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Best Black-African American Poems

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Details | Black-African American Poem | |

The Lady Of The House

It’s siesta, yet one can hear from the second floor of the house the animated sharing of juicy news some visitors have brought to the gracious host, the lovely widow of a wealthy sugar planter.  The sound of laughter is carried over the charming veranda bordered by lacy cast-iron grillwork, with its delicate oak leaf and acorn design and colorful, overhanging ornamental plants and flowers.  

Three Creole society matrons in their typical 1840s long dress fashion despite the sultry heat are being served their tea and fanned by the owner’s black slaves. They are talking about the strange happenings at what used to be Dr. Louis and Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie’s grand house at 1140 Royal Street, a few houses away from the where they are having an afternoon gossip. Apparently, the last tenant abandoned the Lalaurie house not only because of some ghost sightings and agonized sounds that were heard from within.  His furniture business inventory was also being mysteriously destroyed at night. 

The lady of the house remembers how Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie used to be a respected member of New Orleans society.  After the fire in 1834 and the subsequent discovery by firemen of seven emaciated slaves at the attic with obvious traces of abuse and torture, the couple and their four grown-up children had to flee in the middle of the night, or be lynched by the angry townsfolk.  

Were all the stories true?  Six years later, no human bones were discovered at the backyard, nor actual records or reports thereof, negating further accusations of slave murders, including that of a young girl who allegedly fell from the rooftop trying to escape her lady’s wrath.  If Mdme. Lalaurie was the inhuman monster the press accused her of that time, then all of her contemporaries were also guilty, including all plantation owners, for the practice of slavery was fundamentally immoral and depraved.  The lady of the house tells herself it is best to keep silent and let one person take all the condemnation.  This removes the attention of the press and the restless community away from her social circle and her own guilt. 


privileged mindset 
and undue exploitation -
cancer cell takes root




Inspired by A House in New Orleans Contest 
27 January 2016


Note:  The Lady of the House is a fictitious character, but relies heavily on historical background from:

1.	Mad Madam Lalaurie: New Orlean’s Famous Murderess Revealed  by Victoria Costner Love and Lorelei Shannon
2.	Old New Orleans, a History of Vieux Carre, Its Ancient and Historical Buildings by Stanley Clisby Arthur
3.	Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie, Wikipedia

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM


Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Each Day Takes its Turn

Standing firm 
we live 
we give 
we take 
we learn 
we strive to make sure 
each day enlightens us 
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray 
may we keep fighting 
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul 
experiencing trials 
and intense life lessons 
meshed with stresses 
may we persevere 
turn off  fear's song 
may we stand firm 
as we glide along 
through shifty winds of change 
that may cause things to sway
rearrange
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for 
we
fall for nothing 
we
may stumble along the trip 
we 
may swerve at the wheel yet 
we 
do not lose our grip
because no one 
can eclipse the sun 
yet
everyone heals 
before they're done

Just when situations arise 
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry 
from ongoing cries
we may think 
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending

Standing firm 
we live 
we give 
we take 
we learn 
we make sure 
every day enlightens us 
and brightens us 
as each day takes its turn. 

~JSLambert


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Granny Panty Annie, the Tranny

Lemme tell ya' about a
*ding-bat skit-zo 
bee-hotch* tranny
named Annie...

I met her one night 
under disco lights 
up at Candies

She was 
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see 
if I wanted a piece
of he 
OR
of she 
by way of flashin' granny panties

She was
shootin' pool
actin' a fool
so I 
took a shot
and one tiny glance 
but got caught

So I
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool

She slurred,
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"

I replied, 
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"

"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl" 
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"

Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to 
"Get this he/she outta the place!"

My pleas were to no avail, 
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail

Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
then she... 
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked, 
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"

I screamed,
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
but...
ya' see...
ya' need 
to hit the bricks,
you
and yir' Granny Panties!"

At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there 
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me

I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!

It's a night I thought would never end... 
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill 
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!



Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Sweetest Love Note

One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."

