i am she who remembers when
i wake up freedom is on my mind
Baltimore has stopped burning for
the moment dreams deferred have been
tucked back into frayed pockets underneath
quiet pleas for peace which confuse me the
flames signal the lack of peace so what are
the pleas for are they a request to let the
dream keep sagging like a heavy load
it may still explode Baltimore is not the end
sadly awake i know this the litany so long we
end it with & thousands more will roll on
rebellion is an answer we need answers we
refuse to dance on killing floors we will
stop the party send the band home if you
force us you are forcing us I am awake
Mumia is dying being killed by the system
which has confined & penned him because
he was awake wolves like sleeping ship
i am awake the anger finds me & i am forced to sit in
bodhisattva for the world to find my own
compassion in a world which is short on
empathy awareness of the possibility of other paths
& evidence of a interconnected humanity
i am awake the sun is shining & the anger has been
placed in a quiet room so that i can travel from the
nation in the nation to through the nation
carefully standing behind the veil
dealing with the matters of life going forward
in the storm even as the wheel turns &
the jaws of wolves snap on the necks of
those sleeping as they walk through the
world i am awake
sleeping sheep & wolves on the path
as i go forward doing what i was told to
do knowing no other way i
dress my soul for the day
step out into the world
with three eyes open
Poem#27 (4/27/2015) Veteran
he lives in a tent under the overpass
trying to over his past get behind change
to make a future but the ground is moving
he is not life is passing him sometimes it
stops with water food spare change but his
change is slow in coming trying not to die of
exposure he exposes his tours of duty in the service
of his country he does not tell me how he slipped
and fell only that he is having a hard time getting
up but he still dreams about rising high enough
to touch the taste of life being lived on its terms
he has children grandchildren they do not know
he has fallen he will wait until he gets up
if he gets up he will go to them whole but
not in the pieces pushed in a cart after
being in service he is looking for services
from the country he protected he needs
protection from the wind rushing the top
of the faded tent he needs the promise to be
true he needs to cash the check the country wrote
but it won’t clear today maybe not tomorrow but
he has faith that something great is coming
his sacrifice will be met he is confident it won’t
be much longer and the nightmare will end
he dreams America and waits for the
curtain to rise as he rises over the past
walking away from freeway underpasses
into life maybe sharing spare change
with strangers whose faith was not as strong
Poem#26 (4/26/2015) The American Dream
America the dream
equality prosperity freedom
justice its the American way
one for all and all for one
American
land of opportunity
exceptional
where rags to riches is real
pulling yourself up by bootstraps
is possible there is a chicken
in every pot two cars in the driveway
money in the bank work for willing hands
the land of milk and honey
the american dream
down sized
fewer jobs & chickens
paychecks don’t go as far
as they used to rent too high
factory closed war came it
never left hard times for returning
vets sour milk & tight money
are we still dreaming America honey?
tell me again about the dream
America sing loud enough for
us to hear it outside in tent
towns small houses moving
moving moving moving no
chickens no driveways
living under freeways
outside in the rain
after night falls
on our dreams
of the dream and us
outside of the dream
trying to find a way in
again trying to find a
way in trying
to find a
way
whats the dream again?
Poem#25 (4/25/2015) For the Trolls
(bgal24 this is for you & the gaslight crew)
i know you read me
i know you discuss me in forums
you are so brave on the internet
saying what you want to say to my face
but lack the courage how do you have
so much time so little business you
can mind mine who are you i know
you writ large but not the you of it
the men and women at home behind
computers lobbing bombs into the lives of others
you are fascinated by me love to gaslight me
truth is i terrify you this lets me know
you are intelligent enough to be afraid
lets me know you are aware of your sins
those you inherited and the fresh ones
you committed in the name of privilege
you like to throw shit
dressed up as your free thought
you have thoughts of me falling down
staying down beaten finally knowing
for all time my place but it aint your place
to judge me you ain’t god to me in all likely
hood your god is not my Godz it does not
bother me that you fail to understand me
i operate in a different epistemology
my paradigm ain’t your paradigm
i have no sympathy for you in your small
cruelties hiding behind your screen with
a mouse by the neck being a big man
i am used to your type i know its cowardly
sheen have smelt your stench in my flared
nostrils and I recognize the smell of hell fire
you are sick so sick you will most likely die
in your ignorance and usually i do for your
what your god will not do
i ignore you
you are beneath me
you are beneath my thought
you are less than nothing
you are an abomination
walking death talking death
strewing death before you on
a blood-red carpet your kind spend
lots of time making others feel small
so you can imagine yourself a giant
you would not survive my world even
my dreams have fangs be careful not to draw
my attention if you get on my radar I might
come for you like your tales of blue-eyed jesus
like a thief in the night running you up out the temple
serving reciprocity with the ease you offer
your opinion on my life which you know less than
