Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Long Black african american Poems | Long Black african american Poetry

Long Black african american Poems. Below are the most popular long Black african american by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black african american poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -













Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -













Long poem by dave archuletta | Details |

Part Two, I Am Not Racisim, She Is

         “And no, car-jackings – sir, do not count as kidnappings!” [Adding in a fast voice…]
         “Especially, after a nigga be looking in the rear view and seeing a fat little black kid already belted up in the back seat – and this kid is now starting to scream his lungs out!”
         “Hell, I always hear of these ‘Karjack Kids’ being dumped off – not at the first, but the second street corner just inside any big city hood. …this is a place where EVERYBODY steers clear of these little tyrants. …Now, why is this you say?”  
       “Well, I think that as innocent sidewalk pedestrian passerby, we’ve all been hardened by the following of incidence at one time or another.” 
          “And I’m not talkin bout a ‘Drive BY’! Because this ain’t one of those ‘cap yo’ ass for no reason why – bye, bye! It’s more of a ‘See ya’ later alligator - shove a kid from off the floor - and out the door and inta the street kinda fly by!’” [Crowd laughs]
        “…And we all know what happens next - right?”
 “Yeah, ca’mon’ I know ya’lI do…, hell, we’ve all lived it!”
         “This is because just like in any crowded Hood, we black people have never really come off strong in the Good Samaritan department. - Man we just – like - mind our own goddamn business! …And please Madonna - just leave us the f#&# alone!” [Crowd roars]
          “…You see, it will be people like her – these, even with good intentions of adopting, as to why you will soon hear of a black baby having been kidnapped for a ransom.” 
        “You see, it was never going to happen here in this country until these white kidnappers, - yes people, I said white kidnappers, - and they changed what we black folk had already long known,  …It was because in this country, until now anyway, we already knew there wasn’t a Black Market for a black man to sell black adopted babies…” [Crowd laughs]
        “A king’s ransom for a black kid…, hmmm?”
        “Man, that’s a whole lotta earmarked money; …and all of it reserved for a greedy Cracker Kidnapper with a human trafficking license!” [While disgustingly laughing himself] …Hell, and even if there ever were any black kidnappers, they still would’ve had to take care of any kid. This would include any found fat black kid kicked to a street curb after his daddy’s Ford Pinto got car jacked! And really, had that risk to a reward of possibly nothing - ever been so entertained by us?” 
        “Yes, I think so…, you know what I mean, like I said earlier, we’ve all been there man! Umm hmm…” [Rubs his ear as if it hurts....]
“…It probably went down something like this: Two black pedestrians be walking down the street, when one of them, a little boy, says, ‘Hey grandma look at that kid sitting over there, he’s all alone and looks hungry! We should…! Hey! don’t he look like my little broth…’ …Whereby now, grandma’s fingers, having already latched firmly onto this grandson by the ear – pulls him along while saying, ‘No, no, no child, there are plenty of social workers around willing to take that little fat black boy to lunch! Child, what are you thinking anyway? Your momma ain’t no Angelima Jolie - ya know… so let’s go watch from over there!’”
       “And as for Madonna, she came back straight from the source!”

Written by David Archuletta


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

For Pete Seeger Huddie Leadbelly Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie

For Pete Seeger, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie


it was a long time ago
when you put your words into song

'this machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender' you scribbled on your old guitar

and you wielded that banjo & guitar as weapons, 

fiddling out a hail of truth

of solidarity

of angry, vehement calls for peace

you said of Leadbelly, that that Huddie Ledbetter was a helluva man

you sang and spoke through dust clouds and relief lines

you taught us all, to seek out hope wherever we can

and when they tried to call all of you goddamned reds

you sang on ever louder and louder, rattlin' their prejudices as they slept in their plush beds

you rode and you rambled and thumbed your way around

the land that is my land and your land too

for you believed all this earth was shared common ground

and when you sang of overcoming one day

the injustice and pain that you witnessed along the way

they further branded you a commie, a pinko or a nigger-lover or a jew-lover, or an enemy of the state

while your banjo and your guitars continued to surround their blind hate

'this machine kills fascists' you etched on that guitar as well

but they were all deaf, for they could not hear the tolling of the bell

'the bell of freedom

the hammer of justice

the song of love between your brothers and your sisters'

and they knew not that they were the ones who would sizzle in their own bigoted hell

and then came the marches and you were there too

with dr. king in Birmingham and Selma, and you faced their spit, their venomous rage, their clubs and sticks and knives, but you always knew

