If you are racist, unpleasant and nasty,
you're thought of like Hitler and just like a Nazi,
cus they believed mankind had race hierachy,
even when Jesse Owens crashed the party.
That's how people look at you when you are racist,
half flipping barmy topped with irrational hatred
poor judgement alone defeated those fascists,
segregating themselves until exterminated.
We stopped in Cincinnati to see the cousins; that was a mistake.
We are still throwing them out of the car, they can hitchhike home.
We had never been there, and frankly seeing them was great.
But quite honestly I only came to Ohio to write this poem.
The travel advisor was so full of exciting things to do and see,
I was overwhelmed by the list – there were twenty-three
So I shut down the idea of another itinerary today and focused on the who’s.
Buckeye state claims Jesse Owens, Bombeck and Al Bundy who sells shoes.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is waiting just down the road for us
The National Underground Railroad Museum has caused the car a bit of fuss.
There is a German Village my husband is interested in, but not me.
I want to see The Christmas Story House, Number Twenty-Three.
One thing for sure, the next time I come to the Buckeye State, I come alone.
So I do not have to see the Dexter Mausoleum where I do not want to roam.
My husband and I have different ideas and I mean by the dozens
Which is why I am ready to dump him along this highway with his cousins.
freeway traffic
many honking horns
Geese yaking
the busy bee
drilling a hole in
my window sill
sleeping with one
ear tuned to a babes voice
the new mother
a hushed quiet
the ball trails to the net
and finds it's mark
a bar raises as
another record falls
Jesse Owens
Indian Blood
Im a Indian
with a bow an arrow of Venom
with a wall of heads of pilgrims
with colmbus head in a container sealed in
wearing the shoes of jesse owens
with usain bolts magnetically shield in
with feathers of blood of my descendants
in a war bonnet
Cheif wrote on it
Sculpting a sculptor of an american eagle out of flesh
With the Constitution on my Desk
an I cut the stars out the American Flag
an Patched them on my Vest
these for all who's in rest
beaten choked by Rope
Burned Sacrificed Shot
and all the stars connect
The Great Spirit descended me on a Quest in the Flesh
so im the Voice of Hope
of Life till Death
im just skinning the Fox
sharping my arrows with my hatchet
on my feet rackets
cause it's cold
so i can walk in the snow
im the Indigenous
im the origin of existence
of living
i wipe my ass with the American flag
On thanksgiving i burn them
this higher learning
yall been sleeping on the journalist
Let's take a trip back,
It was 1992
A young lady had a baby,
she didn't know what to do
She didn't have any
money
Fortune
Luck
Or a house,
Just a baby boy,
Not even a spouse,
As the years past
She noticed her boy
Was gifted
By the time he could
Write her mentality
Shifted,
She noticed he didn't
Need toys
Candy
Or even kin
Just sit him in a dark room
And supply him
Him with a pen,
Suddenly there was
Light
She knew it deep within,
This baby was a diamond
with ghetto dirt
in his mist,
Born highly favored,
John The Baptist
He struggled to coexist
Reminisced in the midst
At times he would get
Pissed
Because he was born
With a lisp,
Again just his pen,
He never fought with his fist,
He had the heart of
a lion,
In order to be beat,
You would need
the heart of Jesse Owens
In a early track meet,
Jack Churchill in the mist
of World War II,
Also probably the
money of the mighty Maloof's.
The diamond in the dirt,
Was finally set free
The outside world
Came to know
this star to be
I set out to
Find him
But he was absentee
Until my mom gave
me the mirror of life,
I found out the
Diamond was me...
I was running from the man
Or the cops if you please
I hopped over a fence
Landed funny, scraped my knee
Looked around and saw a shack
Hoped for comfort and ease
Like a hooker in church
Sweating on her knees
Peered into that shack
What a shock and surprise
Head like Mount Rushmore
We were lookin eye to eye
Started running for my life
Jesse Owens be proud
Dog snapping on my leg
Not a bark ,not a sound
Almost made it to the fence
With his teeth on my ass
Like a student in school
Was hoping for a pass
Had my back to the fence
Was looking for a stick
That dog drew first blood
Stream of red like Moby Dick
The end of the story
Had been lookin for fun
Searching for my phone
Called K911
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