nothing about if you had ever met me you would
be more cautious i am unstable dangerous barely able to
contain my anger on a good day asking nothing
from you but that you remember your humanity
not caring if you find it face down on the floor
i owe you nothing and try to give you even less
i am not for you i am not invested in your well-being
i like you uncomfortable i am what you fear but
not what you imagine never what you conjure
you have no capacity to understand me
alive knowing intelligent not under obligation
born free with dignity entitled to all you claim for
your self and determined to leave footprints a map
and light for others to follow this is liberation theology
meant to separate me from you and your dreams of
lynching trees to distinguish me from your naked greed
to set me aside from your dumb ass ideology & if
you want to know what i really think
read slowly and aloud
i don’t give a fuck about you
thanks for reading
Poem#24 (4/24/2015) Free Poem
this poem would like to be about something
other than poetry or why I write
it wants to be beautiful shiny to take you
somewhere you discover something so
beautiful you remember it
but this poem is already about this poem
which wants to be as free as I want you to be
this poem is off the reservation like I want to be
this poem does not recognize boundaries
it will go where it wants to and be all it can
it wants to shape itself and be what it
is in all its glory I want that too for
the poem for you or me so I have
let the poem be itself knowing it is as
close to perfect in itself as anything can be
so it is living in the now unencumbered by
its history my tendencies or your expectations
running on clean asphalt breathing deeply
smelling pine and eucalyptus reminding
me of walking to school though a meadow
that is paved over now but the poem remembers
the tall grass the wild fruit and the endless sky
of younger days before the lights came on
& I found less reasons to smile became serious
about things and let go of things to carry other
things the poem remembers cute boys in the
fourth grade with liquid brown eyes crooked smiles
and valentine cards it remembers light coming
though the skylight making patterns on the comforter
it remembers the cloud shapes and when I learned
to read them this poem remembers what you have
tucked into the drawer of your real life to live
the life you have it knows you dream of running away
to your real self it wants you to it says you should leave
today it does not want you to take the things
that tie you to the ground make you cry or feel afraid
just your joy it wants you to play to remember to be
the poem is over gone maybe to return probably not
that happens sometimes when you get the courage
to run away when you get the courage to be free
you never go back to the way it used to be
Poem#23 (4/23/2015) One Perfect Love
love
perfected
is generous
one is divine
undivided whole
one perfect love
love purely perfect
from soul
to souls
traveling the same road
together in the storm
the same with splendid
difference the same
heart
same struggle
fear
same pain
joy
same dreams
night mares
together on the road
walking the same way
hands in the air
mouths open singing life
out of the lean spaces we stand in
out of the thin air we breath
out of the courage we posses
we are all we have
standing on the bones
remembering when the sky
was cleared and the thunder
was our friend the earth our provider
the sun our light us multiplying one perfect
love unfolding like a rose or
a diaspora traded for a mother’s arms
we are everywhere together in
the no where wanting for our
brothers what we want for ourselves
one love
one perfect love
bigger than the oceans that separate us
as vast as the story that connects us
deeper than melanin
inbred racial memory
binding as blood
love perfected
we are one
indivisible from the inside
one love
one
one perfect love
Poem#22 (4/22/2015) Mama Connie’s Poem
some rooms pull me back
through time sometimes
its a song truth is I can
be interrupted in the middle of
a thought the ancestors are
calling clearer than a phone line
ringing they want to talk through me
they want to say something
they need a tongue I give them mine
today they want you to know there is
nothing new there have always been stars
we are cosmic dust fragments of all
that has ever been there is nothing new
only those who have forgotten
those who think this is all
now is not all here is not all they want
us to know there is nothing new
nothing unthought only unknown in the now
they want us to remember to remember
they say its important
there are things that get lost
the sound of someone’s laughter a gift
from on high forgotten floating somewhere
wanting to be remembered the sweat of a brow
furrowed in concentration falling into the dirt
to become a part of the all carried in the wind to
rain down again absorbed forever waiting for
its moment to be recalled the curve of a muscle
strained in burden holding lifting making the now
I stand in honoring that toil that honest labor often
free unrewarded but earnest there are stories of quiet
saturday mornings in the back seats of cars
no money but going somewhere looking seeing longing
for some future time not knowing those
precious moments would disappear under the weight
of those future days long and empty of the things
that rolled softly before them or were drug down long dark
hallways some lost on purpose others waiting
for thought to brush up against them
things like the sound of your dead great grandmother’s
name gasping for air waiting for you to say it aloud
they want us to know we are their future
yes the dead have futures we live them
they want us to know they left work for us
they want us to remember
what they tried but could not do
they want us to do it they want us to know we
are a promise they dream on
yes the dead have dreams
