December 0

Blog Archive

Tue, 09.03.2021

ROYAL, by Leslé Honoré

No matter how gentle the Black How light the skin How gorgeous the face How talented the soul How pure the intentions They will not protect us No matter how innocent the life How secure the birthright Titles will be stripped And babies tossed to wolves Because of a fear of Black skin They will […]

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Wed, 21.10.2020

“NORTHBOUND'” by Ariel Williams Holloway

O’ de wurl’ ain’t flat,An’ de wurl’ ain’t roun’,H’it’s one long stripHangin’ up an’ down—Jes’ Souf an’ Norf;Jes’ Norf an’ Souf. —from Ariel Williams Holloway, “Northboun’” , 1926

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Sun, 26.08.2018

Haiku by Raymond A. Foss

Water reflects sky Summer of my soul open Under the spell still

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Fri, 20.04.2018

#44 OPENED THAT DOOR by Marjorie J. Frazier

In honor of President Barack Hussein Obama, 44th President of the United States of America, 2008 – 2016

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Fri, 25.11.2016

HOMAGE TO MY HIPS by Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

Lucille Clifton, “homage to my hips” from Good Woman. Copyright © 1987

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Mon, 09.09.2013

A Resolution, author Unknown

A Resolution
Yet deterred, by fate alone
Many questionable, conclusions, questions, details
Yet to determine who is the blame
A resolution, only to retroact an opposition
Yet to insist the muddied possibility for change

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Fri, 13.01.2012

Heredity by Effie Smith

Our dead forefathers, mighty though they be,
For all their power still leave our spirits free;
Though on our paths their shadows far are thrown,
The life that each man liveth is his own.

Time stands like some schoolmaster old and stern,
And calls each human being in his turn
To write his task upon life’s blackboard space;
Death’s fingers then the finished work erase,
And the next pupil’s letters take its place.

That he who wrote before thee labored well
Concerns thee not: thy work for thee must tell;
‘Tis naught to thee if others’ tasks were ill:

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Thu, 24.09.2009

COME KWANZAA WITH ME by Johnnie Renee Nia Nelson

Come Kwanzaa with me
together we’ll examine the history
of an African people struggling to be free
from colonialism, apartheid and slavery.

Come Kwanzaa with me
come experience the wonders of an odyssey
rife with the riches of a legacy
embroidered in love, crocheted in dignity.

Come Kwanzaa with me
come enjoy a cultural safari
rediscover the grandeur of the African race
come Kwanzaa with me at the Sphinx,
Great Zimbabwe or the Step Pyramid’s base.

Come Kwanzaa with me
come taste a “First Fruits” delicacy
come pour the libation that is meant to be
both tribute and salute t

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Thu, 24.09.2009

LIFT EVERY VOICE AND SING by James Weldon Johnson.

Lift every voice and sing Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise, High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us,
Facing the rising sun, of our new day begun
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?

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Thu, 24.09.2009

FOR MALCOLM by Raymond R. Patterson.

When they shot Malcolm Little down
On the stage of the Audubon Ballroom,
When his life ran out through bullet holes
(Like the people running out then the murder began)
His blood soaked the floor
One drop found a crack through the stark
Pounding thunder-slipped under the stage and began
Its journey: burrowed through concrete into the cellar,
Dropped down darkness, exploding like quicksilver
Pellets of light, panicking rats, paralyzing cockroaches-
Tunneled through rubble and wrecks of foundations,
The rocks that buttress the bowels of the city, flowed
Into pipes and power lines, th

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

Popsicle Cold Now that the story has moved out of the headlines the widow of the dead black hero stands alone at the public market purchasing polluted pork with government... POPSICLE COLD and CLAIRVOYANCE by Norman Jordan.
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