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Long Black african american Poems

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 arthur vaso | Details |

L'Overture

L'Overture


Lest we forget
Words often mouthed
For the dead of bloody war
Forgot not those great ones
Whose battles were on the home front
Seeking only equality of voice

Ray Charles to you was a singer
Backwards and long ago he was a preacher
A brilliant man of forward thought
Who gifted the world with three wise women
The teacher
The poet
The Lawyer

Flo taught many with words
Long ago and yet here today
Those who teach both young and old
Hold the noblest of positions
Steering the generations
To a higher cause
With kindness, with heart
With head held up to the skies
Standing ground for those before
Abhorring those acting immature

1872 saw the first black lawyer
A sharp mind of determined heart
Argued to the Supremes
Beauty and brains
Leading the way towards freedom
For women of all races
For in 1872 she had the social graces

The revolution of sonnets
Black woman and prose
The poem and the black rose
In 1893 to be printed by a Little
Sure meant a lot
Henrietta fought the enemy
With languages and words
Her Wordsworth more than Haitian blood

The past, the present
Merging onto our futures dreams
Hope cares not the color, none at all
Hope comes from the rainbows
Where voices and angels whisper
When we part this early soil
Make us all into one

If I had a coloring book
In it I would put these three
Who colored the freedom of women
With education, articulation and harmony
The pen indeed defeated the sword
L'Overture gagne

* L'Overture gagne = The opening , won

In Actual fact the correct spelling of the French word, would be “L'Ouverture” So I was using a play on words with the Revolutionaries last name.

Notes: Not much of a poem, however this was inspired by an old photo I saw of Charlotte E. Ray. The first African American Lawyer in United States, and the first female lawyer in the district of Colombia. When I did some digging, I found she had also 2 sisters, one a poet, one a teacher. Their father was a preacher who firmly believed in education.

Her sister was one Henrietta Cordelia Ray, an American poet. Her poetry of  Sonnets was a short book of 12 sonnets on Milton, Shakespeare, Raphael, and Beethoven, among other subjects. Her sonnet on the Haitian revolutionary Toussaint L'Overture is notable for its belated engagement in black politics (absent from her earlier verse) and for its allusions to William Wordsworth's famous sonnet, "To Touissaint L'Overture”

Well now, the title makes more sense, n’est pas? However the last name also means in English “The Opening” and I thought how fitting that in the late 1800’s black women were beginning to open doors to the future. 

Also now the line “Her Wordsworth more than Haitian blood” should be self explanatory and no wordsworth was not a typo! (even I am famous for them)

Now another of my passions, is French poetry, history and culture, and yes Touissaint L'Overture stood up to Napoleon and although historically he lost, and was deported to France where he died, I think its safe to say that “L'Overture gagne” meaning he won, in that he too was the “Opening” for the changes that would come later. In fact its there is some irony that all the revolution for change is often lost in the short term, when education and the pen make gains that are very hard to revere.

Ray Charles to you was a singer
Backwards and long ago he was a preacher

This of course means if you take Ray Charles the singer’s name that I am sure most know and reverse the name, you get the name Charles Ray, the father of the three women.

Argued to the Supremes

Again, Charlotte E. Ray the lawyer did argue in the Supreme Court and so the play on words with “the Supremes” and one could infer many meanings in this line.

Now the third sister was a teacher and I haven’t found out much about her, her name was Florence and Flo for short, and as I jumped periods with Ray Charles and Charles Ray, when I was reading about these strong women, and one must remember the time at which they made their accomplishments was not as today, it made me thing of another Flo, and therefore, I intermixed by thoughts of her with that of which I imagined the teacher would be.

Little, refers to the publishing company who published Henrietta’s sonnets

Not all poems are meant to be great, some are just stories, and I love adding double meanings and innuendo, because when engaging people in discussion, there is nothing that better than relating events and people they may know with those of the past they may not. As sometimes with students, we discuss poems at a local coffee shop, this type of poem makes for great discussions. 