we are their dreams our rising and falling
our pain and our joy
they want us to know
they told me to
write it down and say it aloud
I am writing it down
I will say it aloud
Poem#21 (4/21/2015) Crooked
in the crooked house
crooked men run a crooked
game selling you a reality you
will never survive your future
rotting between their crooked teeth
jesus did not run all the money changers
out of the temple or they fled and moved north
to set up shop in ghettos cashing checks selling
you pork newports cheap booze marked up
toilet paper and ramen let you run a tab
between loads on ebt cards & infrequent
tokens from babies daddies drifting in search
of themselves in a place
they can’t breathe or escape the chalk outlines
waiting to embrace them if cells
don’t cage them their dreams their dark
thoughts of waves rising & their time
arriving with the fall of crooked men
digging holes for things they fear
like the return of Christ
the rise of a black messiah
black men
alive
black babies
in the womb
black women
for nurturing
black men & continuing to dream on
them knowing they are waves rising from
a troubled ocean floor
water seeking its level
life giving and deadly
given the right circumstance
look at the circumstance
crooked men hide behind
laws concocted to grow them
like fungus in a damp room
mold growing on everything
living fatalistically comfortable
with death and the constancy of
falling empire infecting dividing
remaking themselves like cancer
hiding in the machine which
is painted invisible & parked in
your living room
crooked men in a crooked
room counting on you falling down
betting on the odds
winning either way
engaging you in senseless conversations
smoke & mirror diversions
selling you designer dope
baiting you with pretty things
setting you against your neighbors
and the other folk they don’t like
because they can and we are adaptable
crooked men playing
a crooked tune
that we dance a crooked jig to
wearing pained crooked smiles
to hide the crooked shards of
anger cutting out our guts
as we dance a crooked
jig to crooked tunes
hummed by crooked men
with your future rotting between
their teeth
Poem#20 (4/20/2015) Imperative
if someone broke into your home & stole
your children how long would it take you to
forget would you forgive the man who raped
your grandmother if he was unrepentant
would you forgive the kidnappers
celebrate them their kidnapping ways
join them in hurting others to prove
your loyalty to them in appreciation of
them not killing you even though they may
at times murder your sons fathers daughters
mothers put them in cages stripping them
of the status they have awarded you the right
to be one of them until they decide you can’t
burn down a town or hang your neighbors from
trees burn crosses on lawns in your community
& continue to this day to dangle nooses
from trees in dormitories in company trunks
to remind you that they remember
daring you to say you do
what would your imperative be
how would you show up without
bringing the anger that has to be
brewing somewhere unless you have found
a way to forget don’t remember never knew
just don’t care how much blood is on the path
to ignore that the moment is a blinding light
demanding voices attention movement wants
something that is missing needs to be
would mean pretending not to see
how the sidewalk holds us better than the country does
how every 20 hours bodies fall
next to the merry-go-round of the prison complex
industrialized to process the fodder from
schools designed to wash out
those who find it difficult to conform
those capable of coloring outside the lines
& those born with three eyes incapable of forgetting
adapting assimilating or shrinking to fit behind
the veil conjured to disavow their humanity
how do you keep from screaming
upon waking each day knowing you have to walk
though a charade in which you act the fool
with a history of
minstrels in celebration of your stepping and fetching
being the only way not to be bending and toting
how long would it take you to forget
to forgive to glorify to join to become
the cancer you swim in
at what point would your imperative
become curing the cancer
Poem#19 (4/19/2015) Adaptable
I can’t cut myself into pieces
small enough to fit into the
boxes you have crafted to confine
me I refuse to be invisible
you should fear me
the sins of the fathers
ride with you unresolved
you eat the fruit of stolen trees
while denying me a resting place
in the sorrowland you stole me away to
I will not make peace with
your transgression will not forget
how I got here will not forgive
anymore than the bones on the ocean floor
will pardon you the remembrance
of holocaust you never asked for
forgiveness how can I adapt to that
I will not adapt to confinement
being lynched starved worked without pay
uneducated educated to serve you I
will not adapt to murder at will
will not stop breathing because
you want all the air I will not
be your stereotype
will not wear your dream
of me falling down
will not share your lie of me with my
reality of myself
will not seek to comfort you in
your psychosis you are ill
I refuse to ignore it you
can not make me wear the mask
when I refuse
the suit don’t fit
I will not shrink
my dreams are bigger than project
bedrooms that peer out on courtyards
without grass or trees they don’t care
about your bottom lines
endless need to build fences
my soul wants more than neon
& street corners it wants roots
reason rhyme dignity &
justice my history
belongs to me I hold it close
to remind me of being born free
my culture
is all I bought from where I belong
to this land constructed by the laws
of the lawless
it is fluid on purpose to keep you
off center it is alive you don’t
make the rules for the medicine
it is not for resale
after being remixed robbed of its
majick & infected by you
I have a beginning
a story I wrote in blood & tears
