December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

FEMINISM by Carolyn Rodgers.

Our mothers, when asked may speak of us
in terms of our accomplishments.
My daughter is a flower
shedding buds of brown babies.
She holds two diplomas in her fist
as she shows her obliqueness to a world that
only cares for credentials.
What is your claim to fame?
What is your claim to life-
when there are no diplomas to be lauded,
no husbands to be pillared upon, no buds to be babied.
When does the wind blow on your face
and in what direction do you turn
when it rains???

Reference:

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Thu, 24.09.2009

BLACK MAGIC by Dudley Randall.

Black girl black girl
lips as curved as cherries
full as grape bunches
sweet as blackberries
Black girl black girl
when you walk you are
magic as a rising bird
or a falling star
Black girl black girl
what’s your spell to make
the heart in my breast
jump stop shake…

Reprinted by permission of Dudley Randall.

Reference: Dudley Randall

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Thu, 24.09.2009

THE ROACH by John Raven.

A roach
came stuttin
across my bedroom
floor,
like it was beyond
reproach,
or was
some sexy-lookin
whore,
and if I hadn’t
snuffed it,
left it
alive,
I know it would’ve
come right up
and gave me
five!!!!!!!

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Thu, 24.09.2009

SEE SEE RIDER by Ma Rainey.

See see rider, see what you have done. Law’d, Law’d, Law’d, made me love you, now your gal has come. You made me love you, now your gal has come.
I’m goin away baby, I won’t be back ‘til fall. Law’d, Law’d, Law’d,
goin away baby, I won’t be back ‘til fall. If I find me a good man, won’t be back at all.
I’m gonna buy me a pistol, just as long as I am tall. Law’d, Law’d, Law’d, shoot my man, and catch a cannonball. If he won’t have me, he won’t have no gal at all.
See see rider, where did you stay last night?

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Thu, 24.09.2009

OL’ MAN RIVER by Paul Robeson.

Dere’s an ol’ man called de Mississippi
Dat’s de ol’ man dat I’d like to be!
What does he care if de world’s got troubles?
What does he care if de land ain’t free?

Ol’ man river
Dat ol’ man river
He mus’ know sumpin’
But don’t say nuthin’,
He jes’ keeps rollin’
He keeps on rollin’ along.

He don’ plant taters,
He don’t plant cotton,
An’ dem dat plant ‘em
is soon forgotten,
But ol’ man river,
He jes keeps rollin’ along.

You an’ me, we sweat an’ strain,
Body all achin’ an’ racket wid pain,
Tote dat barge!

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Thu, 24.09.2009

WHITE HOPE (for shane stevens) by Ishmael Reed.

*Jack Johnson licked one pug so, d man retired to a farm.
Never again opened his mouth save to talk abt peach-trees, sow & last year’s almanac;

And whenever somebody say Jack Johnson,
He’d get that far away look…..

Reference:
Ishmael Reed

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Thu, 24.09.2009

ROSES AND REVOLUTIONS by Dudley Randall.

Musing on roses and revolutions,
I saw night close down on the earth like a great dark wing,
and the lighted cities were like tapers in the night,
and I heard the lamentations of a million hearts
regretting life and crying for the grave,
and I saw the Negro lying in the swamp with his face
blown off,
and the northern cities with his manhood maligned and felt
the writhing
of his viscera like that of a hare hunted down or the
bear at bay,
and I saw men working and taking joy in their work
and embracing the hard eyed whore with joyless excitement
and lying with wives and

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Thu, 24.09.2009

HOW I GOT OVAH by Carolyn Rodgers.

i can tell you
about them
i have shaken rivers
out of my eyes
i have waded eyelash deep
have crossed rivers
have shaken the water weed out
of my lungs
have swam for strength
pulled by strength
through waterfalls with electric beats

i have bore the shocks
of water deep deep
waterlogs are my bones
i have shaken the water free of my hair
have kneeled on the banks
and kissed my ancestors of the dirt
whose rich dark root fingers rose up reached out
grabbed and pulled me rocked me cupped me
gentle strong and firm
carried me
made me swim for strength
cross

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Thu, 24.09.2009

FOUR SHEETS TO THE WIND AND A ONE-WAY TICKET TO FRANCE, 1993 by Conrad Kent Rivers.

As a Black Child I was a dreamer
I brought a red scarf and women told me how
Beautiful it looked.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

ONE by Carolyn Rodgers.

People die from loneliness.
Life becomes an incurable disease,
a job, an excuse-an operation
of sloppy dissections.

There is a constipation of the
heart, a diarrhea of need. Be-
ing is instinct, the body a
machine-the mind a lever or

the body the lever, the mind the
machine; in either case, operating
and driving on. And skin tightening
up bone until you mouth at the misery

and bargain with the ache. This is
not to say I am giving up, even
though life has pumped me up with
the pain.

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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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