Best Booker Poems
"This New Eden"
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
the car lights shine
luminosity along
the road, the dark night
dims eventually and
morning arrives
This eden
rolls gently over me
life through pages
the antithesis of
a booker prize
don’t get all
literal on me
I’m in draft
it's messy
notes in the margins
left for heart
right for mind
the middle road
a highway of words
the body parched
the tyres all melting
sticky slow grips
the wheel shifting gears
up a notch or two
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
they can’t see the
forest for the trees
the stings of bees kissing
velvet bookmarks silky
stretches of moist
long-necked fevers
I’ll park here for
a little while
the dark night
dims eventually,
morning arrives
this new eden
rolls gently over me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
It's mine
Part Two
Older in age
younger in growth
still heeding His Master’s Voice
the Great swirling dark illiterate masses
led by less than nought point nought nought nought nought nought nought nought to the power of 32
who prefer nukes for toys
at the cost of common everyday joys
These that hanker after the departed master’s pat on the back
for the Man-Booker
for the National Book Award
for the Fullbright
for the Visiting Professorship and/or IIAS Fellowship
for the Ivy League-Oxbridge doctoral degree
for in short the Master’s pedigree-conferring embrace
These who do not know
do not want to know
do not wish to know
will not know
if there’s a difference
between a Genji Monogatari or the Monkey
between a Sakuntala or the Gitanjali
between a poem and a public parade
These that will *******ons of postcolonial muck
And oblige their students to gorge every bit with spit
Just to stamp careers with their brainprints
These that will turn their coat
turn their tongue
turn their souls
for a Nobel
These that preen strut pout pose pretend
mouth ready to swill the millesium
this bouquet mind you titillates the left corner of the upper palate
like a petal unfolding in spring from a hymen
the dark obedient swirling masses lie dumb night after never-ending night
to ebola and dingue and chikungunya swill water
shrivelling their cramped contorted viscera
(Continued in Part Two - 2)
I would give most anything if I could rewrite history
But that would not rid us of past misery
Lost in a world so full of rights, nobody cares to see my plight.
All the mysteries and wonders of life are clearly reflected, as is the light.
When my mind used to be overrun with emotions and thoughts,
Lately now they are trapped and caught.
Right now in my life I’m blinded by the ecstasy of living.
I know that is why I’m so giving.
So I sit back and think about the yesteryears, smiling at the change that has taken over me.
Freedom has truly defined that is why I know that I’m free.
Strolling down the memory lane, and unafraid of the future.
See because I know my life is full of obstacles and adventure.
Eventually, with my mind and eyes wide open,
I’ve come to understand, that some things, including life, change for the better; well that’s
what I’m hoping.
With each new day, and with a brand new life to look forward to,
I will just stay positive and to myself remain true.
As I read the bible I’m trying to light the sadness of my empty soul.
But I know that in my life God has complete control.
Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the
obstacles which he has overcome. – Booker T. Washington
I am tough like Huey,
I dream like Martin,
I see like Malcolm,
I stand like Rosa,
I am educated like Booker,
I am the stature of Fredrick,
I am the embodiment of a civil right movement,
But I am the reflection of history,
I am the rebellion of Nate,
I am a leader like Tubman,
I am the community of Black Wall Street,
But I am the audacity of hope like Obama,
I am the most hated man like Colin,
But I am the most beloved person like Nelson,
I am the ascendant child of Africa,
But I am a citizen of a nation that is United States,
My oppression is of a third world,
But I have an opportunity,
I am from poverty,
But that won’t stop me,
Where I go,
My people will follow,
I am the example of greatness,
But endure failures,
I am victory like the revolutionary war,
But I still have a long way to go to be free.
Crystal Magnificent Morning
You should see LA
In the crystal magnificent morning of continuing time.
It is a magic that has to be seen to be believed,
And yet,
So few have truly seen the show.
The LA sunrise is the unknown movie,
When the eastern sun slowly rises,
And with hot rays searing the air like electric swords in battle,
Baking the Big Enchilada,
Baking those tall high rises
Like big meatloaves in a garden oven.
That’s what I see from here in the mornings,
Here in my Kasbah.
I see all you lost people out there,
Lost as lambs in the dark pastures,
I know who you are.
Don’t think I don’t know.
I know what it’s like to be insanely bored.
I know what it’s like to be depressed,
To be sad.
I know what it’s like to want to die.
I sit up here all day waiting for my girl to show up,
And I imagine
And I think
And I dream;
Dream of climbing mountains above the clouds,
Of getting through Joyce’s Ulysses all the way to the end,
Of taking Norma Jeane into my arms
And staring into her sad lost eyes
And kissing her with excruciating urgency.
These are, indeed, the dreams of a sad lost man.
Green Onions. That’s the song!
Green Onions was playing on the radio that morning.
Booker T. was her last lover…
And not I…
As she reached for the phone.
“Help me, Jack. They’ve killed me!
They have taken my clothes, and my soul.”
Indeed, I know what it’s like to want to die.
“What good is all this?
What good is all this money and fame?
A person works and strives and struggles all their life,
And what do you get in the end,
When all is said and done?