I remember it & those who
died living it
I know where you fit
you can’t rob me of legacy
you don’t posses the power to unmake me
I will not give it to you
you are not my author
I will ever come to glorify my captures
think in your logic become you I am
what you stole in its raw form
following a different drum
connected still
held still
here in your midst
Big Black’s time bomb ticking
unsmelted not melting beyond your dreams
of assimilating me I refuse to be eaten I
will not be digested I am
the substance of nightmare
& retribution
invoked by you
the genie out the bottle
sharpening swords
waiting for night to fall
I am not adaptable
Poem#18 (4/18/2015) Gaze
when you gaze at me
what do you think you see
do you look beyond
your perception
of me
can you see past
the tale of me
you brought into the room with you
who told you how to measure me
what scale did they use
who do you think I am
why do you want me
to conform to your idea of me
I am not an idea
I am human
blood coursing though veins
heat beating out my life
you do not know me
don’t know where I’ve walked
what I have carried
how heavy the burdens I
brought into the room with me
how I try to keep my mind open
enough for room for regret when
I am constantly disappointed
that you don’t see me
you see the things you think you know
the things you expect
the things you fear
disappointed in the way you
talk at me as if I were a thing
not a person trying to make me
accept things that are unacceptable
asking me to adapt to your peculiar
form of madness asking me to be
who you think I am
because that makes you comfortable
I am not invested in your comfort
can’t afford to care that you
have preconceived notions of my worth
I was born free
with dignity
I am not waiting for you to confer it upon
me I am not waiting for you to understand
that I am human I understand
I am sure of my worth
I will not offer you comfort by hiding my
discomfort my anger my consternation at
the audacity of your gaze that seeks to
undo me existentially
breaking me into small
pieces at war with each other
while you pray
for the reality of my
disappearance into
your myth of me
& the smelting pot
Poem #17 (4/17/2015) Choice
they told me god was in the details
they say the devil is in the numbers
i reside between heaven and hell
the details and the numbers of existence
one life infinite paths possible
one path destined
dangling between fate and faith
knee deep in details
with the odds against you
luck and hustle collide
faith in destiny is a detail
often overlooked
there is a reason always
if god resides in details
a reason resides in the chaos
of shattered moments
lost chances and found escapes
narrow and wide are doorways
each to rooms with windows
and other doors possible has
no number as hazards to
the soul are legion innumerable
so blessings are abundant unfathomable
we are wheat or chafe
dangling between
heaven
hell
fate
& destiny
Poem #16 (4/16/2015) Awake
the phone is ringing
she is miles away
my beautiful granddaughter
a piece of moonlight
shining in another part of the world
she is all tears frustration pours though
the phone line she has called to share
the fact that she is awake no longer asleep
her eyes are open her dreams have changed
she woke up with freedom on her mind
she has discovered herself
she got the call
the one we know can come at anytime
reminding us of the story
Poem # 14 (4/14/2015) Black Boys: An Open Letter
this is a love letter
a round unvarnished tale
drink this cup to the dregs
i brought some light for the head
& words for living
underwater without a boat
take the rope
seeing clearly maybe your only hope
there is a story
of you falling down
i read it in the paper
saw it on the news
you in cuffs
buying tickets for the merry go round
& they want you to ride
want you to cell till you in the ground
got you lined up to drink
the kool-aid you hot & they got the fade
you keep falling in the holes they made
especially for you
you heard of school to prison its true
there is a cell and a grave waiting for you
they are waiting for you to choose to
do what they want you to do
so they can lock chain exterminate you
its something about you
something about you
something that scares them
makes them need you to self destruct
they invent dope for you
special liquor too
took a continent from you
left you tossed up
descendants of warriors
content to rule street corners
claiming death before dishonor
with out honor
new school got broken rules
make as much sense as
brainwash schools
the ones you walk out of
trying to get your hustle on
you run fast most don’t run long
i see you dancing but whose writing the song
is this all you can be or
are you just singing along
there is a story of you falling
down blood on your hands blood
on the ground blood &
repeated rides on the merry-go-round
as they sing the song of you
falling down feeding it to your
peers & your sons
your are the future
as you grow so shall we
the nation in the nation
go what do you dream for us
we are in your hands dreaming
of you rising living becoming men
who will raise families who
will employ each other
teach each other
protect each other
see your self in one another
stand up for yourselves
educate yourselves
make a safe place for us to grow old
grow old
accept responsibility for what
you must change get
off your ass & in the game of living
going forward
making ways out of no ways
you are the Calvary
go
they have come for you
they are at the door
in the village
hunting you
to make sure you don’t escape
the slave catchers
the rollers
the police riding darth vader
task force
housing authority
sheriff
& the BART cops
FBI \CIA/Homeland security
& ink got you surrounded
in the land of the lawless
hard to get through alive even living
flawless but with all this
you are the future
of this unvarnished tale
burning in the street
trying to find the door to life
dying to live
