What happens when an old black man,
Toothless and raggedy,
Walks into a bank, catches
Some young, white, middle-manager’s ear
With a slurred tale of coins
Hoarded from his wife and kids
(Who would only have spent them),
Leftovers from various hits
On the numbers, plus
God knows how many
Easy deceptions.
If you were this man, what
Would you do with this true believer
Who has walked through the door
Of your bank, fired up
With what he has pulled off,
Knowing that on some non-verbal level
He has encoded you
(Or someone like you)
As kindred, that only you
(Or someone like y
*The poets say that all who love are blind;
But I’m in love and I know what time it is!
The Good Book say’s “Go seek and ye shall find”.
Well I have sought and my what a climb it is!
My life is just like the weather,
It changes with the hours;
When he’s near I’m fair and warmer,
When he’s gone I’m cloudy with showers;
In emotion, like the ocean its either sink or swim
When a woman loves a man like I love him.
Never treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain’t good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain’t good!
But
Black is the first nail I ever stepped on;
Black the hand that dried my tears.
Black is the first old man I ever noticed;
Black the burden of his years.
Black is waiting in the darkness;
Black the ground where hoods have lain.
Black is the sorrow-misted story;
Black the brotherhood of pain.
Black is quiet iron door;
Black the path that leads behind.
Black is a detour through the year;
Black the diary of the mind.
Black is Gabriel Prosser’s knuckles;
Black Sojourner’s naked breast.
Black is a schoolgirl’s breathless mother;
Black her child who led the rest.
Black is th
learn moreWould she have been a person with a completely different outlook on life?
There are times when I visit her and find her settled on a chair in our dilapidated house.
The neighborhood crazy lady, doing what the neighborhood crazy lady is supposed to do, which is absolutely nothing.
And I wonder as we talk our sympathetic talk, abandoned in easy dialogue, I, the son of the crazy lady, Who crosses easily into her point of view.
As if yawning or taking off an overcoat.
Where have you gone
with your confident walk
with your crooked smile
why did you leave me
when you took your laughter
and departed are you aware
that with you went the sun
all light and what few stars there were?
Where have you gone
with your confident walk
your crooked smile
the rent money in one pocket
and my heart in another….
Copyright February 1967 by Mari Evans.
Reference:
Mari Evans
There is the woman
Who will not listen
To music.
From deep sleep
I sat upright
And clutched his new lapels,
For he was laughing.
Back from the dead
He came, I say,
Laughing
I asked not
“Are you not dead?”
But
“What is it?”
His talcum chin,
And pebbles eyes,
And old string hair
Leaned forward.
He just laughed,
He just laughed
At my tears…
Reference:
James Emanuel
#1
The Gospel Truth is that
The Blacman can not be destroyed.
I sed
The blacman can not be destroyed.
He has a force, a Spirit honey
That can not be killed.
You ain’t been blue; no, no, no.
You ain’t been blue,
Till you’ve had that mood indigo.
That feelin’ goes stealin’ down to my shoes
While I sit and sigh, “Go ‘long blues”.
Always get that mood indigo,
Since my baby said goodbye.
In the evenin’ when lights are low,
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
‘Cause there’s nobody who cares about me,
I’m just a soul who’s
bluer than blue can be.
When I get that mood indigo,
I could lay me down and die….
Performed by Dorothy Dandridge, written by Eaton/Mills/Bigard, music by Duke Ellington.
learn moreIn fragrant Dixie’s arms
Christ came down in flames,
A smoke-smile on his lips
And black of face
Before the furtive, nail pierced can
And up-thrust beam
Broke charcoal thorns
Across his brow.
The gloried ashes rose
And crossed the heart of Him
Evicted from this land,
Un-fested King whose love was fire enough
To forge the ages,
Martyred Lord, his circling men now weaponed
Only in their eyes.
Some muttered aging prophecies,
Denim pockets bulging knuckles.
Wonder, vague as smoke, if Christ had bled before
He really died
Took some, like coughing, by the throat.
Some rooted
