He waltzes into the lane ‘cross the free-throw line,
Fakes a drive pivots, floats from the asphalt turf in an arc of black light,
and sinks two in the chains.
One on one he fakes down the main, passes into the free lane and hits the chains.
A sniff in the fallen air-he stuffs it through the chains riding high:
“traveling” someone calls-and he laughs, stepping to a silent beat, gliding
as he sinks two in the chains….
Reference:
Michael S. Harper
North of Dark North of Shango
In kangaroo jungle of West Lost
Dressed in hide of fox Dressed at last to kill
Thirteen grains of sand Seven memories And Ten voices whispering in a rock
Time medicine riddle Time rock disguised in evil bite
In devil flight
Time encloses cycles Voice memory
Revolve
Age leaps upon the lips Hawk!
*Them that’s got shall get, them that’s not shall loose, so the Bible said and it still is news; Mama may have, Papa may have, but God bless’ the child that’s got his own! That’s got his own.
Yes, the Money, you got lots o’ friends, crowd-in’ ‘round the door; when you’re gone and spending ends, they don’t come no more.
Rich relations give, crust of bread, and such, You can help yourself, but don’t take too much! Mama may have, Papa may have, but God bless’ the child that’s got his own!
*A good man is hard to find; you always get the other kind.
Just when you think that he is your pal
You look for him fooling ‘round some other gal.
Then you rave; you even crave to see him laying in his grave.
So, if your man is nice, take my advise and hug him in the morning.
Kiss him ev’ry night, give him plenty lovin, treat him right,
for a good man now-a-days is hard to find…
written by Eddie Green, copyright 1999, Hal Leonard Corp.
Made famous by Alberta Hunter
I don’t want no woman
If her hair ain’t longer’n mine
I don’t want no woman
If her hair ain’t no longer’n mine
Yes you know she ain’t good for nothing but trouble
She’ll keep you buying rats all the time
Yes, you know I carried my woman to the hair dresser
And this is what the hair dresser said
She said Sam I can’t treat the woman’s hair
God know, I can’t treat her head
I told her no!
Boy, if her hair ain’t no longer’n mine
Yes, you know she ain’t good for nothing but trouble
She’ll keep you buying rats all the time
(Wigs and rats ‘ll get you killed)
Yes, you kno
learn moreVery soon the Yankee teachers
Came down and set up school;
But oh!
God morning heartache, you old gloomy sight. Good morning heartache, tho’t we said goodbye last night.
I tossed and turned until it seemed you had gone, but here you are with the dawn.
Wish I’d forget you but you’re here to stay. It seems I met you when my love went away.
Now everyday I start by saying to you, “Good morning heartache, what’s new?”
Stop haunting me now, Can’t shake you no how.
Just leave me alone. I’ve got those Monday blues straight thru Sunday blues.
Good morning heartache, here we go again.
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers…
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,” then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed-
I, too, am America…
Copyright 1926, by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Reference:
Langston Hughes
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blue-black cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house.
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices????
Copyright 1966 by Robert Hayden.
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