living to die in cross hairs
hammer in hand
brain on pause
lost causes
we dream on you
we dream on you
there is something about you
something about you
something older than you
don’t let it drown you
understand it your father needed to know it
if he found it he told you
showed you where to find
your own if he never found his maybe
your grandfather was falling down
in time to the rhythm when he
should have been telling him but
maybe he was carrying something older than him
as well i know you got some twisted
things in the basket life served but
its what you got its what we all got
its all we got to make life from it
will have rain in it maybe more than your
share so you will have to find the sun son
you must if you want to be
we need you to be you are the future
you are the unvarnished tale
find the polish to shine up the sun son
we need your light the light in the baskets
wasted thrown away unexamined
you are light
you are precious
you are beautiful
you are important
in the tale of humanity flying or falling
you are a metaphor
a promise
our all
the tale
the song
the hope
be
there is something about you
something about you
be
Poem # 13 (4/13/2015) American
i want to pull up
on America
where its at
the open arms the swelling
bosom the broad shoulders
the resting place for the tired
poor huddled masses longing
to breathe free
where she at &
can i get there from the nation
in the nation deep in the bowels
of America on the killing floor
behind the veil
can you point me to
America
I want to park sideways
& bounce out on the grass
got some questions to ask bout
the chicken that’s not in my pot
the 40 acres I never got
want my mule my milk & honey
I want to see where justice lives
I got some advice to give
take the blind fold off &
open your damn eyes
you might be surprised what
they do in your name if you knew I am
sure you would be ashamed
I just want to wake up your game
cuz you got so much potential
to be functional even instrumental
but you got to stop & drop them wolves
who got you in the pocket
to be really real to me
it might go better if you could see
I just saying …
& have you seen equality
she needs to have a little chat with me
about the way she divides
the sunshine & rain
joy & pain
I am riding with blood memory
& righteous rage
& both want her to catch this fade
tired of 99 in the shade
you get an f if you want a grade
show me where I can run up
on democracy so she & I
can philosophize on
American hipocrisy
see if she bleeds the same color
as me I got a case of the white folks
done gave me the blues
got me seeing red
society are you listening to me
keep acting like
you ain’t heard what I said
if I could find you I would
smack you right upside yo’ head
get you right
so I could sleep in peace at night
hey,
you seen America
I’m looking for her
Poem # 12 (4/12/2015) At Canticle Farm
we are sitting in a circle at a farm
us broken things neatly in a circle
circles are as old as the ritual we invoke
as old as the science of things coming from
the soil the infinite nothingness of all things
composted together growing all things we
are cosmic dust microscopic fragments of stars
capable of reflecting the god light we are born with
somehow not knowing what we were born to know
disconnected from the path which has been overgrown
with the leaves of the narratives that fill books about
who we are what we can be the weight of our sins and the
unlikeliness of our redemption convinced we are beyond
cultivation there will be no harvest only wind and dust to
remind the world we were ever here we are weighted in the
mismatched chairs by the cleverness of a thing that is everywhere
yet no where wearing the black nooses you fashioned for us
considering where we went wrong and if we fell or were pushed
we are expert at dissecting symptoms but afraid to name the dis-ease
we are crazy folks with two faces afraid to even show each other
the scars that hold us together and the many places where wounds
lie on top of other wounds we own our brokenness blaming ourselves
we pick through the list of symptoms and find ourselves guilty and
accept the bandages offered as the cancer we are being consumed by grows
we speak proudly of our ability to survive to go on without
having the space to scream out the location
of the holes in the road and in our souls so
we count the others we have seen vanish into the pits
we adapt we want to
assimilate into the people who are not in the room
don’t carry the bags of sins we are
burdened with want not to be
separated apart outside beyond the pale
light that will guide you to the place society lives
in the big house with the lights burning brightly
fire in the hearth and the smell of warm bread inviting
you to sit at the table and be counted
when I asked what it cost us to get small
enough to fit in the gate
what did we have to let go
to slip into the key hole
it was silent
some of us cried may the tears
water the seeds I tried to plant
Poem # 11 (4/11/2015) At the Emerald Tablet
sometimes you wander into temple unknowingly
unexpectedly finding yourself in the sacred
you find your way there or maybe you
came to be fed to fill your spirit you might
have been invited to be a part of the ritual
unfolding if you were you feel
special when you realize you are in prayer
with other artist creating sublimity in
empty air out of full souls flowing effortlessly
sharing the presence they were gifted with
blessing the assembled who move with us
as one body we are the reflection of the most
high sacrificing our earnest offerings on the
altar of the stage leaving our blood our sweat
sanctified space where the spirit moves rides
enters flinging open the doors to your heart
welcoming the wounds that allow tears
to heal knowing you are not on the road alone
there are other flames burning brightly
we are making a new world a better world
