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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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Penned like cattle, as if chattel,
cages rattle, sounds of brattle,
no more tattle, keen for battle.
Be free, my brothers!
The cause is great, our rights innate,
not fuelled by hate, we’ll change our fate,
we won’t be freight, not long to wait.
Be free, my brothers!
Marched out on deck, end of the trek,
each one they check, from toes to neck,
the merest speck, is cause for heck.
Be free, my brothers!
As we make land, I rub my brand,
the time’s at hand, to make a stand,
with me my band, just as we planned.
Be free, my brothers!
No longer sane, we share the strain,
endure the pain, it’s not in vain,
it’s all to gain, I break the chain.
Be free, my brothers!
Accursed whip, my clothes do rip,
he splits my lip, I smash his hip,
he’s lost his grip, knocked off the ship.
Be free, my brothers!
We're in the dirt, the words are curt,
I wield the quirt, then shred his shirt,
his blood does spurt, he's badly hurt.
Be free, my brothers!
The dock we shun, just feel that sun,
we’re on the run, but not yet won,
all said and done, it’s just begun.
Be free, my brothers!
Free of the snare, the wear and tear,
the vacant stare, the matted hair,
because we dare, to breathe the air.
Be free, my brothers!
So they give chase, don’t see the face,
our fall from grace, because of race,
their motives base, traded for lace.
Be free, my brothers!
More men appear, they mock and jeer,
the end draws near, that much is clear,
we hold life dear, so fight your fear.
Be free, my brothers!
At last we’re caught, not been for nought,
got what we sought, for what we fought,
to them we’ve taught, will not be bought.
Be free, my brothers!
Out in the field, wounds haven't healed,
blood not congealed, our fates are sealed,
their guns they wield, we will not yield.
Die free, my brothers!
--------------------------------------------------
Originally composed in 2013, this is one of my longer poems. I was unsure about letting it see the light of day due to the sensitive nature of the subject, but this was my take on a particularly dark part of man's history.
Submitted to the "Go Ahead... I Dare Ya!!" contest sponsored by John Lawless - First Place.
Poem of the Day: 10th April 2017
Copyright © John Michaels | Year Posted 2017
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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Walk with me,
Don't...SHOOT,
cuz I don't wanna die young,
I wanna grow old and have
a daughter or a son, or maybe both,
to live a full life is my hope,
but the bullets in your gun
are a noose around my throat.
Don't....SHOOT,
I promise you I wanna LIVE,
I wanna show the world everything I have to give
and it's a lot, and yea I might smoke a little pot,
but so Bill Clinton and HE didn't get shot.
Don't....SHOOT,
I got plans for my future,
that don't include a cop saying
stop and let me shoot ya
Don't....SHOOT,
my hands are clearly in the air
I start school next week and I wanna
make it there.
But you..... SHOT,
and let me die in the streets,
now my people want answers
No justice no peace.
Copyright © Cairo Asikari | Year Posted 2014
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
|
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
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Black African American Poem
|
Those evil thorns of bitterness
That couldn't bear to see
This child so loved and so adored
By their father
Captain Lee
Until one day in early May
When she went out to play
In fields drenched in morning dew
Above a wind swept Bay
While standing there
Out on a ledge
Above a sea of green
With eyes cast down
In deep reflection
Upon that ship of dreams
T'was then
Her brothers
Only half
Stepped out beyond the pale
And took the life of Amber
As her father's ship set sail
The child of Rose
And Captain lee
So cherished and adored
Her lifeless body
Found that morning
On the Ocean floor
Forever laid to rest in death
Beneath her mother's breast
Her named refrained for years in vain
Cried through her father's pain
So many times in life
This Rose
Had dealt with tragedy
But this time
She was dealt
A lifetime
Sentence
Of grief
Without reprieve
So...now alone with
Hope and faith
Nowhere in her sight
She drifted in a fog of
Endless days
And endless nights
A broken soul
With only yearnings
For her little girl
A broken soul
Drifting
Through a cruel
And lonely world
A soul so deeply steeped in
Endless grief and
Endless sorrow
Chained to that tragic day
With no wish
To see tomorrow
Until one day
When Rose laid down
Upon the brink of death
And watched those green leaves
Turn to amber
Kissed by autumn's breath
A breath that set a blazing fire
Deep within her soul
When that mighty tree
Found the strength
To finally let her children go
And...standing there
Before her now
Rose saw a tree
With empty boughs
And in that moment realized
Those we love
Will never die
That tree would bear
The cruel sting
That winter's breath
Of ice would bring
To once again
Give birth
In spring