A funeral.
A 1962 funeral with all the trimmings!
It’s not worth it, Piggy, darling.
It’s just not worth it.
Please hold me in your arms.
I am afraid of the dark.
I am afraid of being alone in the darkness of my grave.
Please Piggy! Don’t let them bury me!
Now kiss me hard.
Now make love to me.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
You should see LA
In the crystal magnificent morning of continuing time.
It is indeed a magic that has to be seen to be believed.
Goodnight Norma Jeane.
Good night America.
It is time for another screaming sunset.
Dinner at the White House
Theodore Roosevelt a robust, Republican president
had to Booker T. Washington a dinner invite sent.
Roosevelt was progressive for his day
and the segregated south had much to say.
Truly History In the Making
Remember when some sweaters we wove
Was while we were sitting in a pretty grove
Birds started singing and others flew by
Certainly a delightful day cannot deny.
Trees were tall and much shade they made
And there on lovely lawn we often laid
Exchanging things that we did discuss
About having to ride in back of the bus.
Even had to go to school of our very own
Booker T. Washington until fully grown
We saw Cassius Clay fighting in the ring
Who all of us loved more than anything.
One day he turned out to be a dear old dad
Died just before Father's Day and are said
For him to a far better place he has gone
No longer any big crowds will ever be drawn.
Made peace with master; put away each glove
Was thriller from Louisville we so do love
Wanted one last thing done which was sweet
Be sure to have Hearst driven down a street.
Mohammad Ali in private place was buried
After to see him last time everyone hurried
Events he did in his life were breath-taking
He had truly been history in the making.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
An old childhood chum named Red Booker,
Fell in love and was married to quite a looker.
She caused men to stare,
But old Red didn't care,
Because everywhere she went, he took her.
An old childhood chum named Red Booker
Fell in love and was married to quite a looker
She caused men to stare
But ole Red didn't care
Because everywhere she went, he took her!
Walk here with me
Along a strand of island in the sea
Let your heart drink like a leaf
From this mighty river
That shaped the world's relief
Listen to his name
Hear echoes of white colonial history
The burden of shame
Edging the teeth of fame
Chew it down to the middle bone
Feel the tension rise it
Like pimento fragrance preserving the night
Of Egyptian slime pits
And the prince denouncing privilege and place
Not so, not so here
For him who took up the cudgel of our race
The farmers boy
Built brick by brick from a builder's dream
This native scion ... out of the Maroon's citadel
This bewitching monument of St. Ann.
Ah Booker did you know
A man with bigger head for a mightier dream
From Panama to Ecuador
From Costa Rica to Brazil
Did your heart like a drum pound
Boom, boom, baba boom
When he clenched the lock of Africa's door
When every pulpit in the street
Became a university of our history
And freedom in every African child
Was Marcus Mosiah Garvey
Booker, did you see his kingdom
His black institutions
Like a galaxy dreamers could touch
His ships
On which the brothermen still wait
Like an armada sailing
From rubber baron shores
To pyramid pinnacle
They were his Icarus
And he our Daedalus
That could not shake the minotaur
But, Booker, did he not say
To look for him in the wind
So now you know why I never sleep again
His footprints are still here
Clear as the foment of nineteen thirty eight
This is where he carved his name
Not just on the printers page
But on the honor of all the age
Making us dream of civil rights
And human rights
And Rastafarian flight
And reparation for our plight
And above all he taught me
A little black face lover of his fight
Never to bow
My mind to the whore's tradition
Never to yield my soul
For I am a nobler structure that my rank here
I am the prince they striped bare
The Moses that have not see my red sea yet
The child still
Enthralled with the splendor of every sunset
Headline News Hypocrisy
"If you see anybody from that cabinet in a restaurant, in a department store,
at a gasoline station, you get out and you create a crowd.
You push back on them. Tell them they’re not welcome anymore, anywhere!" Maxine Waters
Main Stream Media “She is such a dynamic leader.”
“I’d like to take Trump out behind the gym and kick his ****!” Joe Biden
Main Stream Media “You tell’em Joe.”
“We can’t be civil until we are back in charge again!” Hilary Clinton
Main Stream media “She should have been President.”
“When they go low, kick them!” Eric Holder
Main Stream Media “They deserve it.”
“Get up in the face of some congress people!” Corey Booker
Main Stream Media “You go Spartacus.”
“Make America great again!” Donald Trump.
Main Stream Media “Man, that guy is so hateful, always promoting violence”
Ok, I am sorry for this but it is infuriating me and the main stream media is the enemy of the people. Stop reading me if you like because of this
but it is every day and has been for the past two years. What really gets me is people act like they don’t see it or feel that it is okay.
Whether you like the guy or not, this is just too much. I have seen numerous poems on this site trashing the President of the United States.
Everyday there are more. I mean really? Yes, I agree he’s not the nicest guy in the world. He shoots his mouth off too much but he is doing something,
Which is more than I can say for any other President, Democrat or Republican. He works hard and that is what scares these other politicians.
They look at politics as a job where they don’t have to do anything except sit around all day arguing with each other. They are scared to death of work.