that your cause was just and that the truth must one day prevail

however long it may take, you never gave up, you sang and you marched and you strummed yourselves, victoriously, into their jail

and then they shot him, they shot Dr. King dead, as they burnt and lynched many more

yet you stood firm, you never wavered, your blood was red after all, and they could not tarnish the truth's core

and so it came to pass, that woody went on his way, to his pastures of plenty up in the sky

and Huddie too, said his last and final goodbye

and you were then one, and you may have felt alone and overwhelmed, by the battles and with all that was wrong

but then you saw that the people were with you 

as they had been, all along

and so you continued to fiddle with that old banjo

dragging it through Newport and Calcutta and Dar-es-Salaam

and through countless unknown halls in numberless unknown towns

across this earth, turning, slowly, putting smiles of togetherness, on faces that were once pock-marked with disillusioned frowns
so...
today as I jot down these poorly scribbled words for all of you
for Woody, Huddie, and Pete
I do so in gratitude, for after all the travails that you've been through
I know that you know that this world still has its fair share of hate, and of loss and of injustice and of gloom
but I also know that you know that though all the old flowers may have gone
there always will be, as there always must be,

a fresh flower somewhere, that will quietly bloom.


Long poem by Gary Fields | Details |

Will A Divided House Stand In any Land

@one must have lived
on both' sides of
justice to be fully
exposed...gf


There are so many
     languages'
There are oh! So
many plans'
But, in this day of
confusion..
Can it really
stand....
     ------
Their are those who
live in the shadow
There are those who
are on top!
Many have faith in
the interest of
justice
I say some-times' it
is merely just a
plot!
   ----- Now think
about that ----
           
----------
Do you live in a
state of justice
Or in a state of
police...
Where your strife is
minimal
And pales' beyond
belief
           ---------
Can you go out at
   ? ...night!
With-out subscribing
of your plight
Hence:  the fear of
going out at night
            -------
This reflects' the
type of judgement
That which you
subscribe
too....

A issue shrouded
in black and white
A deadly combination
of the many social
wrongs' or
rights'...
         Where the
truth comes' to the
light
       ----
As a human body lay
riddled in the heat
and stench
of the night....
          --------
If you are stopped
in a store to-day
Do you expect to
make it home?
        -Or-
Are you subjected
to the night?
Where justice is
swift a constant
norm!
     - Only...
To end up at the
business end of
justice...!

To the end of
justice....!
contrary to
your life.... 

 Only to be pondered
upon as a
creature in that
laboratory of
life...
Where you your-self
have just payed
The supreme price
from a flash of
justice
That threatens' to
end your life...
         .......... 
Where some-one else
in his unique 
......since of
justice amend to
take your life
(Some-call it a snap
decision only... it
is
        .......not
such a snap to take
another life) later
deemed 
to be call a mishap
in the name of
protecting life
I still say' maybe
we are
acting on a little
bad advice
         -----
justifiable murder
In the name of our
Constitution....  
Needless too say,
Is this the best
solution?

Who's constitution
dare I choose?

Your life
choked-off,
filled full of
holes'
With a truth slowly
delivered....
only God knows'
just exactly
What has just
transposed...
     .... And the
reason why so many
should die....
          ------
Who's brand of
justice would you
survive...  In that
vain' instance
Just to stay
alive....
      -Or-
 which do you
care.... to defend?

Would it be
attributed to the
feat of justice 
Or will it be just
us?

Or to the
determination of the
life of just another
Young innocent
man..... Or that
breath of justice
From which he did
truly depend...

To abide and to
trust in....

The accomplishment
of man... Awh! Yes,

The truth depends'
on the end of the
sword
That which is in
your hand..... With
the meter
of justice that we
are
willing to
defend....

That brand of
justice that which
you may call upon
for the sake of your
fellow man!



Poet/Author
Gary Fields
Censored in Contrast







Long poem by Just That Archaic Poet | Details |

Paper-Cup Porsche: True Tale from the Mental Ward

Of all the kooky Coo-Coo's in the nest, Charlene by far was my favorite. Poor Charlene had virtually lost her mind after the sudden tragic death of her son, and because of that, and in addition to her hilarious antics, we were all quite fond of Charlene.