the real world our world alive in color
now with each breath each hand clap
each verse spit song sung image flickering
we are making a new world
a better world
the real world
our world
sacred space
Poem # 10 (4/10/2015) This Shit
8 times in the back
running away
I can’t breathe
get up off me
why are you following me
its just skittles and iced tea
twenty one times in his doorway
it’s not a gun just a wallet identification
handcuffed face down on the BART platform
it was not a taser & why tase a handcuffed man
police man you abuse because you can
small sick coward man with gun in hand
enacting the sickness in the system
which has eaten us and wants
to throw us up
we are an irritation of the bowels
in this diseased organism called America
the body is sick
we are trapped in its shit
held by the body politic
who would like us to disappear
who continue to monetize us
commodities still from the ship to the cell
black bodies as products to trade
obliterate contain exterminate
we are caught in the shit
the body is sick
enabling sickness in all its parts
dead or needing to die
sick drinking the oceans
selling you air sick
infect you let you die sick
pen you in after hemming you
in praying you melt knowing
you never will want you dead
will kill sick what do you do when
you are eaten by a cancer
held in its bowels
behind a veil waiting
to be expelled
Poem # 9 (4/9/2015) If You Knew
If you know me
you know I am a particular taste
that you either love or hate
my passion leaves little room for ambivalence
If you knew me you would know I don’t worry
much about it I do what I do I am who I am
because I concentrate on walk matching
talk I am on a path I have a lane I only leave
to visit the zone when spirits demand a ride
I am in service to the dead those who came
before those who have lent me shoulders to
stand on If you knew me you would know I honor
that burden by doing my duty to life I live with
the assignment the most high whispered in my
ear right before I took my first breath I remember
I am only occasionally lonely because I am never
alone ancestors and children everywhere If you knew me
you would know how deeply I care and perhaps cry with me
as I rise to greet the sun praying for humanity my children me
& you because we are in the world together breathing the same
air & it matters that some one cares If you knew me you would
know I care you would know that I have considered your story
the whole of it the parts where we meet and the parts where we
digress you would know I have tried
to hold you friend or foe not for your sake but because
I know if you don’t we are family only separated by degrees
If you knew me you would know I try
put it on my tombstone like Sister Thea I tried
to remind us of who we were are could be can become
tried to honor the drum remembered the dance & lived
dancing it so the steps could live If you knew
me you would know I was born to the shield with a sword
in one hand a spear in the other with my tongue on fire
a caul over my face with three eyes opened wide I am who
I was destined to be unafraid of destiny connected to purpose
walking the path rocks & all
call answered I have no other way If you knew
me you would know I only go forward spirit at my back
I wake up everyday with freedom on my mind I submit
I bow down to the greater good but will come for you
like you called me if you blur the lines I am a protector
a lioness a warrior queen shelter in the wilderness my
enemies day mare they know there is no retreat no prisoners taken
will freely bless you to go & come again If you knew me you would know
the small circle is family we don’t divide just madly multiply we are
builders creators fabricating duplicating makers about life beyond survival
If you knew me you would know I make room on the path but
will not be stopped I am going somewhere if it does not exist
I will build it I pray with my hands moving If you knew me
you would know I try I am I won’t stop I bleed light because it feeds
me I transform it into mental groceries because I know the world is
hungry If you knew me you would smile when I pass leave bowls of ink on
your window sill and pray for poets who stand between you &
the madness willingly
bleeding light because they have remembered to remember
the beauty of being the gift of life sight a place
beyond ignorance violence greed one blood holding the
song of the one & dancing with swords
singing fire
Poem # 8 (4/8/2015) Angry Black Woman
I am an angry black woman
labeling me so is accurate
it does not offend as it intends
rather it marks me as intelligent
smart enough to not give a flying
buck bout how you label in an attempt
to silence marginalize hem in define as radical or fringe
I ain’t trying to fit in always been a cut above
demonstrated by an upright spine
& constant forward motion
out side the pale behind the veil
three eyed
never coloring in the lines
moving the line not allowing you to define
how I should feel react act in the face
of your unmaking I am angry
angry & dangerous I spend time
thinking about label makers & deconstructing
the narratives of me falling down forever
I am the author of me recalling what you
hope I forget as you hope I melt in the smelting pot
becoming what you need I will never do what you
want me to do never be who you see me being
I am she who remembers
graceful divers resting with Olukun
in touch with the water voices Yemonja
riding with spider woman & the twin war godz
remembering holding carrying
burned soul from sun on the back
of necks and backs bent in fields
planting tending harvesting
oppression containment genocide
neck elongated strange fruit memento
share cropping factory working waiting on you
hand and foot in your needy need to own
control divide fence in define suppress
I own the blackness you gave me to differentiate
me from you I wear it proud to be any thing but you
