December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 22.11.2018

Niggers are Scared of Revolution by Jalal Nuriddin

Niggers are scared of revolution But niggers shouldn’t be scared of revolution Because revolution is nothing but change And all niggers do is change Niggers come in from work and change into pimping clothes and hit the streets to make some quick change Niggers change their hair from black to red to blond and hope […]

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Thu, 24.09.2009


Don’t say goodbye to the pork-pie hat that rolled along padded shoulders,
that swang be-bop phrases
in Minton’s jelly-roll dreams.
don’t say goodbye to hip hats tilted in the style of a soulful era,
the pork-pie hat that Lester dug,
swirling in the sound of sun saxes,
repeating phrase o phrase, repeating bluely
as hit-hat cymbals crash and trumpets scream while
musicians move in and out of this gloom, the pork-pie hat reigns supreme,
the elegance of style
gleaned from the city’s underbelly.
tonal memories
tonal memories
of salt-peanuts and hot house birds.

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Thu, 24.09.2009


Somewhere in the light above the womb, black trees and white trees populate the world.

It is a March landscape, the only birds around are small and black.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

MORNING LIGHT (the Dew-Drier) by Effie Lee Newsome.

In Africa little black boys, “human brooms,” are sent before the explorers into jungle grasses that tower many feet to tread down a path and meet sometimes the lurking leopard or hyena.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

HOLY DAYS by Larry Neal.

Holy the days of the old prune face junkie men.
Holy the scag filled arms.
Holy the harlem faces looking for space in the dead rock valleys of the city
Holy the flowers

Sing holy for the raped holidays and bessies guts spilling on the Mississippi road
Sing holy for all of the faces that inched toward freedom, followed the north star like harriet and douglass.
Sing holy for all our singers and sinners and all of the shapes and styles and forms of our liberation,

holy, holy, holy for the day we open our eyes, dig ourselves and raise in the sun of our own peace and place and space; y

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

When Willie Mae went down to the barber shop to visit her boyfriend who cut hair there I went with her. Walking beside her on the street the men said... CHOOSING THE BLUES (for S. Brandi Barnes) by Angela Jackson.
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