So with faith and hope
Now at her side
She found again the will
To rise
To spread her wings again
And fly
~~~
For two more score
Rose closed the door
On that devil Tragedy
Reborn again
Found inner-peace
In spirituality
Loyal companion
And caregiver to
The ailing
Captain Lee
Who no longer had the
Will to sail
Upon the endless sea
He died a sad and broken man
Who finally came to understand
It was his son's
Who bore the thorns
That left his heart and mind so torn
When they with
Greed and jealousy
Killed
The sweetest child
Ever born
But... Justice
In its own strange way
Had indeed
The final say
When the sons of Captain Lee
Went to the bottom
Of the sea
Downed by a fierce
Raging storm
That finally killed
Those bitter thorns
The day their father
Died
Coin and land
And hearth and home
The Captain had bequeathed
For she had stayed there
By his side
Long after she was free
In his final
Will and testament
His one good parting deed
Signed with a long repenting quill
And by the legal powers that be
He did in deed
In deep repose
Give it all to Rose
Rose now walked
The streets of town
With grace and dignity
The richest women in the land
Thanks to Captain Lee
For two more score
With open door
Rose lived in tranquility
Her house dedicated
To the legacy
Of Captain Cannon Lee
Providing shelter to the poor
Abandoned women
And their babes
So grateful for the many lives
With the grace of God
She saved
She died one day in autumn
When amber leaves fell from the tree
And was laid to rest
Beside her daughter
And the Captain Cannon Lee
Dubbed the Rose of Savannah
By those who knew her well
They came by the hundreds
To say their last farewell
Rose petals
In shades of ebony
Were laid upon her grave
Each one in loving memory
For all the lives she
Helped to save
~~~
We dwell in quiet places
Where mortals sleep eternally
We earthbound angels made of stone
Keeping vigil for thee
Stone angels carved by human hands
In honor of the dead
Giving meaning to the path
Where mortals dare to tread
Written: June, 2016
Author: Elaine C. George of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016
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Black African American Poem
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The truth stood downcast in the lie,
and more than one that week would die
when someone’s wife, who feared great shame,
then gave an innocent the blame.
Her scapegoat was both young and shy.
The truth stood downcast in the lie.
Her lover beat her, so she said
it was the young shy man instead!
Her face was bruised. What could she say
to take her lover’s blame away?
The truth stood downcast in the lie.
The town took up a mob’s cruel cry!
The man accused was black of skin.
They lynched him for the woman’s sin.
The world looked on and asked not why
the truth stood downcast in the lie.
Written Aug. 3, 2016
for the Truth Stood Downcast in the Lie Poetry Contest of John Lawless
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Black African American Poem
|
.........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
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Black African American Poem
|
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
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Black African American Poem
|
Black Diamond Child
Black diamond child with hopeless eyes
In your frightful future your talent lies
No worth is greater than watching you grow
To a world whose wealth you may not know
The street schools you in the ways of hate
And the price of your life’s at dime store rate
Black diamond child with searching eyes
In the rough you sparkle in disguise
Young boy, young girl, you're the toughest stones
Regardless of your precarious homes
Your genes are heirs to our African past
Through you, millennials, our race will last
Grab hold to a dream and pray it comes true
That the doors of this country will open to you
Black diamond child with joyless eyes
Like an ebony phoenix may you rise!
8/2/16
Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016
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Black African American Poem
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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
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Black African American Poem
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Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
as help?
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
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Black African American Poem
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"The boy's got a broken brain!
- Fix him for me now,
I can't do a thing with him."
- So I hear you say,
Though he seems intelligent enough.
After all, he's smart enough
To know the whys and wherefores
Of every deal that goes down on his street -
Every $ passing hands in the dark,
Summed and totalled in his head.
But Math - Forget it.
And you'll never see him crack a book for study's sake.
Perhap's that's because you broke his heart,
Long ago, though his face will never show it.
