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Michael Ellis Poem
EXCERPT (Approximately 30% of Poem)
From Summertimes and Monday Mournings
Hopscotch in Harlem
Children play ten square
Jump Jump all stare
Bahhh Bahhh Black sheep
Have you any cares?
Yes Sir Yes sir
More than my share
I’ve added all my Blues up
And I have some to spare.
Hopscotch in Harlem
Feels like a HOLIDAY
Don’t touch the Hi-Fi
Cause BESSIE wants to play.
A BIRD in the band
Is worth two in the bush
Heaven’s big enough for everybody
But still folks just push
Hopscotch in Harlem
The war is almost over
Daddy lost his leg
At least he has a head on his shoulder
The Bomber won in the last round
With a swift uppercut jab
Harlem’s too far from heaven
So it’s best you take a CAB
And if you want to be on time
I guess that TRANE will work out fine
I guess that TRANE will work out fine.
TENEMENT 103
“Mama why we got to live like this?
I’m sick of eatin’ beans an’ hominy grits.
Mama I’m sick of this sh-----“
“Shhhh watch yo’ mouth boy
You aint ol’ enough to fuss
I’m the only one in this house
Got a right to fuss.”
“Aint the Good Lo’d give you eyes boy
To see that yo Mama is busy?
Stop spinnin’ yo brother around
You gonna make him DIZZIE
Harlem Sunsets
Children dreaming
Voiceless vignettes
Harlems last gleaming
Broad stripes
And dim stars
Tears constantly streaming
The long hours of despair
Dreams dissolving in air
Gave proof through the night
That our Blues were still there
After all that dying
Those Blues were still there.
HOPSCOTCH IN HARLEM
One two
Yo’ Daddy loves you
Three Four
Mama loves you more
Five six
How’d you get in this fix
Even the Good Lord
Can’t clean up yo sh*%$
And when you’re behind
Is a good time to quit
Square number seven
Just getting started
Yo Mama went to heaven
Sad and broken hearted
Cussin’ an fussin’
Glad that she departed
Jump jump
Advance to number eight
Yo Daddy knockin’ on heaven’s gates
They wont let him in
Because he got there late
"I tol you they do ‘scriminate."
Yo’ Mama died from drinkin’ whiskey and wine
Go back two squares cause you stepped on the line
If you make it to square number nine
Than you’re really doing good
Jump Jump
God bless those who make it to ten
So lucky are them
This is how THEY play
Hopscotch in Harlem
M Ellis Pulitzer Eyes
Copyright © Michael Ellis | Year Posted 2009
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Michael Ellis Poem
Frances
Twas the night before Thanksgiving
An’ all through the tenement
Mama was sleeping
When Big Dady came in again
And there in the night sweet Frances lost her innocence
Hopscotch in Harlem Summer 1944
"If I don’t win this time
I aint never going to play no more.”
Mr Fortune teller
Why didn’t you tell her
One day she’d be a WHORE
The girl tol’ her Mama she’d never be poor
Papa was around
But he scorned her
Mama was always down
But she tried to warn her
Papa blamed her mother
Said she was just too lenient
The child tried her hand at working
But selling love
Was much more convenient
Cleaning toilets pays ten cents an hour
Scrubbing floors pays a quarter
My guess is that Cinderella
Wasn’t written for her
Now she’s her own selfs employer
And Now she cleans billfolds
At least it keeps her out of the cold
Dropping her dress didn’t take her to the top
She told her Mother one day she’s gonna stop
And now and then she reflects
How she misses that Harlem Hop.
ROSS
And Misses Gypsy lady
You been passin’ out bad luck lately
He wanted to be an astronaut
But now trouble holds him
And it’s your fault
Cause you should have told him
Attorney trying to get him twenty-five
The judge wants to give him eighty
Aint a tree in sight
But it still seems shady
But whatever happens
He’ll always be Sadie’s baby
Looking back with sad refrain
Ross, why you wanna bring your Mama pain?
A number replaced his name
Bought a gun to make a score
Couldn’t stand another day of being poor
So he chose to rob the corner store
Headline said: Murder at Sunny’s
He wouldn’t have killed hm
If he had jus’ given him the money
Fifty years of time to spare
A simple dream that led no where
When they passed out Blues
He got twice his share
And now he’s livin’ in shame
But what he wouldn’t give
For one more game
Of that Harlem square.
“Ross, you better stop pullin my hair.”
Copyright © Michael Ellis | Year Posted 2009
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Michael Ellis Poem
Octobar 12
Dear Oprah,
I know that every day you get a million letters. From people doing good. People
doing bad and people doing better. And I know Miss Oprah, that out them million letters,
maybe you read only one. But I want to tell you about my life before it's over and done.
People say on the list of things they never want to be, being sick or dying is first. I
say, being ugly and unloved is far worse, cause that just stick to you your whole life
like a curse.
My name is Correne and I'm one of the ones doing bad. And Miss Oprah My life is so sad.
I know there is a good reason you don't write back. But life just here for a season, and
then it's gone just like one of Sonya lilacs.
Yisterday I would have did suicide, but Ettie had used the last Tylenal aspirin the day
before- for her migraine headache wouldn't hurt no more. I could have used Willies World
War II gun, but it's been seven years since he had money to buy bullets. I'm scared of
guns and I don't know if I have strength to pull it. And unfortunate we lives in one story
house so the roof aint high enough to jump off anyway. So I guess Miss Oprah, I'm going to
live to see another day. Maybe I come up with another way.
****************************************
Dear Oprah,
Some time I write you letter in my room at night. Aunt Ettie shout at me, I aint made of
money, turn off that God darn light. When she scream like that, I cry and get tears on the
letter, and I hope in my head that tomorrow will be better.
Today I sit back on Ettie Sofa and smile 'cause I'm watching your show, Big Josh say,
Oprah cant help you. Most you ever goin to be is a fat ugly Ho. Last week he get so mad he
molest me on the couch while I was watching your show. I reach to turn off the TV. he say,
leave it on! I want Oprah to see. While he mess with me, I think bout how your show tell
people to hold on. I want to fight him off me, but he so strong. He cuss me when I tell
him he doing wrong.
I think it take a whole ocean to hold just half of my sorrow. I hear Ettie coming,
Oprah. I write you again tomorrow...
Copyright © Michael Ellis | Year Posted 2009
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