Best Kinfolks Poems
Where did all those black people go in Black History such as W.E.B Dubois,
George Washington Carver, Sojourner Truth,and many more that came before.
Why have their families disappear?
When you search their genealogy, their surnames are found.
Were their families wiped-out?
I am speaking on today.
These people paved a way out no way.
[***** SPIRITUAL - THE SPIRIT OF A SLAVE]
These old bones of mine stir in the grave.
I was a freedom fighter in my days.
Great I did do for the slaves even when their life in this country had been made.
We wanted a better living a holistic way.
Our troubles where many; we saw through the white man eyes or ways.
Old bones of mine became tired and disengaged.
Where is my family now?
Where did they go?
My spirit roams to find my kinfolks.
Our surname is no more.
My soul was baptized in the Mississippi.
I was raised from the river saved.
No sin was present and I lived right.
When I knew my time had come, I closed my eyes.
In those days, doctors were few in saving the life of a slave.
The pain was so great I knew I was gone.
But by the grace of God my life went on.
Ten years later, I was summoned home.
My people are no more.
Where did my people go?
I see our house yonder.
Our surname is not in existence any more.
The spirit of a slave
The soul afire
Roams the world in the sweet by and by
He shouts, "Still I Rise!"
________________________|
Penned April 29, 2014!
Well here's another story
That I'd really like to share
It's about the first invention
Of a thing called underwear
Invented by one of my kinfolks
A man that the bible calls Adam
It caught on pretty quickly too
Cause pert near everybody had'em
I'll bet you didn't know it
But Adam was a hillbilly too
You don't have to be a mountain man
To be country thru and thru
Now the first pair he ever wore
Was a leaf called Fruit of the gloom
But somebody done up and stole his patent
You know, Fruit of the loom
Now Adams wife Eve was beautiful
In her fig leaf lingerie
Her Fredricks of Eden was top of the line
But expensive needless to say
Well times has changed since Adam's day
So we moved up to tater sacks
It gave us more of a sophisticated feel
That a fig leaf always lacks
Now I told this story so everybody knows
Don't listen to any other rumors
So the next time you shop for underwear
You'll remember those hillbilly bloomers
Blessed by a baby girl; our bundle of joy
Rising as a beautiful stream, flowing in our hearts...ahoy!
Offering her back to God, so He will watch and keep,
Our precious little angel, she is one of His sheep.
Kinfolks come to visit and to show her love,
Little do they know there is nothing like Grandma's Hug.
Yet I love them all, they are my family,
No one will be left out because our God takes the lead.
Happy 1st Easter Grandma - Debra Bruce
Brooklyn was born 2/14/2015 - Ms. Debra's 1st Grandchild
Penned 4/2/2015
You worked so hard but just exist.
Your high school grad dates you just missed,
evacuated from Ukraine.
In Russia’s army to resist,
you fought the tyrant Hitler’s reign.
You worked so hard but just exist
on meager pensions. You subsist
by choosing food or meds, that’s plain.
No other kinfolks to assist
in taking care of you in midst
of tears and shakes of flashback strain,
you worked so hard but just exist!
Although you made your job’s A-list,
you now wear rags, your joints in pain,
no other kinfolks to assist.
Your teeth all gone, in life’s mean twist,
these lines remain your grim refrain:
You worked so hard but just exist,
no other kinfolks to assist.
To help elderly Holocaust survivors in the former Soviet Union, visit the website of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews at ifcj.org.
Auburn-gold leaves drop from the trees,
Frail the grey skies, waning the sun.
A seagull wheels it final glide
Night winds cloak the mute of evening
I hear echoes through the rooftops,
Flurries scaling down on pane.
Autumn brings kinfolks together
For warm approach of gratitude!
I recall times of my life a long time ago,
We tend to do this more as we grow old.
That wonderful old house on that red dirt farm
Where many of my kin and daddy was born.
Grandmas', as we kids used to call it,
The rocking chair where grandpa would sit.
Those tall cottonwoods always come to mind,
Standing like giants, all in a line,
The old granary that served for so many years'
Its' gray boards forgotten like yesterdays' tears.
The rolling hills, the criss crossing creek,
Watching grandpa with his mules, Jack and Pete.