Tim Smith just posted a poem about Kindness…everyone should read it. Why can’t everyone just be kind to one another? Yeah, I know…stupid question.
The headline this morning on MSN read: "Pittsburgh mourns synagogue shooting victims as protestors await Trump." Did we really need the last part of that headline?
Can’t they let these people and the country mourn in peace? Why do they always have to stir up crap? Why didn’t they just write, Pittsburgh mourns synagogue shooting victims and we still hate Trump?
Casting aside the blunt reality
My conscious swims into the realm of all possibilities
The transition is totally automatic
I wonder if they are my subconscious' semantic
Different scenarios demand different imitations
I direct and act these inceptions.
(Scenarios)
Amidst a bus trip
Whirled in theories of evolution
Nature reveals self
Nature calls bowel
Scientist lingers, cures cancer
NOBEL in my hand
Reading morning news
Leader reforms, policies change
World at peace, prosperity
Youtube UFO's
World crisis, battling aliens
Hero saves the day
Inspiring theatre
Cool actor begins career
Wins emmy, smart speech.
A stroll to market
Writing a fictional piece
Booker, money, wife
Countless imaginations about every possible theme
At the end I reign supreme
After the end comes the brute reality
Chaos and confusion dominates my serenity
This is all about my tangential reality.
• Those Meat Pies/Tony Adamo/2011
Straight to the head groove in hip time/ lay me out man It's jam time/ Ya know the funk is slight/ It's tight/ bright syllables in five four time/Walkin' the beat on low down street/ her hips got me in a deep trip/ high on the smell of her sex/ her ex is Ted the freaky flex/ sippin a black coffee brew on a hot musky day/ lovin you baby is the only way/walkin' the dog on a four lane highway/ drum sticks as chop sticks/ Man do fries go with that shake/ subway fusion' dance hall bumpin' grinding bodies to the iphone dance/ can you see it? Love has got you in the trance/ the acid head trip/ street corner junkies lyin' bout their lives/ mama makin' those meat pies/ dive in brother and sisters the hipsters teachin" ya how to side step the squares/ have it your way love on the rocks with a hard knock chaser/ Man I'm flyin out JFK/ get me outta here I changed my mind straight up/ my passport says Paris France/ My feet say hip me to the nearest dance/ Where's that ladder at? I need to climb out of this heat/ Art Blakey and the jazz messengers birdland brunin/better grab your girlfriend cause she's in love with the band/ Clifford Brown/
Brownie was the man/ dead at 25/his influence lay heavy on those young cats
including Donald Byrd, Lee Morgan, Booker Little, Freddie Hubbard, Woody Shaw, Wallace Roney,/ I put a match book cover under a table lag to help me balance up my thoughts on settin up shop to sell my jazz vinyl / No free give away today/ wait was it true/ the great Gerry Mulligan was waiting tables at a little jazz dive called the ashtray/ waiting for the nite to fall so he could jump the stage and free himself/ be himself into the kool jazz scene/(Chet Baker Sings, It Could Happen to You/ Me? yes you bro/ Mike Clark and the Headhunters/ What was that he said?/ oh it's Thelonious Monk in shades and beret/ diggin life the Thelonious way
Tony Adamo Hipspoken Word
Marcus Mosiah Garvey arose from a little town, yes my lord
A Leo lifting Harlem, kingdom bound, yes my lord
Resuscitated religion around the black man’s looks, yes my lord
Cuddling pickaxe, hoe, and cradling books, yes my lord
Umpire of Freedom from home to foreign land, yes my lord
Seeker of justice from Costa Rica, Nicaragua to Panama, man, yes, yes my lord
Master of the African destiny, this man could dream, yes my lord
Overtures of empire, black starliner on the Atlantic stream, yes my lord
Sentinel and soldier, O Booker T’s light giver, yes my lord
Itinerant leader from island to continents, the diviner, yes my lord
Athletic word maker speaking truth to power, yes O my lord
Sequester again the UNIA at this defining hour, yes my lord.
Greatness is sometimes attributed, sometimes achieved, yes my lord
Africa’s proud son, both in you we believed, yes my lord
Regal was the call you made: “Up you mighty race!” yes my lord
Venerable the acts you did standing to the governor’s face, yes my lord
Earth has no better soul, or Jamaica another child, yes O my lord
Yielding everything to heal the lambs defiled, yes, yes my lord
How shall we see again the great black visions of grandeur, yes my lord
Evoking in cultureless voids Africa’s splendor, yes my lord
Royalty reduced to slavery would not crawl the dust, yes my lord
Once liberated minds can fly where only eagles lust, yes my lord
We heap up your tributes now that your dead, yes my lord
England’s queen can sleep without a dungeon for her bed, yes my lord
Men who dream are imprisoned to bury their dreams, yes my lord
Instead those dreams prove finite walls too poor, yes my lord
Superior imagination to tame, and brighter still gleams, yes my lord
So when the wind blows look for him at the door, yes my lord
Yapping Hoover at his heels lied on him to stall him, yes my lord
Over in Jamaica, he broke the walls of prison grim, yes my lord
Uncle Marcus, great hero, O how we miss him, yes, yes O my lord