Because he bleeds inside,
Though to hear him talk you'd never know it.
You tore his shadoworld apart
Just by never being there -
You broke his proud red eggshell heart
Because he knows you never cared.
Perhaps this is why Rage is his religion,
And he only values Gain,
Why Payback is his Creed,
His only currency Pain.
This then is why he wears the shirt
That reads, "Never Forget, Never Forgive";
This why he's unafraid to kill or die,
Yet terrified to live.
So go get an education -
Start with a hard look at yourself -
You that schooled a nation
In the politics of Greed,
Builders of the conflagration
Of burning, unmet Need
Now threatening to consume us
As it climbs into the skies,
As it whispers warnings to us
From his vacant, coldstare eyes.
You broke his heart,
A wound more deep
Than I alone can mend,
I, just one beleaguered horseman.
Cannot set it right again.
You must help put things back together,
If you want our nightmares to end.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2008
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Black African American Poem
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Listen to poem:
I wish to
Relay
To all of my people the importance of sticking together as a
team
And that
Because we have run
through the preliminary trials as selfish individual, goal seekers
we have barely made it to the finals,
as if,
winning our, “Race”
is undoable or un-triable
Have all but silenced the roaring power we gain from our people united cheering in the bleachers
from plodding along as the dauntingly misdirected at a
tortoises pace
without holding ourselves accountable or reliable
Almost destroying the chances of the enslaves life-long
dream
You see
This Race
Will be considered, Earths Final Race
A Worldwide Event
A sport in which our
True Star Players are violently removed from the game by the officials
or made to disappear without a trace
Displaying our opponents, un-sportsmanlike conduct, their incapability for fair play
And
revealing foul play as their true intent
Winning Earths Final Race
will be determined by
How well we get along
Not by
How divided we will stay weak
How well when pushed down or held back we back down or turn the other cheek
Yet
How together we will stand
strong
Not
How well we hold on to our opponents arm in case we fall and something goes wrong
To which or how many of our opponents, charities we give to, or social groups we belong
Nor
what side of their political eagles shoulders we are flapping
on
No
This is not the event where one runner runs for glory
gains the gold medal
and one soloist gets an award for best artist singing Their National
Song
This is a team effort
Greater enslaved men and women have killed and died for lesser
To run behind our people, in our “Race” for freedoms sake
holding the stick of ambition and determination
only to catch up with their own front runners
and
pass it on
Yes
This “Race” needs to relay
How well we pass the baton
If one runner falls, we pick him up and pass the Baton
If another runner falls we pick her up and pass the Baton
If another runner falls and so on we go on
But not until our race is done
We continue to pick our people up teaching each and every one of us how to, run’ our own “Race”
without falling or having to say we’ve “slipped’”
through the
cracks
And so on we go on
Until the sound of the Starter pistol doesn’t have us scattering for shelter away from the tracks
in fear of a gunner’s bullet being lodged in our backs
And so on we go on
Until the sound of the officials whistle isn’t a call for more troops to gather around our runners
awaiting the signal to attack
And so on we go on
Until we have learned that to tie with those of whom have Beaten us
at every turn in fact
means we will never truly when our
“Race”
So to run for equality means
we will always be running to meet the qualifications of another “Race”
at a much slower pace
Making the run for equality,
a stumbling block cast before our feet, blatant stupidity, and utterly wrong
Something of which we ignorantly insist on trying to accomplish or gaining the
knack
Implying that the proficiencies needed to stand as winners in first
place of our own Race
Are that in which we
lack
No
By no means should this race be run
Until the ability to act and respond as a unit is wholly and completely
practiced and
shown
We pass the baton
Until we have runners in place that will race to the finish-lined
Up to receive the baton
and
are capable of competing at the highest level of
every “Race” the world has ever
known
We pass the baton
until we are at the beginning of our renewed race and every one of us is running
along
We pass the baton
until we have a new Nation of our own
We pass the baton
until we all stand as a quire applauding each other for singing our
own
National song
We pass the baton
Until we are all united to stand as one people
to race the finals and have
won
And can once again run our own “Race”
Proud free and strong
Yes
I wish to
Relay
To all of my people the importance of sticking together as a team
As we
“Race” The Finals
Copyright © AC Benford | Year Posted 2016
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