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In honor of President Barack Hussein Obama, 44th President of the United States of America, 2008 – 2016learn more
I’m feeling mighty lonesome, haven’t slept a wink, I walk the floor and watch the door and in between I drink black coffee.
Loves a hand-me-down broom. I’ll never know a Sunday in this week-day room I’m talkin’ to the shadows, one o’clock to four. And lord, how slow the moments go when all I do is pour black coffee.
Since the blues caught my eye. I’m hangin’ out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry.
He draws a man,
bright swirls of red.
And I say give me a tree.
He points to the middle
of his red and says
“there’s a tree!”
Tonight without complaining
he goes off to sleep
asking why in his story book
the big boats have little
boats. He shouts
goodnight: I ask if he wants
the lights out-
he says no, that he can’t see
without the light.
Ain’t nobody heard me singing sweet songs lately; my sweet notes soured sometime ago- raped robbed, abandoned left rotting in some Southern swill which stayed too long in the heart-of-America still, turning bad.
Ain’t nobody heard me singing sweet songs lately. Where have life’s sweet things gone? Flowers, friends, love and tokens of love, security, beauty, hope?learn more
Take my share of Soul Food-I do not wish
To taste of pig Of either gut or Grunt from bowel Or jowel
I want caviar Shrimp scouffle’ Sherry Champagne and not because
These are the Whites domain but just because I’m entitles-
For I’ve been V.d.’d enough T.b.’d enough and Hoe-cake fed
Knock-knee’d enough Spindly leg-bloodhound tree’d enough
To eat High on the Hog
I’ve been Hired last Fired first enough I’ve sugar-watered my Thirst enough-
Been lynched enough Slaved enough Cried enough Died enough
Been deprived-Have survived enough
To eat High on the Hog
Keep the black-eyed peaslearn more
some trees, standing in groves
have people inside them holding
some trees have people locked
and braced in love.
a pine tree is a gigolo-
notice the scent-always the best
the best sheen of green shirt,
the tallest, straightest back,
the gentlest arms.
and do not even speak of oaks.
they know the game, get better
and better and better at it .
they are the rugged type, born rough
and with no tender shoots.
they stand alone, majestic, and
are of the order of warriors.
a weeping willow minces.learn more