she had beckoned my soul
her envy surrounded me
as i sat writing poetry and song
it was my identity she was after
her name was jay mine was yolanda
i recited poems for montel williams
on poetry .com my poems became quilts
maps of my freedom my life back home
springfield illinois she was from Tampa
i chicago poetry was my life she entered
my window to her surprise st john paul 11
i was kneeling jane enraged joining corruption
switching documents developing a false doctrine
beneath the high ways and by ways
i glance in the mirror reflecting her face
she was becoming me while i was vanishing
quickly i dash to washington dc civil rights
memorial freedom of self expression
dignity truth courage home
There is a river, and its vigor never cease
There is a river, the Martha Brae river
I have seen it and knew strange peace
Looking on its brown spate of muddy water
I see no Pharpar nor Abana sterile clean
And clear, but there the yams grow better
And the farmers sleep is rich and serene
And the cattle gets grass to make its butter.
There is a river, the Martha Brae river
And its vigor never cease, there is a river
Rolling down the Cockpit full of laughter
Watch it court rains and brim to disaster
And then wicked man drinking of God's grace
Meet its spate for justice, and face its laws
You cannot bite on gall without a bitter taste
She is nature's potent justice for man's flaws
The Martha Brae is a river, a cunning river
Watch her like a woman with a flimsy lover
Watch her against class and race pass water
Watch her when the winds make clouds shudder
With the passion of a touch, hear her belly
Roaring as she comes her brown bosom open
This river shall make the land like Naaman holy
This river shall baptize us to believe in heaven