Copyright © Le'Rita Clark | Year Posted 2006


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

A SLave's Cry

Stranded in this place
I cannot recognize
Abandoned and lonely
No one hears my cries
AS i walk through this wasteland
Of wilderness and desolation
I am consumed with anguish
I walk this road with hesitation
On every turn that i come upon
The is more pain than at the last turn
Agony and torment spews from my pores
With every step i take more pain i earn
Until i am enveloped with grief
Buried alive on my feet
Dirt in my eyes,nose,mouth,and lungs
I throw up my flag of defeat
Each painful blow leaves behind a deep gash
That is constantly reopened never able to heal
Infection has now set into my heart
Slashes and scars on my body reveals the detail
Of the despair embedded deep in my soul
That tells a tale of a soul so lost
A soul wandering through this wilderness
A tale of what being born black cost

Copyright © April Mitchell | Year Posted 2013


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

ON THE WAVES OF LOST MEMORIES

    


   ON THE WAVES OF LOST MEMORIES…

These salted memories tell stories
The oceans and seas gave birth to.

Over the tempestuous waters
Echoes from the bellies of slave ships
Ride the tides of history

Spreading ripples over the shores
Of time proclaiming forgiveness
For lost souls.

We sashay along bleached beaches 
Where white sands mask the shed blood;
And splashing waves drown out
The ghost echoes of rattling chains:

We no longer remember
Our beginnings here.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Historic Perspective

Battered
From a dark angry cloud
Beaten
By a storm wild and loud
Splattered
On history's hardest rock
Heaven
Smile at the little flock
For as a drop of water 
Curls to become a river
So I gather my dreams
To trickle like a stream's
First fall
From a leaf, to swell
To haul
The hill down, and tell
My victory in the sea
Tell me history from the sea

This month
Short as wounded memory
I hunt
Myself, stalk their history
To find all I have lost
Just to tally the cost
Of being black
Of watching the clock
For the hour.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2011


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

A faceless enemy (what's there to Celebrate)

He appear to be a ladd of maybe 9 yrs. old.  It's Friday, as our troop's prepared to move
out unto enemy territory, and then KABOOM!!...he becomes a suicide bomber.  WOW! face-
less at such a young age.  Now as I gather my comrade's body parts (as well as my thou-
ght's) to myself I say, "these people's belong in a cage".  Pain in Irag, will it ever end, here
children's are taught too kill again & again.  Our Boy'zz in misery, misery all around us, the
stinch of death is everywhere.  Their fearless leader leads no more.  Soon he's capture, "one
would think, finally!! and now answer's of life can be restore, but sadly there's only more
bloodshed here in Irag.  And a salacious cloud still hoovers above our heads as the dead
bodie's continue's to rise, another soldier get sent home and familie's shall not be able to
stop the flow of tear's pouring from their eye's. (faceless at such a young age)
Our Boy's and Gal's in misery - here in a country, were there is no love, "A faceless enemy",
we continue to fight.  Our Congressmen and Senator's vote to keep this sinceles war going,
"for our freedom", lying to themselve's and to the American people's.  "For our Freedom",
"I don't understand-how can freedom be justified with a bullet and a gun".  How can Freedom
be (?) when every Saturday you'll be burying your daughter or your son.  Someday soon
we do get to go home, from here to a faceless nation.  As the dead bodie's continue to rise,
and before the break of dawn starts another day.  Your lil 9 year old goes outside to play.
In this land of confusion lil boy's also goes outside, freedom for him is to suicidily kill the
enemy-each and every morning in the name of Allah his mother tells him.  So 10 U.S. sold-
ier's live's are gone, more are on the way.  Remember their President is dead and gone
while our wants a "Celebration".

P.S.... This particular poem came to me in a dream, as in a dream I was there (in Irag)
holding this soldier who had been shot, and he relate's this particular
poem for me to write:

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

I Remember

I remember all the nights we use to play, 
but now I can't play anymore because your not here today.
Your here in my heart and that will never fade away.
Sometimes I would be a hard-headed child,
but in your eyes you saw an angle smile. 