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


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 -












Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014


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 -












Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Poet M.e. | Details |

Kind Of Blue For Miles Davis

Kind Of Blue (For Miles Davis)
Woodlawn Cemetery, Bronx Ny 1991


Before they could lower Miles 
into the damp dark ground
Two of the PALL BEARERS
Thought they heard musical sounds

Before the Preacher could say
Turn your Bibles
To Acts, The preacher paused
After he read Deuteronomy
He looked back

But there was nothing there

But deep under the sepulchers
Six feet below the sand
The Spirits realized it was jus’ 
ColTrane and Gillespie
Warmin’ up the band


And a hundred corpses started
Creeping' out those coffins
Sayin', We don’t get parties round here often

And those Trom Bones started rattling
Those Trom Bones rattled
Like they were audition for Ezekial
Like they were auditioning for Ezekiel
And MILES was ready for his musical sequel

And MILES said
Is everyone here dead??
And they said, Do we look Dead?
And started snapping their fingers
And bobbling their heads


And they started to sing 
and shimmy and sway 
In A Silent Way

And Miles asked the dancing Dead Man
Where am I?
How long do we get to play?
He said, We ain't got long, Son
The Shovels are on the way
The shovels are always on the way

And Miles crawled  out of that casket
To a vertical stand
And Tommy put a horn in his hand

Miles stood on the tallest tombstome
And he played like a Boogey Man
He played like a Boogey Man
And then Mingus appeared, saying
 Is there any more room in the band?

And Miles put his wrinkled Black lips on that horn
And embraced it like it like it was a breast
And he felt like  he was a Newborn
And he felt music deep in his chest

And he played like there was no tomorrow
Because there wasn’t one
He hesitated
And they said, It’s alright Son

And he played Vibrato 
And he played E Flat 
And he played C Sharp
And it sounded sweeter
Then Caesars harp

Then Miles looked sad eyed
And thought back to 1945
Shooting heroin with Bird
recalling those sad words:
“Hey Miles”
“Yeah Bird”
This is the only shit kind enough to kill you
And show up at your funeral too.”
And Miles said, 
Yeah it’s Bitches Brew
It’s a Bitches Brew

He laughed, Crazy of  Ol’ Coleman
To tell me to stay away from you

And that heroin went down
Their veins
Like a Macy’s  escalator
Then they went back up to their brains
like an elevator
And Bird was dead ten years later

And Miles went back even further in his mind
1944 East Saint Louis when he met Billy Eckstine
He pressed Play, fast forward and rewind
Then he thought about Webster and Navarro
And he was filled with sorrow


Miles cried as he cleared his throat
But He saved
The Sweetest note
for Alton, Illinois
Where he played as a boy
And was his mother’s joy

“I think God himself made the piano, Son
Now the Devil made the trumpet
A day later tryna show God off…
She faded with words real soft


That thought was interrupted.
Miles, We gotta hurry
They comin’ with the shovels
They told Miles not to worry

And those Spirits knew the party
Was coming to an end
And Miles played one last note
To the sun to the moon and to the wind

HE PLAYED THOSE

I-Aint-Done-Gettin-Down-Blues

Those What  If-heaven-
Doesn’t-have-a-fifty-second-street
Just-give-me-one-more-minute-Blues

And then he brought  to an end
 That syncopated tune

Someone whispered, We know

It always ends too soon.
It always ends too soon


And the music stopped playin'
And they confiscated those horns
Like a New York pawn shop
And that party came to a stop

And every ghost went back to his tomb

And Mingus said, Hey Miles
Remember how we used to think those
White Juilliard kids 
Would never know our names

And Miles cried with refrain

Goodbye Miles
I have to get back to Bangladesh.
You try to stay out of trouble  
And then they saw  the shovels

The very next morning
The Undertaker
saw a Brass pipe on the ground
Where it came from he didn’t have a clue
Only the Corpses  knew

But if he had looked up, 
Miles and MILES up into the sky
He would have noticed
The more Ominous clue
The Sky wasn’t white
Or Opaque or even Grey

It was was Kind of  Blue

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Development Divas

Permacultural community development,
as if life matters,
presents optimal Continuous Quality Improvement (CQI) standards
for self-other-Earth regenerative 
and sustainable living outcomes.
That 7 Generation certificate of accomplishment.

Development Divas enjoy primal dynamic focus
on repurposing formations and reformations,
fractals and octaves,
full four-seasonal
"Time is a Recycling River" nutritional functions,
vocational "plant AND self-composting root system" financial guilds,
cooperatively beloved villages,
families with long evolutionary branches
AND Elder root systemic DNA structures and flex and flow-string patterns,
economies and ecologies,
eco-normics of ego-logy,
eco-logic of economics,
positive psychological relationships 
and truly communicating communities 
swimming and flying global networks of richly nutritious information,
polynomially balanced 4-dimensioned crystal clear fractals of spacetime,
mine,
yours,
ours,
Universal Common Orthodox Health Co-Intelligence.

