December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

WHEN I KNOW THE POWER OF MY BLACK HAND by Lance Jeffers.

I do not know the power of my hand, I do not know the power of my black hand.

I sit slumped in the conviction that I am powerless, tolerate ceilings that make me bend. My godly mind stoops, my ambition is crippled; I do not know the power of my hand.

I see my children stunted,
my young men slaughtered,
I do not know the mighty power of my hand.

I see the power of my life and death in another man’s hands and sometimes
I shake my wooly head and wonder:
Lord have mercy!

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Thu, 24.09.2009

O AFRICA, WHERE I BAKED MY BREAD by Lance Jeffers.

O Africa, where I baked my bread
In the streets at 15 through
the San Francisco midnights…
O Africa, whose San Francisco shouting-church
on Geary Street and Webster saw a candle
burning in the middle of my madness…
O Africa, whose Fatha Hines and Teddy Wilson
I took to my piano…
O Africa within every brown breast that’s
sucked me,
Africa’s thousand calmings of my mother-hunger
across the North American continent…
O Africa, within the black folk who’ve loved me
in this prelude to the sip-blood time…
Africa, I lay my hand upon your swarthy belly-and
keep it there till deat

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

I have been all my lovers I have been better than my lovers I have been those better than I the ones I’ve never met the ones I’ve met... Desire 1. by Thulani Davis
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