I love you like God love the family, unconditionally.
I remember your brown eyes, gray hair, for you were wise.
I also remember when you had to leave, so your soul could be free.
See, I'm older; more mature, and understand what's going
on, but back then I was only four.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday. 
Well, you were buried that day and everyone had a sad face. 
I remember that day very well indeed, as I looked at you 
and pleaded that you wouldn't leave me. 
Now you’re gone and I have to be strong for both 
of us, so our love can live through people who love us.

Copyright © Diona Finley | Year Posted 2005


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Temptation

Your smile, Your eyes I can't deny that I want to try something that I know I shouldn't. 
I'm tempted to touch, to kiss, to go to another level with someone who doesn't even 
belong to me. It's hard sometimes when I remember that feeling, I'm shy but I can be 
crazy if I need to. I can't let that person escape from my soul because then I might try 
to do something I will have no control over so stop looking my way. I can't control 
these urges, Let alone stop thinking about what I want to do. Your making it hard for me 
to walk away. Easy for me to stop pretending. It's so easy to just say I want you, It's 
a physical attraction nothing more nothing less. So I close my eyes and get myself in 
check. But slowly as I open them you can see temptation on my tongue rolling all over 
me. I want to stop but I also want to go. Please temptation please please let me go. I 
don't want to do this but then I see your face and oh I can't believe your doing this to 
me. I hurry and run the other way, A street where you can't catch me. I need to survive 
but i'm breathing hard, sweat dripping down my neck this is what I crave for so 
temptation is lust. A sweet tasty drip of affection from someone that I shouldn't be 
desiring to taste. But I want this and some how my body slaves for this, I need this. 
Thus begins the chase of temptation a race I might not win.

Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Why I Write

I am wise 

I am misunderstood 

I am under-rated 

I am inspirable 

I am unknown 

I am profound 

I am articulate 

I am logical 

I am passionate 

I am powerful 

But I am this only because 

I am a leader 

I am a follower 

I am a philosopher 

I am a teacher 

I am a student 

I am a lover 

I am a friend 

I am a man 

I am a son 

I am a brother 

But this only means that 

I have a mother 

I have a sister 

I have brothers 

I have friends 

I have pupils 

I have admirers 

I have seniors 

I have fighters 

I have dreamers 

I have muses 

And I have all of this because 

I am not a nigger 

I am not a hater 

I am not an idiot 

I am not a punk 

I am not a thug 

I am not an atheist 

I am not a liar 

I am not a bully 

I am not a faker 

And that is why I write 


“Why I Write” 
by:  Eric L. Boddie

Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Slouching Toward Ferguson

His life was gentle, and the elements
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and
smolder

bodies in unregistered cars idling softly toward oblivion

some quick to anger
some quick to profit
some quick for justice
some tigers lapping blood
some mothers still at 3AM

hands on shoulders with coos commanding
that in a tear and turned cheek there be 'integration'

parody: an orphan annie reboot
parody: 'little black sambo 'round the tiger pit he go!'

we have rioted the last of our colors
bleated them with flexed toes to the wall at the edge of the universe to reverberate starless between
eternity
nothing
and madness

we have bleated the last of our colors
with centuries gone by without tongue, sockets or lobes

we will bleed the last of our colors
some quick to die
some quick to steal
some quick to burn
some quick to 

lend me your car keys

in a night of full of Alarics
I will bury you

in a night full of piccaninnies
I will melt you to butter

in a night where flames are fishhooks
Sir I need you to step back please

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
that
we have cried Havoc
let slip
and with purple'd prose stamped this hollowed earth

We who have lived so long
Sir?
shall with our breath turned mist
I need you to
stain only under stones
step
that pave with slippery breath
back
a headline for last weeks massacre
step
and tomorrow's graves
I need you to
I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it They are not breathing
Look! Look there!
No. I will not.
He dies

Copyright © Brooks Lindberg | Year Posted 2014


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

TAPESTRY

.........TAPESTRY
Out of time that's long forgotten, 
in a light that's yet unknown,
you could see me in the morning, 
I would be there, but alone,
weaving tapestries from fibers 
of someone who'd never guess,
she is part of dreams and vision,
and somebody's happiness.
    But she would know someone was there.
     I'd touch her now if I would dare.
      And she would know I'm always there.