Polyculturalists into planting and designing 
and harvesting optimized beloved polycultural climaxing outcomes,
swim time's river through positive teleological currents of dialogue,
discernment narrative,
designing syntax,
DNA codex,
creation's regeneration story,
psycho-conscious logos rooted in comprehensive co-gravity
of Self+Other history,
personal,
relational,
landscaped,
networked,
globally farmed,
universal,
herstoric enculturation of harmoniously balancing Right with Left,
(-)Yin(-)Yin as equivalent to (+)Yang
since "not not!" meant "Yes!"
and "black white" meant "both-and-matters"
bilateral time sprouting fractal spacetime of four equivalent dimensions
and systemic seasons and stages of development,
syntegrating yin-with-yin equivalent bipolarity binding-winding 
universal time's dipolar thermodynamic with electromagnetic bowing balance 
with centrifugally emergent binomial force of gravity,
ecological balance of harmonic solar systemic radiantly rich waving values
absorbed by a greening photosynthetic coredemptive metamorphic Earth,
and disvalues of dissonant decay, 
climatic change, 
autistic dismay, 
fear of death replacing all of life's remembering systems.

A logical conclusion of suicidal planning,
irrationality,
feeling internally overpopulated,
is to both stop absorbing positive nutrients--divestment,
and to begin a practice of absorbing only toxins
and collateral damage--high-risk investment,
self and other abuse acts faster than mere neglectful impoverishment,
marginalization,
suppression
oppression of identity,
the more aggressively and consistently aversive,
the faster our inevitable dead result.

So, the ecologic of diastatically positive and rational life
is to hunt and gather positive nutrients
and to minimize absorption of toxins
and collateral corporate insult,
injury,
abuse,
and neglect,
violence and dissonance,
addiction to victimization and possession.
Ego's self-mentoring lessons must seek co-mentoring
responsibility and accountability
investment and disinvestment for ecosystemic balance,
without anthro-centric hubris of possession or dispossession. 
To own any of this stuff cannot meet optimizing CQI well-being standards,
will not meet death's rebirthing threshold for cycling forward downstream.

Win-Win cooperative
coregenerative optimization
is an ecologically economic diva herstory of re-genesis,
just as Lose-Lose competitive decomposition
is our Business-As-Usual history
of dominating Self, Other, Earth,
pretty much in that disenculturing
disintegrative disorder of anti-systemic absence of time's flow.

Permacultural community development
as if we remembered
that white male lives could not have mattered
if Elder brown maternal lives had not repurposed DNA's
stretch toward freedom for inclusive Vitamin D prosperity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Jacquie Davis | Details |

Black


They walk the streets as black, And even night

Won´t cover them

From seeing their children turn to red on the ground

They will soon bury them in,

Just because the white in mighty blue

Thought black means something bad.

And then we stand up and say, that police brutality,

Must mean we all think all police are crooked.


They talk their talks as blacks, we deem them

Inevitably hooked. They argue till their face turn

Green and eventually blue.

Just because this is the corner were they hang,

Police was called for dispatching a gang

And the violence ensued, brought blood

To an old war record of perhaps crimes.

And then we stand up and say we had to man up

To the scourge of society, while real crimes walk free.


She walked the streets as black and as it happens

to be, the white man she saw loved the black in her.

She came for help but help never came, for we are

led to believe, those blacks just like their high games.

She must have been drunk, she must have forgot.

That she gave consent, to this all mighty white God.

And yet there we stand and call her a slut,

But also say, we must treat all crime equally and protect

Our society´s dear ladies.


She went to school with black, all the colourless

Called her shady, but her high grades were the highest

In the class. But the teachers eye wandered on that with

suspicion and called her in to ask her if she was cheating.

Her dreams of Harvard almost lay, in the hands of one man

Who thought black does not equal smart and cannot

possibly be winning. But we stand up and say, that equal

chances are everywhere, like we once said that the ghetto

was not really there and the money flowed equally to

every square. We stood there and said nothing really.


Harvard was in the hands of this black man, not from

Basketballs or doing cart wheelies or whatever reason

We think black men only enter Harvard. His teachers

Frowned when he entered the room, said: these other classes

Are at the end of the hall, son, and watch silently when

He sat down, before cautiously resuming his idea about

why people might never really need safe spaces

And we stood there and said we are proud of our fellow men

Who got into there with our help, although he did all the work.


And then we talked about positive discrimination

Right over their heads, silenced their comments.

About that it is the thing needed to give black fair chances.

So they at least were chosen on the merit of grades

And not the numbers that turned to white when choice came.