Homemade ice cream with aunt Selmas' cake,
Watermelon on the lawn...the memories we make.
Christmas was always special there on the farm
It sort of had that Norman Rockwell charm,
A cedar tree cut from out of the pasture
With its' special aroma and Christmas stature,
The big pot belly stove, hot to almost glowing,
Kinfolks gathered round, telling all their knowing.
These are but a few memories I recall,
Back on the farm with grandma and grandpa.
Way back yonder
In my younger days
When I had a lot of hair
And some funny ways
With mama in the kitchen
And me making a wish
And the joy in my heart
When there was chicken in the dish
Kin folks a coming
From many miles around
Some from different counties
Some from different towns
Us young uns out a playing
With a whistle and a swish
Cause we knew for dinner
We’d have chicken in the dish
Daddy’s drinking shine
Uncle Jake’s drinking too
Me and cousin Ralph
Searching for another chew
Mama’s in the kitchen
So is Auntie Trish
Working and a slaving
So there’ll be chicken in the dish
Sitting round after dinner
Half sleeping and picking a tune
The dogs all are yelping
And hollering way too soon
Another gone Sunday’s dinner
That food was so delish
And the best part about it
Was the chicken in the dish
Now that night has fallen
And kinfolks have long gone
We’re sittin on the porch
As mama sings them songs
Can’t wait till next Sunday
This is my wish
Cause I know I’ll fill up
With that chicken in the dish
Roses are burgundy,
violets are dead,
and the family
blossoms I
hand-picked is
enfolded under my
pitch dark bed
My hearts beats
slightly and my love
leaves silently
Dismiss from mind
Ted, Greg, and Meg
who is sealed and
bedeviled under my
pitch- dark bed and
not to be
narrow-minded
although I’m looking
out for I instead
Your smirk creates
the impression of
politely on the
other hand the
resentfulness you
all gained for I is
unclearly it’s
unsightly
You kick me when I’m
down and I hurl and
wheel around I can
feel the kicks
kicking me under my
bed
Happens late and
lately everyday and
nightly
Looks like I have to
embed, you all in
something twice as
cruel than under my
bed, cause the
attachment I had for
these local kinfolks
fled
“Precisely”,
“Untimely”, and
“Gladly”
- Loverboi
I, Zechariah, was a faithful priest.
My, wife, Elizabeth, and I were known
for following God’s laws unfailingly.
No veering from the Scriptures, we’d condone.
Though we were blessed, there was a painful void.
My wife could not bear children. Long I’d prayed,
“Please give us, Lord, a child.” But we grew old,
without a miracle of life displayed.
According to set customs for the priests,
the lot of burning incense fell to me.
While people at the Temple prayed outside
this area, an ANGEL I did see!
I was afraid. The Angel said, “Fear not,”
and added that my wife would bear a son.
We were to name him John. He would bring joy
to many. Through him, God’s work would be done.
Filled with the Spirit even in the womb,
in God’s eyes he would be considered great.
He’d turn the hearts of many back to God
and make paths for the coming Savior straight.
My doubt was clear: “We’re old. How can this be?”
“God sent you this good news,” the Angel said.
“I’m Gabriel. Due to your unbelief, . . .”
What followed filled my heart with shock and dread!
“You will be mute till after John is born.”
I’d lingered with my duties for so long
that others at the Temple wondered why.
I couldn’t speak to tell them what was wrong!
God kept His promise, as He always does.
Elizabeth gave birth. Some kinfolks thought
that he should have my name, but she said, “NO!
His name is John.” Then my desire was sought.
“His name is JOHN!” I wrote. My tongue was loosed.
I praised the God of Israel with joy.
Filled with the Spirit, I then prophesied
about His plans for our new baby boy!