She was an African-American woman, somewhere in her sixties I supposed. Hoary, snow white hair, diminutive in stature, not lean but not heavy, and entirely unpredictable. A fellow smoker, she would always accompany the rest of us out onto the patio where we all grumbled about our mental problems, b!tched about the staff and exchanged war stories. This was always my favorite time to share with Charlene because, without warning, she would often suddenly break out singing gospel songs as if we were in church and not the loony bin. Charlene would sing her heart out, and though not the best singer in the world, I found this erratic behavior endearing, because she would often not only carol "negro spirituals" but also many songs I knew by heart since I also grew up in church. And this was not just singing; it was like she was in actual church, arms waving and dancing around, as if the spirit of the Lord had abruptly invaded her animated body. Stomping, stamping, wailing, flailing: singing her little heart out for us. It was an awesome spectacle to watch, to say the least.

I clearly and vividly recall the day my parents and best friend came to visit me. As I was showing them around the place, which was actually very resort-like for a mental hospital, and introducing them to my new crazy friends, out from nowhere came Charlene with a paper cup in hand. She was "vroom-vrooming" all over the place like she was driving and steering a car. She even made screeching brake noises as she rounded corners, frightening the more sensitive patients in her wake. My parents and best friend, and those of us on "the mend", could not restrain our laughter. While Charlene "vroomed" past us, I yelled at her over the car noises and said, "Hey, Charlene; whatcha doin'?" and, without skipping a beat, she yelled back, "Can't you see? I'm driving my new Porsche!". Needless to say, we were all doubled over with laughter. 

In all my time spent in mental wards, this is by far my favorite and most cherished memory. It turned out that Charlene actually lived in the same town as me, and I would often see her in the grocery store where I worked (after I was "all better"). I always said Hi to her and called her by name, and she would just look at me in bafflement and hurry on with her buggy. One day she finally asked me how I knew her, and I whispered in her ear (as not to embarrass her), how we had met in the hospital, and she took me aside and whispered in a conspiratorial way, "Oh, honey; that was a baaaaaaad time!". I just gave her a friendly, reassuring pat on the back and smiled, to signify that for the time being, we both were better, and that's all that mattered. Al Fin.


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/monsieur_lvampyre_and_the_black_lady_460295' st_title='MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE AND THE BLACK LADY'>

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE AND THE BLACK LADY

   MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE and THE BLACK LADY
Just south of Paris, lives the soul of me,
at my chateau, where few will ever see,
I'm compensated for the way
death lingers on from day to day
and makes each night a night of tragedy.

   All dark as hell, from trees that block the light
   so as to make the day deep as the night
   I'm free to come, and free to go,
   without the sun that hurts me so
   and this, my home, is hidden from all sight.

Now I would never have you think my way
is shunning life, and hiding from the day,
and though I live a tragedy,
it's quite the way I'd have life be,
as all alone leads only to decay.

   One night I'd settled in for mystery,
   my candle lighting words my mind could see,
   and authored by a lightning mind,
   I knew his words were of my kind
   and as I turned my pages, what should be?

All feminine, the hesitating sound
of just a tapping, to the door it's found,
of fingers slim, but in distress,
she should be home, that was my guess,
but still I raised myself to stand my ground.

   Anticipating what--I didn't know--
   for what fair damsel knocked at my chateau?
   And so I grasped my deringer
   all cocked and ready, as it were,
   and set upon the path where I should go.

The tapping grew to be quite indescrete
and hurried, as if one about to meet
a harsh and catastrophic end
without the slightest hope or friend,
and so I pulled the door, but braced my feet.

   December winds came freezing to my skin
   and lightning lit the winter nights' begin,
   an omen I supposed to be
   a blessing of the night for me,
   and so I welcomed her, and asked her in.

She shed her wrap, one tatterred by the years
but fondly placed it to my hands, in tears,
and dark was she, as any night
her skin so black, a blessed sight
for beauty's in beholding what appears.

   There showed no blood, upon her neck for me,
  No, not a mark was there that I could see,
   and questions raced all through my head
   if hers was warm, and damp, and red?
   Or did her blood flow black--how could that be?

What brought her tears, once placed into the past,
I set upon to make here smile at last,
and asked her if she'd like to stay
at my chateau, near Poitiers,
and spend the night, for it was waining fast.

   Of all the beauty, ever to be here,
   in all  my life, not one could come so near
   as when her cloth fell to her feet
   in candlelight, love made complete
   by flesh and blood, as dark as they appear.

My mark was bit, and I could feel the flow
of blood that made my heart not want to know
an end to this, a special night
so red that flowed from just the bite,
but dark as sin--I begged she never go!