And now we say it is unfair, that a smart white dainty girl

Did not get into Harvard, although surely her grades much be

higher than her black ¨sister? who came not on merit because

They had to chose her, and even when they scream:

THIS IS NOT HOW POSITIVE DISCRIMINATION WORKS.

THIS IS A WORLD THAT CHOSE YOUR WHITENESS OVER

MY HIGHER GRADES EVERY FUCKING TIME,

We come here and we say: Things should not be done this way.


And after Harvard she still carried her name, when for hope

to sway the world on her credentials, she got rejection letters

To the tee very sophisticated and it was rather clear,

They did not read her letters, oh no dear, she got rejected

Just because of her name. The blackness of a name.

The skin tone in the letters of the alphabet that came to

define how people called her, followed her, clawed at her

From a piece of paper that rejected her melanin.

And the moment they call themselves black,

Call their lives black, their wives black,

We say: What´s up with that?

We don´t see colour at front or back.

We never saw colour like that.

Copyright © Jacquie Davis | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Cmack Estevez | Details |

I hate Niggas

I hate Ni**as
When I’m looking and staring at this burden world  in my vision and I see the world collapsing especially in the poverty streets all I see is ignorance and stupidity. I see a disgrace , I see ni**as ni**as that can’t live up to their higher expectations. Whatever happen to the blacks and browns ? Whatever happen to our role models   ? Ni**as these days need to step up and be a man being a gangbanger a pimp and a drug dealer isn’t no excuse that is just being ignorant and just can’t handle your business as a man . The differences between a ni**a a  black man and a brown man is a black man and a brown man is well educated and is always providing for his family and stick with his job and career to pay for his living. Ni**as are just plain lazy some even claim they bout it when they had everything good and blissful in their childhood. Ni**as always think in their thick minding skulls that life is so easy and hopeless that they don’t have to put in work well in the troublesome streets. Whatever happen to our sisters respecting themselves ? Why all a sudden they have to be such hoodrats and allow these ni**as to disrespect ya’ll like some damn dogs have some sense ya’ll beautiful and strong please don’t be bitches and sluts. What happen to our blacks and browns ? Whatever happen to our ni**as speaking and spitting that deep lyrical meaning in the music ? WE created and built this rap and hip hop and now we destroying it and poisoning it.
We have a choice to not be a ni**a in this society.
We have a choice to be a somebody in this society .
Put down the guns.
Stop disrespecting and fighting the cops by calling them pigs.
To get respect you must quit being ni**as and hoodrats.
How can someone respect you when you act like ya’ll not well educated ?
I feel so disgrace to be brown because the world of my kind ashames me. Ni**as are so hypocritical when a white person uses the word ni**a and they have the audacity to get mad and beat they asses when ya’ll ni**as uses the word a lot until we stop abusing it then any race have the right to use it. It’s never too late to have a dream of something. Do it for your kids Do it for your family and most of all do it for yourself. Ya’ll are not ni**as deep down ya’ll just want to act like it. The word doesn’t owe you jack. The world wants yall to put in work and stop being sorry for yourself because being sorry for yourselves won’t allow you to grow just be mad at reality forever. I will not go down with ni**as that ain’t good. I will not join ni**as in some hoods. Until they do the right thing and become blacks and browns then I be all right but until then I hate ignorant ni**as . Be a man of your word and your society.
I hate ni**as that can’t provide.
I hate ni**as that can’t choose a better life.
I hate ni**as that disrespect our Sisters.
I hate ni**as that can’t accept their morals.
I hate ni**as that kill.
I hate ni**as that can’t pay a bill.
I hate ni**as that gang bang.
I hate ni**as that be pimping women .
Live up to the high expectations don’t let the streets make you and own you allow yourself to better yourself and avoid these no good streets.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Cmack Estevez | Details |