There's a story and it's Celtic, 
"We must love all things, to see
how a raindrop loves the flower, 
but the flower loves a bee."
In the tapestry I'm weaving, 
I have told this story well,
and the dream she is a part of, 
is the other tale I tell.
    She knows someone has touched her mind.
     I'm always there for her to find.
      And she is always on my mind.

It's a love beyond a question, 
but a love that's out of place,
out of time and out of reason, 
but unable to erase.
In the tapestry I'm weaving ,
there's no differences to see,
she is rising from the ocean 
to a love God's meant to be.
...And she has known a love that's good.
.....Though it is never understood.
........But she'll remember love is good.
© ron wilson

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Summer girl

She had the perfect posture, she was an African American girl
Watching as the breezes about her dress did whirl
The warmth of July passed through the air
And there she was just standing there
She wore a fine printed, lime green dress
Where the wind did gently caress
She was summer in a glass mixed with ice
And she walked across the street so precise
Every man observed with a pleased eye 
Every woman wished it were her that the men had spied
She was a summer girl 
Soft and elegant and flawless as a pearl

Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2009


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Color Blind

Is it the color of my skin that keeps you from being my lady friend?
Tell me my African American Queen; Maybe I just lack self-esteem.
       I keep your pretty face in every dream.  I desperately want you to 
remain on my team.
       Don't be shy or afraid what others will think.
Please understand you are my hearts missing link.
       I want you beside me, never behind.
               Love is colorblind.

       Who cares if the public sees us hand in hand.
It's not for others to understand.  A black woman walking next to a white man.
       It's annoying when people stare like we are celebrities;
Especially when we attend social events and parties.
       I can tell it's during those times you're uncomfortable with me.
That causes a strain in our relationship, leaving my tank on empty.
       Inter-racial relationships have been around since the beginning of time.
It's those individuals in society that are colorblind.

       We have done nothing wrong.  The feelings of love we share must remain strong.
For so long this situation has weighed heavily on my mind.
       I'm letting the world know that love is colorblind.



Note:  Even after we celebrated our first black President, our country suffers from racism.  
Especially in prison, and it is sad.  I am bi-racial myself.  My father is caucasion while my 
mother is hispanic, and I've never understood racism--never will!

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

The Apple A Pantoum

On this, the anniversary of my death
I am reminded of my horrible crime
For you see it was me who stole the apple
It had belonged to an angel with white wings

I am reminded of my horrible crime
In the moment, I imagined a free heart
It had belonged to an angel with white wings
My true crime was that of being as dark as night

In the moment, I imagined a free heart
It seems freedom came at the end of a rope
My true crime was that of being as dark as night
You see, our child was the blending of two worlds

It seems freedom came at the end of a rope
Yes, I knew one day they would both be with me
You see, our child was the blending of two worlds
All part of a plan to abolish slavery

Yes, I knew one day they would both be with me
For you see, it was me who stole the apple
All part of a plan to abolish slavery
On this, the anniversary of my death


I chose to challenge myself with a difficult form and to use all your word prompts.
For: "Forever Malta's" The Alphabet Letter A Contest.

Also entered into Eve's Pantoum Contest.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

While You Sleep

While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly 
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.

Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel, 
And so before it I choose to kneel.

I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.

I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.

I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.

