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

Somebody, Cut his hair and send him out to play. Somebody, While there is time, call him down from his high place. Tell him, Before terror marks his face, he will belong to the... YOUNG POET by Myron O’Higgins.
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