Don't throw it away

Don’t throw it away
I never had lots of people that actually believed in me as a kid  . I always had these delusional thoughts that one day everybody would love me and believe in me. Well it came eventually to this day when I left poverty forever. I always   wanted to be this to be that but it was all talk . Someone use to tell me if you want to be somebody you’re going to put the effort , be discipline and work your way up. The ego   the cockiness   the arrogance and the ignorance will destroy you instantly and you’ll feel very heartless in your heart. Never throw it away over those traits    never,  listen  and feel emotion that you think the people are right and don’t believe in you that you can be something. Your dreams , Your opportunities ,  Your hopes , Your passion and you  being a somebody is all on you to make it come true. There’s no easy path   I always tracked it down all my life and I fail every time it takes patients   it takes efforts it takes to have another   plan another opportunity to search what you want. The world can’t help you   you are helping yourself the world can’t owe you. It doesn’t define you , you do. You can taking it if the world don’t owe something and give something to you easily but you might fail. There’s no excuses for you to say you have talent   you have lots of creativity and you’ll feel in your thick minding skull that if you use it for an easier path then the world will make you feel  embarrassed and humiliated. 
Without practice
Without effort
Without a plan
Without hard work
You fall you throw it all away based on just talent you can’t be build and rely on talent  and creativity to be successful and make it. Every human has it not just you. Ego and being cocky destroys your images it kills your chances. Be patient   Persevere your way to greatness. Search and feel the effort by doing the work   use your mind   have a   plan   use your full potential because if you don’t then your dreams will remain a fantasy and not a reality. The world wants us to face our challenges to overcome and improve. Without it we all collapse. WE all need challenges to improve our ethics and talent. If you throw it all away then what’s the point of being a somebody   ? Young people need to understand that talent   creativity having an ego and being so better than the world and better than everybody and the world will be much very easier on you is actually more to it.  Don’t let this destroy you   because if you don’t   believe in yourself then you’ll never be  good  enough .   If   certain people don’t believe you have a good future then ignore them and chase it. The struggle is real but we can overcome it by making the struggle into our dreams turn into reality of our wants and highly doubts of desire.
If you throw it away you’re losing
If you throw it away  you’re   pointless.
If you throw it away you’re hopeless.
And if you throw it away you won’t be good enough to be a somebody.  
Stay in school be patient it’ll come get the amount of education and work hard you just have to focus and feel the pride of greatness within you to improve and lastly chase it and go get it.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016


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.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Cmack Estevez | Details |

Who is Christopher Carson Burton

Who is Christopher Carson Burton? 
Who am I? 
Do I know? 
Do anybody know who I am? 
I'm just a regular guy a nobody.
A regular  guy   who grew   from   poverty. 
Someone      who was abandoned.
Someone who thought wouldn't make it.
I never ask to live in the suburb of Round Rock with my mom trying to have a better life.
I didn't I shouldn't even be here.
I shouldn't be alive.
I should be in Houston in Trinity Gardens dead or in the penitentiary.
I should be having a dream of fame like that's going to freaking happen.
See my life I can't have a happy life.
I can't  have a happy ending.
Just tragic endings.
I let go of my girlfriends.
I regret it a little.
They don't care
And sometimes I don't care 
People pretend to care about me.
People pretend to help me.
People are not helping me.
I'm on my own.
All they see is a scared non educated ghetto brown person.
It's my fault that Uncle Clarence died
It's my fault that I wasn't there for him to save him.
Life is not fair and nice.
Life is so damn treacherous.
It breaks my heart that I came from nothing that I kind of knew that I wasn't going to amount to nothing.
People used to say that I was worthless.
I was weak.
I was a retard in Special Education.
I wasn't good enough.
Even the teacher's in Houston said it and laughed it in my face.
They were wrong.
I graduated.
I stayed at my first job when I was 16 for 2 years.
I got a new job at Sam's Club.
I am on top of the world.
But nobody don't give a damn on how I'm holding it down so screw them.
People used to be so envious of me, because in the ghetto I had a Uncle that was my father to me and he use to give me a lot and they were envious of my creativity. I don't deserve to be alive, I don't deserve to be born out the bloody non virgin womb. I don't deserve an Uncle Clarence. I don't deserve Sam's .
 I don't deserve a happy ending. Sometimes in my mind I feel that I rather be dead or in prison than having a flawless opportunity life. People wish in their soft feelings that they can be bless like me able to have my talent of creativity be able to have my style my flawless ability to read and spell. Certain people in the hood especially the kids and teenagers can't live up to my expectations my learning experience why I say that? ,  because nobody never taught them how to learn to things so instead they abandoned them knowing they would have potential if they teach them. But no you cost it you ruined your kids life in these burden streets but it ain' t about people in the hood flaws. It's about how I feel remorse and down about waking up every morning and sleeping every night wondering why in the hell I'm still here living and having a better life. My Uncle Clarence made a way he made a way for me to have this better life without him I struggle in the hood. 
But who am I? 
I'm just a regular guy a nobody
A regular guy who  grew from poverty.
Someone who was   abandoned.
Someone who was  abused.
Someone who thought wouldn't make it. 
And someone who should be let  go.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016


Long Poems