My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

New Dawn

As I roll out of bed tomorrow
I’m gonna say goodbye sorrow
Fare thee well Mr. Cynicism
See you later Mr. Pessimism
Adios to Mr. Skepticism
Exit negativity, enter positivity
No procrastination and inactivity 
An idle mind is the devils workshop
That’s why I’ll exert myself nonstop
No more misery and depression
As exuberance replaces dejection
Success is around the corner
It’s coming now and not later
Victory is surely heading my way
No matter what people may say
I quit banking my future on luck
Time has come to break the duck
A new dawn has shown its face
My home will be a better place
I’m a potential winner, a true born victor
Within me lies a superstar, a megastar
No I’m not building castles in the air, 
I’m not dreaming, I’m not hallucinating
I have to earn my place in history
Put a good ending to my unfinished story
My story is about confidence, not arrogance
I advocate humility, not vanity
Trials and tribulation come and go
Sticky situations are not unique to you
But we all know as well as you do
You need hard work and determination 
For the youth, education is the only solution
You’ve got to make the decision
To extract yourself from destitution 
Leave nothing at all to chance
For fortune favours the brave
No sweet without sweat, no pain, no gain
Each time you fall recollect and try again
A dream doesn’t become reality through magic
Lazy genius is not only sad but also tragic
Stay focused, keep your eyes on the prize
There is no substitute for hard work
There are no secrets to success
Only in the dictionary does success precede work
We are all gifted, skilled and talented 
Unshackle that innate ability 
Let loose that latent capability
I’m gonna prepare, plan and plot
Execute and give it my best shot
Until the day that I hit the jackpot

Copyright © John Pen | Year Posted 2014


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Beautiful people

People make me smile the way 
their eyes shine when they talk 
about something they love 
when they feed me food. Or tell 
me how much they love me 
when I look into someone's 
eyes and see it I see that look 
in their eyes I see love in them 
When I see someone laugh and 
have fun in what they do 
The way they cry for there lost 
ones
When they give me a smile and 
tell me how beautiful I am 
People are beautiful well some 
are and I wish someday I can 
find someone who will look at 
me and say "you have that look 
in your eye"    what look?
"Happiness" 
I want to find someone so 
beautiful in the inside I can't 
stay away they amaze me with 
what they say an do how they 
will dance in the rain and know 
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a 
rainy day and just talk about 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Cry the Beloved Country

There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm.
Men United in the hunt,
Women united in the spiritual sounds of songs of the Shaman,
And ships from the east,
Came with the Glory of God,
And between gunsmoke and gangrene,
Destroyed scenes of queens and kings,
And reaped heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Busting at seems of disaster,
Cry the Beloved Country,
My master, is it truly that my father Ham,
Saw Noah Naked,
Cause my great, great, great, grandfather fought off dreams of death to endure.
And ensure that I would spend my life in this struggle.
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the beloved country,
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But there was rhythm,
Among mothers’, mothers’ , sisters and brothers,
There was rhythm I tell you, 
And they prayed for my daughter to know a better day,
Every day in this struggle, I pray for my daughter to know a better day,
Where her soul is free, and she can be a light unto the nations,
Perspiration surrounds me, on this gethsemene mountain,
Where day after day, I watch my manhood muffled by the sound of bitterness,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But I tell you, there is Rhythm,
And so I say cry, my beloved country,
For the day of judgment is upon us,
And renaissance awaits,
I don’t care what mountain tries to destroy my sight,
My daughter will know a better day,
White supremacy, mental illness, multiple sclerosis,
Myopic minions of monstrous greed driven savages,
Ravaging urban centers and fatherless widows,
Like Caleb, spoke to the sun, I will not run,
God gave me this mountain,
And my daughter will know a better day,
Cry my beloved country,
Cry not tears of sorrow,
Cry not tears of lament, 
But cry the sound of triumph,
For we will not stop,
Until every thought has become captive to the sound of liberation,
 And all nations, bow to righteous sensations,
Celebrations’ elations, and dancing to the rhythm of the Savanna,
And I will not stop,
We will not stop, 
We must not stop,
There are braves,
Sages of this age,
And there is rhythm.
Amen.

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2008


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

CANDLE 1st in Spanish then scroll down for english trans

VELA (CANDLE)First Spanish version, scroll down for English)
Yo ser‚ para ti.
Toda la vida que me queda la vivir‚ para ti
y cuando el tiempo haya terminado,
morir‚ por ti.
Dir‚ tu nombre
en cada vela que encienda, respirar‚ tu nombre.
Te susurrar‚,
cada oraci¢n que diga ser  siempre parte de ti.