August 1, 2022
entered in the Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
I heard our ancestors came on the mayflower boat
sad part there was not a journal or a note
it sounds like a miracle my early grandparents Thomas and Susan Collier landed on Plymouth rock
a vision of their voyage made me feel spooky, haunted and in shock
its futile to prove our first ancestors came here
maybe the government kept us from our powers for making history so dear
my early grandparents Thomas and Susan collier survived the rough seas
and this legacy means a lot to me
all I know is Thomas and Susan Collier died in Plymouth rock somewhere much of our ancestry lineage was in Virginia and then Tennessee from there
I met my kinfolks in Tennessee to learn about me
I saw the grave yards in the forest where my natives are buried
my ancestors lineage was kept in the bible like a passport
our freedom was stronger than England's deport
we were here before the written constitution
we survive and out lived the genocide revolutions
I abhor the night
For sleep has sworn enmity with my lids
Lethal questions plague my peace
And my heart shows me no pity
In finding rest for my head
Try, try and try I try
But the questions gush like
A burst public pipe
What if the sun were to rise from the West
Or trees were to grow from the sky?
What if I were not my progenitor's seed
Or I was conceived in slavery?
What if these scions of mine
Came off the loins of another?
What if I have vehemently sermonized
Against those I was anointed to preach to?
What if I have plucked at a time, I was to plant
Or spared that which I was to burn?
What if I have chosen horde of words
Over stillness amid vexation?
What if I have diligently removed ancient landmarks
When I ought to preserve the milestones?
What if my kinfolks were to kill another unjustly
Will I, as judge, pronounce the guilty verdict?
What if he I call my brother is the staunch adversary
And the perceived foe is the blood-friend?
What if I were to be made king
Will I lose the touch of the commoner
And vanquish those that will not bow before me?
What if I were to be at war with another
Will I kill a starving enemy or wet his tongue?
I perceive I may never know until it confronts me.
God established the color of His children
Yes, we are all of God's children
Well, we are one big extended family across the earth
More than that, we are brothers and sisters, kinfolks to each other
Our skin colors are an evolutionary adaptation and process due to the environmental conditions that we dwell in
Meanwhile, in the Garden of Eden, every color possesses a natural beauty within itself, but somehow evil drifts in the opposite direction of the will of God
Thus, religion has played a significant role in propagating hate, slavery, and racism for control, profit, and power over mankind
Well, God did not create black and white people, thus He used humus (Dark, earthy, rich, black soil) to create Adam
Furthermore, God specifically made a rainbow race of people
no shade of black nor shade of white - just red-orange, blue and green and a little bit of indigo
Notice that a rainbow doesn't have the colors black or white inside of the bending arc across the earth.
In summary, God is a wonderful creator and thus a master craftsman!
As I walk the path my kinfolk tread
Among the tombstones of the dead
Their tortured whispers beg for peace
The end to violence,the war to cease
I am but one I quietly said
I can make no difference for you are dead
You are so wrong the voices scream
It takes but one who has a dream
Be proud and brave and plant a seed
That man will follow and you shall lead
And peace can come and fill this land
And friend and foe will walk hand in hand
Next time you walk your kinfolks path
If you listen closely you can hear us laugh
For peace has come and filled this land
And friend and foe walk hand in hand
Their soil they no longer till,
As they couldn’t eat their fill
From a hopeful food storage
Of last year’s superb courage.
Now, they ‘re hoping on a job
That their kinfolks dreamily mob;
A much-money-spinning job
That hands for farmwork rob
And has already grabbed their Bob…
Some restlessness in a giant mill
At the foot of a sacred hill
That workers don’t permit to be still
Nor Bob allow to take his pill
Through wearisome work blood spill
Though it would take not Bob’s will…
Rightly, an Agriculture-Cheating Job
Paying enough one can’t snob.
The child of a certain perception,
Among your kinfolks poor reception,
You just can’t endure irritation:
It could make you leave your own nation,
White men’s world declare your new station,
Face the challenge of imitation…
Then, it’s all yours: A quick migration,
Your legs not swollen for gyration;
On foot you cross waiting borders,
Dumping your unreceptive brothers!
For those with no more trusts in their world,
Now, fully sure elsewhere they’re being called.
Poor rating at home has their hearts galled;
They’re bleeding guys beasts have mauled…
Really, the future of stark dreamers,
With hopes to play to the hilt schemers,
As a first step they arrange a flight,
In their countries tired of the fight:
A will to understand a new clime,
Note their guiltless actions now a crime!
Still, migrants to keep in mind Swallow
Foreign life they can’t continue to hallow
Some might question “What sort of fellow?
For life to a foreigner “Hello!