I Life goes by moving, Up and down a chain of moods Wanting what’s nothing. II My soul is the wind Dashing down fields of Autumn: O, too swift to sing. III I shall spend my moods Like a rose discards leaves And die without moods. IV My ears burn for speech And you lie […]
learn moreEach day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
learn moreI will whisper your name
on the winds of each new sun
to carry my prayers to you
and you
mischief maker
lord of chance
will place my words
at the feet of
oludumare…
Reprinted from Tell Me How Willing Slaves Be
(Washington, D.C.: Energy BlackSouth Press, 1976)
The stairs mount to his eternity
the rotted floor, the dripping faucet
all now abide within him,
the cracked ceiling, the rusted bed in his dark squalid chamber
abide with him now
in the hour that is upon him.
The balance is tenuous
as his twin comes running after
the infant he let unprotected go
-the hail of steel, stopped for a moment, lurks in the shadows.
The staircase turns and panting turns
the completely vile woman assails him
throwing livid screams from her den
far up the dark filthy hallway
until she hears the twin come running after
and falls sobbing and sen
He is bound to make something happen he is not quite sure what but he is determined he flits from flower to flower he has more legs than a hive of bees he takes everything out of them leaving them for dead.
It will be a long time before anything happen. In the meantime he plies his adversary’s craft on whomever is at hand and is useful to him in that way, being bound as he is to making something happen something worthy of himself almost anything…..
learn morePretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion models size. But when I start to tell them, they think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
learn moreOh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Twelve gates a to de city, a-Halleluh!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Twelve gates a to de city, a-Halleluh!
Three gates in a de east,
Three gates in a de west,
Three gates in a de north,
Three gates in a de south,
Makin ‘it twelve gates a to de city, a-Halleluh!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Oh, what a beautiful city!
Twelve gates a to de city, a-Halleluh!
My Lord built a-dat city,
learn moreWe will be no generashuns to cum for blks r killing r-selves did u hear bros. Did you hear the killings did u hear the sounds of the killing the raping of the urgency of r soil consuming r own babies burned n the acid dri configurashuns of the cycles balancing did u hear. Did u hear.
Hear the sounds of the balancing & checking off checking off erasing r existence from the count of the cosmos while r mother moans for the loss of r funkshun & who we will never be did u hear bros. Hear.
learn moreYou may write me down in history with your bitter twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom?
Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, with certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high, still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops, weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard,
The Red
for the death to life leaps of the Middle Passage
for the Freedom-flames of our fathers Gabriel and Nat
for the contraband: Harriet Tubman-brave
for the Blues-glue binding our battered souls
For Billy and the Strange Fruit hanging from the hate
for Nina and the children leaning, leaning for love
For the Red of our Passion and Revenge.
The Black
for the Brothers resurrected from the Nod.