it is my blood on the door may your madness pass over me
I remember being born free with dignity
You can’t fit chains for me
& I am as angry as I should be
considering who we are together
where we have been & the price
I have paid to stand here with my
hand on my hip looking you in your
eyes not finding the soul that
should be reflected inside
not needing your understanding or backing
I am apologetically angry
angry enough to tell the truth
stand up be counted line you up
put you down out you for who you are
deliver your harvest I didn’t start this
but I am angry enough to make sure
I play my part in this & I have decided to
be a hero black hearted
riding on a black horse
mapping my own course
riding for justice
suited up ready
armed with context memory
& intellect and surrounded by
the evidence of who you are
& what you will do
If you were me you would be angry too
& you know this
you know the anger is righteous
so you plot plan scheme to control even
my unborn dreams but I see you
I remember you I know you
& yes I am an angry heretic
who will never be subject to
smoke & mirrors
don’t tread on me
Poem # 7 (4/7/2015) The Other Guys
it always happens to the other guy
you read about it but its not you
it could never be you because
you pay your dues and color inside the lines
all the time you stop on red and go on green
you are what you seem regular normal like the others
and the bad things in the world will pass over you
if you just continue to do what you do head down
grind go forward don’t look left or right
avoid the spectacle of falling bodies
the flashing lights the things that go bump
in the night the desolate corners filled with want
despair and noisy desperation the crowded houses
filled to the rafters with need sleeping with hunger
worried tomorrow will come early arriving before
a way up out of no way is found the phone calls
that come in the middle of the night breaking silence
filling it with all the holes lurking in life until its your
wife your son your daughter your husband you on the
phone saying it will never be the same or the call comes
from some one you don’t know to tell you a loved one
is no more is locked up has been run down caught a stray
that’s the day you understand you know you comprehend
the randomness in the plan rain falls on every man its the
sun that sometimes refuses to shine
Poem # 6 (4/6/2015) what if
what if
what if natures law is the only law
what if
you have become a virus on the face of the land
and it decides to heal
what if
what if reciprocity was the only justice
what if
you had to reap what you sowed
had to take it home with you and live with it
what if
what if there were no right or wrong
what if
there were only consequences for failing to understand
that right don’t wrong nobody
what if
what if we knew we were free
what if
we were born free with dignity and everything
& we could let go the hooks if we just opened our eyes and remembered
what if
what if what’s made in blood is destined to end in blood
what if
what if Armageddon was the promise
what if
no more water fire next time
was God’s hand moving to clear the virus
what if
there is no law but nature’s law
what if
Poem # 5 (4/5/2015) Pieces Pt.1
we are all many people
we are mothers and lionesses
smooth dreams and hurricanes
healer souls tending sacrificing
we are fathers and warriors
who are both iron and water
we are broken and more whole
than the brokenness around us we
are in the world but not always of it
we are polite in the street and
formidable in our homes
or the opposite
we are bending with the willow
but still strong as oak we are
what the season calls what
the moments want who we need
to be in the light thats shining we
are shape shifters shifting shape
camouflaging or preening to be
unseen or seen dancing forward
or turning our backs we change
faces all of us to be in a broken
world divided and compartmentalized
recorded noted and unstable moving
shifting being unmade and remade
we are all theater playing the role
we need to be in the drama of the moment
holding on to who we want to be
as a homing beacon hoping one day
we are afforded the luxury of being
the person we are when we are asleep
all the time everywhere always
Poem # 4 (4/4/2015) No Microphone
all right
hand me paper and pen
no microphone
the poet home alone
but they back again
tapping at window
chattering
they want in &
it don’t matter that
this ain’t the place for that
it wants to start as a hook
perhaps become a book
mad promises if they can
just come in
they at the doe’
brought a beat for the flow
thumping so hard
vibrating the flo’
all in alignment
let’s go
if I don’t get to the paper
who knows
poets and
poems been known to explode
my poems are weight bearing
built to carry heavy loads
light dark paths
engage tomorrow
hold the wisdom of the past
sometimes they are like smoke
here for a moment
then back to the great
poetic unknown
some caught in scraps in the
notes on the iphone others
on the backs of checks
or in the margins of books
or napkins
poems scribbled
on whatever is on deck
the poet is large
in the notebooks that become phone
books directories filled with what
a poet sees
nuanced notes
sometimes written in tears
the colors poets bleed
call the paramedics
the poet is sick
of the bullshit between her
and poetry wants to be free
to flow into poetry’s infinite
enraptured by the pursuit
making new words
or stripping old ones down to
their birthday suits
all the prosaic tricks
lyrically gifted poets do
the poet
could live forever
eating poems that contemplate
the meaning of the color blue
but the words remember
they got work to do
call the police they
breaking through the wall what
else can a poet do
but write
caught in a word fall
home alone
no microphone
Poem # 3 (4/3/2015) Water’s Babies
child of the ocean
water baby adrift floating
born with three eyes
open waiting to know.