Por toda la eternidad,
y as¡ ha sido y ser  siempre, 
y cuando deje este mundo,
aquello vendr  conmigo
en la luz de una vela.
Todo el mundo sigue girando, haciendo el d¡a y la noche,
y de la oscuridad a la luz,
ser s siempre parte de cada oraci¢n que yo diga.

Yo ser‚ para ti.
Como una fresca quebrada de la monta¤a que se desborda por ti
como una c lida brisa de verano
entre los  rboles para ti.
En el brillo de una vela,
todo lo que he sido o llegue a ser 
por toda la eternidad,
tu ser s parte de todo lo que yo haga siempre.
Yo ser‚ para ti.  

					
					Traducci¢n: Emilio J. Saavedra M.     CANDLE	
I will be for you.
All my life that is left, I will live for you,
and when time has run out,
I will die for you.
I will speak your name
in each candle that I light, I will breath your name.
I will whisper you,
every prayer I ever say will be part of you.

For eternity,
and forever it has been, and will always be,
and when I leave this world,
it will go with me.
In a candle light
all the world keeps on turning, making day and night,
and from dark to light,
you'll be part of every prayer that ever comes from me.

I will be for you.
Like a cool mountain spring that overflows for you
like a warm summer breeze 
through the trees for you.
In a candle glow,
everything I've ever been or will ever be
for eternity,
you'll be part of everything I ever do.
I will be for you.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2012


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

Dark Chocolate

Thank God for black on black bigotry,
oh the sweet dark chocolate they left for 

me.

Thank you for their eyes did not see
swarthy is the beauty I seek.

Thank you for my brothers misery, because
precious dark chocolate is in love with 

me.

The bright of her smile the light of her 
eyes the contrast so deep.

Her ebony face her curly locks eclipses 
the sun with angelic majesty. 

In the moonlight her beauty is of
sparkling gold, God she's my sweet baby to 
 honor to love and hold.
 
Oh the folly my brothers, for when she's  
in my arms I dream of a sweet princess,
royalty of long ago
 
Her kiss the berry so dark so sweet. 
Her honey sweet waters streaming replete.

I am your shining knight and the spoils 
of war you will keep, on bend-ed 
knee I will not harbor a diamond, ruby or 
nugget of gold, my swarthy princess 
you intoxicate me so.
 
In your bosom  please don't  let go.
Thank God my brothers did not know.

Copyright © TONY WILLIAMS | Year Posted 2011


Details | Black-African American Poem | |

THE COLOR OF OUR BLOOD

In my innocence I went out into the world
Eager to learn all the lessons I can hold
The things I’d learn I’d love to share
Alas, people found me to be quite bold.

I distinctly felt the tension in the air
When I was little and went to a fair
It was outside the town where I grew up
People stared at us head to foot and kinky hair.

I shrugged my shoulders, I did not mind
I wanted to play with kids that were kind
But their folks did not like a colored child
Touch skin to skin with their children, later I’d find.

I learned the first lesson about discrimination
The hard way, from a small child’s perception
I will fight for my right with all my might
This I vowed unto myself with all determination.

And so from that day on, I pushed for emancipation
From the shackles of a closed mind, a liberation
How dare you think I'm lower than you are
When our blood is the same color red, under examination?

We have come a long way indeed, I know
For now we can vote, to a master we need not kowtow
Freedom from slavery, gained through sweat and blood
Our children can now speak without fear to friends or foe.

Greater minds have walked these hollowed halls
Than what I can aspire to be with my bold balls
However Sir, that won’t stop me honestly
From continuing to speak my voice, no matter you stall.

Now Sir, tell me, what is the reason you cannot grant
Before I make another speech, but not a rant
Is it not only fair that you declare equal rate
For black or white, as long as he deserves it, and not ignorant?


A black man's thoughts on the prevailing system where blacks are assigned to positions with predominantly lower rates.

17 March 2015
CONTEST : Writings in a Black's Perspective - 1st Place
SPONSOR : Verlena Walker

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015