Welcome my baby welcome,
Yes, be a great read, come,
Tell the world your big bold tale,
Your birth is greater than a sale,
Surely, the dead must be sobbing,
Be a rude awakening to the robbing!
Copyright © Ndaba Sibanda | Year Posted 2013
In Africa you were born
In deep serenity
To the sounds of mighty drums
And rhythm’s authenticity.
Stole you from your righteous land
Cut it up like a birthday cake
Gave it back to Anglo hands
But your birth was no mistake.
Hot sun baked your deep skin
In their souls your people knew
Down in the delta the cotton moved
By the Negro spiritual, you grew.
The teachings of gospel embraced you
When Abe’s 13th had you lost
When the choir called you responded
Learned you could share your talent, but at a cost
A burnt cork mask for the audience
Buffoonery and minstrelsy, Jim Crow and Daddy Rice
Exploitation in a racist Nation
You got the blues
Had a melancholy mood
Broke down walls with the drowsy tunes
That free and rootless attitude
On the shoulder of Scott Joplin
Mesmerized with how his fingers played
Ragtime floats on running notes
In New Orleans your future lay.
The melting pot, jazz hotspot
Black people, white people, blue, and green
Creole heritage swirling all it meets
Street smart, fine art, everything in between.
Jazz is about freedom
You have to improvise
The band prides the electric ride
Sharing music with each other’s eyes
A jazz baby was born in the USA
Dare I say the American way
Day by Day by Day
A growing Jazz Baby played.
Copyright © Jada Myricks | Year Posted 2014
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
Oh! What a day, a perfect day
Something is found, as the game is plaid,
Something precious and something good,
A precious toy with heart and soul
Here‘s a day with quite a spirit
A cetin man must buy some (purity)
While a cetin woman is quite exhausted
She tries to speak but make no sense
Oh! What the hell its wealth a while,
They are all relived it went so well.
Oh!!! What is that, a new world warrior
With a crocodile’s heart and the spirit of
A cat, and that’s because he’s a mix of both
A dangerous mixture you’ll ever face, in
His body run’s the blood of cannibals.
I talk about a wild beast, with shining eyes
Like twinkling stars, nails as sharp as Uncle Leo pat
Teeth as strong as ant Lacosta,
He’s a big cat in the sense of the word, but I can
Argue that he’s a croc as well,
Copyright © Matshidiso Mosia | Year Posted 2016
When a Mother gives' Birth
She give's it with Love
She sore's to the High Heaven
To the Christ,
Fore She is giving birth
A gift from above...
Such a complication device
Devised by God
In order to herd His children
For that traipse to eternity
And only Heaven knows
When that will be.....
For they are awaiting
To that honorable place
Yes, the Mother gives' Birth
A gift to the World
Rather it be a baby boy
A baby girl...
Their love is so innocent
Innocent and free
Shaped and molded by
The like's of you and me
Yes, they are our
Hope's and dream's
For the next generation
Marred by frustration
Self-loathe and indignation
Yet, they do follow threw
To start a new nation
A nation to be
A nation of one
One where people
Shall be delivered
All soon to become One
Where the Will of Christ
Shall be done'
For this is their Heaven
And this is their Earth
Fighting twin evil inclination
Just awaiting the time of
Where the lineage of time
Is their only Salvation
Another simple case of
The blind leading the blind
In hopes' and dreams'
Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2011
STANDING ALL ALONE
THINKING NON BUT ALL
NATURE AND DESTINY AT
AT WAR BUT WHO WINS
GRIEVE NOT WOMAN
FOR IS THERE A REASON TO
NO SEED CAN EVER SURVIVE
IN THIS LAND
WHICH YOU’VE NURTURED
PLOUGHED AND TILTED FOR
YET NO FRUIT HAS IT EVER
STOP DREAMING THEN
LOOK HOW YOU LIE SOUR
YOUR PRIDE OF WOMANHOOD
HAS GIVEN YOU NO PRIZE
SEEDLINGS WOULD YOU
NEVER TRIM NOR PRUN
FOR MOTHER YOU WOULD
NEVER BE CALLED
WHY LET THIS EMPTINESS
AND INFERTILITY HOOT YOU
WHILE YOU SIT AND SING
THIS SONG OF MYSTERY AND
THOUGH YOUR CALABASH IS
AND YOUR BAMBOO FALLEN
STAND UP AND DANCE IN
FOR LIFE ITSELF IS A MIRAGE
THE MORE YOU LOOK THE LESS
THEN TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTH
AND WEAR YOUR GOWN OF
RAFFIA AND COWRIES MADE
SHAKE TO THE TUNE
THAT LIFE PLAYS FOR YOU
COS’ ONE DAY IT WOULD ALL
WHEN ALL THE DRUMS WEARS
AND NATURE WITH DESTINY
ALL LOSE THE GAME
Copyright © joseph Asamoah-Asare | Year Posted 2007
From the moment I first saw you
I knew that I was in love
God must have sent you
Straight from up above
With shear perfection He molded
Ten perfect little fingers and ten little toes
Chocolate into your eyes He folded and
Topped it off with a perfect little nose
As I have watched you blossom
Into the young woman that you are
I think it is so awesome
That you have come so far
So on this your special day
I wish you all the best
For years ago this was my happiest day
The day that I was blessed
Copyright © TuLisha Blackshear | Year Posted 2009
I'm beginning to burn up
Nine months, I've been cramped in this cocoon for nine months
I have questions but no voice to ask them with
I have questions but no one to answer
What are the words for the appendages attached to me
Why, have for nine months
why have I seen nothing but darkness
but hear everything
Why, for nine months, have I been...
What's the word...evolving?
What is this strange process
Wait, wait why am I being constricted, suffocated
wait my thoughts, my questions...I still have so much to ask
wait...what is my...
Bright light...where am I...what is this place
...a cry? Did that come from me?
this rush of electricity...is this breathing?
the rumored breathing of feeling alive?
And this..is this fair-haired, grey eyed man my...father?
'Hello my son, welcome to this world'
Father? ...what is my name...?
No, no...where is my voice...where are my words...
why are cries the only thing I can form...
yet I feel light and heavy...
who is this tired, hazel eyed woman
Tears? Why does she cry...
Is she my...mother?
Mother...what is my name...?
Copyright © Russell Banks | Year Posted 2016