what a thing is willed to be
it will find a way to be
it will find a way,
like air trapped beneath water
breaking thorough the
surface exploding into
light fire or perhaps settling back
on the surface to remain water,
what a thing is willed to be
it will find a way to be
it will find a way.
on the waves lie possibilities
reflections of self
hidden beneath
the depth of the water
the science of water
water itself what it hides what it holds
what it knows
glimpses of the sun refracted
a thing could become anything.
what a thing is willed to be
it will find a way to be
it will find a way.
water talks to water babies
willing them to know
the songs of the water
its hard to hold the knowledge of water
we are grown to forget
water babies are born to know
they are willed to remember
what a thing is willed to be
it will find a way to be
it will find a way.
water baby adrift floating
born with three eyes
open remembering
they hold the water songs
the pieces of brokenness
made whole and perfect again
fluid like dreams before
the tales of the land and the fire
which can not be understood
without the story of water.
you got to know about
the water got to know
how you came to get home again
got to know the bridge that goes both
ways and what’s in the water
beneath the bones the dreams
the blood memory flowing
beneath the beneath
in the deep
between the between
the whispers of the all and all
from still lips in languages that
faded upon touching land
burned in the fire unmade
still whole in the water
the one song
all the voices in
one song
a terrible noise that demands
to be held water babies hold on
to the tales of invisible stars
the patterns the moon makes
when full entering sacred space
drowning rather than leaving forever
becoming part of the bridge
the directive to live
the fear of being undone
the clamoring song of the one
waiting. to be sung by
water babies born to know
to embrace the beauty of the
burden of remembering.
water baby adrift floating
born with three eyes
open waiting to become
a part of the bridge.
Poem # 2 (4/2/2015) FIRE
FIRE
I was born in the fire
bronzed baby on the battlefield
burning to be a part of the flame
a million marching on Washington
thoughts of freedom burning
wheel stuck slowly turning martyr come
martyr ascend but the dream is
eternal it will never end
baby grew up in the fire
panther’s fed me breakfast
ideology and the reason for the flame
burning baby burning in little sister’s soul
gave me books and identity
a philosophy like an island
solid and big enough on which to stand
I learned to walk with the fire
holding it in my belly
banking it to spit out infernos
flow hotter than nitro
truth dancing butt naked on the dance floor
no quarter for smoke and mirrors
start in the abstract then make it clearer
burn away bullshit and illusion
light the way past confusion tended
by oppressing myth makers
taking on all takers
moving with the soul shakers
shifting shape burning through
racism fear and hate elegant in debate
vicious on the front line
armed with intellect and verbiage
hitting like nines rectifying misconceptions
wired in dna with fire which can heal or kill
I was born in fire
underfire on fire burning to live free
the water holds the story but fire writes the tale
of bronze babies born on battlefields
closed fist in the air
open mouths spewing fire
three eyes open wide burning
I was born in the fire
Poem # 1 (4/1/2015) Off the Wagon
Off the Wagon
I never been a quite girl
Just quietly striving in the world
Used to chase satisfaction
Dead end to fatal attractions
Watch em’ come
Made a bunch go
Complicated relationships
You can’t fall in love if you don’t let yourself slip
I leaned into myself
Watered me to help me grow
Said I didn’t have the time to trip no more
Left the big timers sweating on the dance floor
I thought I had lost my thirst
I let it go and put me first
Independent lady minding her own
Don’t need a man to make a happy home
Then Bobby took his clothes off
And oh my what a hell of a guy
When Bobby took his clothes off
The world rearranged
A woman without a man
Seems downright strange
I didn’t know I missed the groove
Till I got it back again
I’m off the wagon and back on men
Cause when Bobby took his clothes off
It opened my eyes
Oh my my that Bobby what a hell of a guy
Reblogged this on A.Nzinga's Blog and commented:
On that 30/30. A poem a day for thirty days!