   So overcome with joy of all she was
   my pounding heart gave in to just because.
   I drank of her until she knew
   the bite for her great living through
    eternal dying, lacking what death does.
                            © ron wilson aka veebdosa the Doylestown Poet


Long poem by Carolyn Crawford | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/lawd,_ahm_too_tired_to_shout_639259' st_title='LAWD, AH'M TOO TIRED TO SHOUT'>

LAWD, AH'M TOO TIRED TO SHOUT

by Carolyn V. Crawford AKA Rachel Dunkerque

Evalina, Evalina,
Won't you come on and shout!
You didn't come up to Heaven
To sit down and pout.

AH KIN POUT EF AH WANNA, LAWD
AH'M TOO TIRED TO SHOUT.
BEEN A LONG TIME GITTIN' HEANH
AH'M JES TOO TIRED TO SHOUT.

But you ought to want to shout
Since it took you so long
Don't you feel like shouting
With this heavenly throng?

'SIDE FROM MY OLD BODY BEIN' SO ACHY AND TIRED
AH'M GITTIN' TIRED O' YOU NAGGIN' ME TO SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT!
YOU RIGHT, AH BEEN A LONG TIME GITTIN' UP TO DIS PLACE
EF AH HAD DE STRENGTH, AH'D SLAP YOU IN DE FACE
YOU DIDN'T MIND ME WOIKIN' SUNUP TO SUNDOWN.
PAID NO 'TENTION WHEN AH WRINKLED FROM ALL O' MY FROWNS
YOU KNOW, DIS TIREDNESS STARTED BACK WHEN AH WAS FIVE YEARS OLD
LONG 'FO AH EVER KNOWED AH EVER HAD A SOUL.
AH LUGGED BUCKETS O' WATER TO WATER DE CROPS
HOED AND HOED TILL AH THOUGHT AH'D DROP
PICKED BERRIES IN DE MOANIN', IN DE HEAT OF DE DAY
WASHED CLOTHES FUH DE WHITE FOLKS TILL MY HANDS TURNT GRAY.

But Evalina, Evalina, that's all over now
You came up to Heaven to rejoice and wear a crown.
So Evalina, Evalina, please come on and shout
Let's rejoice for a while, now come on and shout.

GIMME TIME TO BLOW MY BREAF, LAWD
AH AIN'T MADE O' NO STEEL
MY FEETS HURTS ME SO BAD
AIN'T 'BOUT TO GIT TO MY KNEES
TO PRAY UP TO DE POINT O' SHOUTIN'
'CAUSE MY KNEES ACHE, TOO
SO DON'T TELL ME AH'M JES' POUTIN'
MY SHOUTIN' IS THROUGH
'SIDES AH SHOUTED ENOUGH
DOWN WHERE AH COME FROM
AH THOUGHT DIS PLACE WAS QUIET
OR AH WOULDNA COME.
ALL DESE FOOLS JES' HOLLERIN'
JES' SHAKIN' AND SHOUTIN'
LAWD, AH AIN'T CRAZY.
AIN'T GON' LET YOU WEAR ME OUT.

Evalina, Evalina, you have to hear me out
I can't let you sit down, you have to come on and shout
Everybody's singing, rejoicing and shouting
Nobody came here to sit down and pout.

LISTEN HEANH YOU PROPER TALKIN' SUCKER
AH'M SAYIN' ONE MORE TIME
EF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE
AH'M GON' KNOCK YOU FLAT DOWN.
AH AIN'T SHOUTIN' FOR NOBODY
AH AIN'T SHOUTIN' 'ROUND NO THRONE
AH AIN''T ACTIN' LAK NO WILD DOG
HOLLERIN' FUH A BONE
AH DON'T CARE EF THE THRONE IS MADE OF PURE GOLD
AH DON'T CARE EF MY WINGS WON'T UNFOLD
LAWD, EF AH CAN KEEP SETTIN' HEANH
DAT'S JES' WHAT AH'M GON' DO
SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL ACCEPT DE FACK
DAT EVALINA IS THROUGH
AH AIN'T SHOUTIN' FUH YOU AND NOBODY ELSE
EF YOU WANT ANY SHOUTIN' DONE, DO IT YO'SEF
AH'M GON' SET RAT HEANH ON DIS COMFORTABLE SEAT
SO EF AH WUZ YOU, LAWD, AH'D GIVE ME SOME ICE TEA
LET ME SET HEANH AND WATCH
GWONE, HAVE A GOOD TIME
EF YOU DO LAK AH TELL YOU
WE GETS 'LONG JES' FINE
BUT DEAR LAWD 'FO YOU GO
IT'S TO YOU AH GIVE MY PLEA
BRING ME A TUB O' HOT WATER
SO AH CAN SOAK DESE TIRED FEET
IT'S BEEN SO ROUGH GITTIN' UP HEANH
AH DESERVE A LITTLE TREAT
CAUSE LAWD, AH'M JES' SO TARD,
DEAR LAWD, AH'M SO BEAT.


Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

Collective Unconscious

I never want it much but manners when it was due Recalling of yesterday wind Collectively bargain as I may call it as a rapper that was honor into the hall of fame That said he hope his rap would care over into the next generation if not then his legacy Collective bargain as I may recall it as another rapper he said yeah it's cool What today rappers are doing woman and money here today but it will be gone Tomorrow but what about the two wars we went through what about the economic once more This was not my words but I took it deeply to heart So a man heard what I said so he let me Break in line so I look a little bit closer and I seen the manger discounting of discounts not once but Twice and not even once but twice in same week of my grocery Im think to myself still today computer had a Glitch But my mom said it happen to her not once but twice in the same week that's "The City Im From" Onto the notion of word of mouth it has it on hall of fame we call "Word On The Street" And looking at life coming from the country with just a address and not a home at birth That I was told of My parents no matter there reconcile install into me the value of education And it was something that no one could take from you and I thought to myself that There are few legitimate ways to make Money, demand and supply, advertise for commercial, and the barter With that come the notion of the understanding what is Loyalty, respect, and power You cant make every one respect you, power is a conflict of interest going back to conquers, a reign is a reign no matter the king or queen bless it be the thing about loyalty You cant buy it and you cant fear into respect Can one have loyalty, respect, and power is it possible- Cause as a man you notice only what you see and sometimes it not you it's the environment but when do we choice to wake or is Awaking dawn apond our eyes I yield to maturity and ask "Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible". Young brother young brother would you like to hear my full story- But the integrity thing is you could have a million views or A thousand votes But it only take one somebody to notice you and it is live changing thing and that Somebody may not be a celebrity or even a house hold name and for me Money was never be my intention but usually good deed due become of rewards And that somebody that had a impact on me Im start to see what a woman worth Is truely about I never reallie understand why girls now that are woman like me so much was it reallie a cruel joke? And the phone rings hangs and click again And where she goes he will follow And the breeze steadily picks up on a winded blue night To insult my intelligence is to insult your intrigue why most you feel so inferior-


Long poem by River Greene | Details |

From a Black perspective

It's Black History Month, we all celebrate our Heritage,
come together and speak about the Greats of a past age.
Talk about how far we have come, and how far we've yet to go.
I think to myself, I feel inspired and enraged.

I think of my Neighborhood, the hustlin' on the streets,
I think of all the single mothers, making sure their babies eat.
The Asses of the Masses, sees these titles as derogatory or criminal.
I see it only as another Brother or Sister, making sure ends meet.

I watch the news a lot, look at these congressmen in suits,
defending shady police procedures, another polished up excuse,
They never mention how real the struggle is in our neighborhoods,
quick to label us as repeat criminals, they never trace the roots.

Martin Luther King, Maya Angelou, and Rosa Parks the legendary greats,
knew how to organize successfully, To fearlessly and Peacefully demonstrate.
I think to myself further, I wish we could once again stand tall until we are heard.
we've made progress but we are fenced, oppression leads to hate.

The politicians say that we are granted equal opportunities,
But looking at the budgets for our schools, that's not what I see.
half of our teachers barely care, the art programs are damn near gone
limited access to education, with economic expectations of a college degree.

Yes, we have rights now, no more segregation,
all races welcome everywhere, diverse population,
permitted to run the race, but they never even gave you feet.
I feel like we were more pacified than Liberated, that's my frustration.

Maybe if our neighborhoods weren't spots for cops to meet their quota,
Maybe if they'd approach with a smile, respect upon approach given not one iota, 
they always assume I'm up to no good, when I'm just walking home from work.
walking with a white friend they still stop me, all I say is "see, I told ya"

I can't help but wish and dream of change, of another futures day,
when our grand kids will think of us, with as much admiration as we give MLK,
I know one day we will all feel equal, no more labeling us by our skin color.
the neighborhood won't be so depressed and oppressed, our kids can safely play.

I have an dream, Like MLK Jr., I will pray for it out loud.
I wish that my children too one day, just blend in with the crowds
a day no Black child dies on his neighborhood streets by badge or by gangs
where all children receive adequate education, graduates college proud


It's Black History Month, we all celebrate our Heritage,
come together and speak about the Greats of a past age.
Talk about how far we have come, and how far we've yet to go.
I think to myself, I feel inspired and enraged.





 3/2/2015

for a contest : writings From a Black Perspective,
in honor of Black History Month.


Long Poems