Long Black african american Poems
Long Black african american Poems. Below are the most popular long Black african american by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black african american poems by poem length and keyword.
Parades are festive
They send a celebratory message
Protests have an evil look
Like they were run by a crook
Ranting
Chanting
Yelling and screaming
Confused definition lacking structure meaning
Anger released in this one way
“We are going to make the issue pay”
Strong voice overs sound really cool
But in reality the visual is a self-destructive tool
Sacrificial lamb
An interesting plan
Using the young at heart
Tell them to play the moral part
Only a for a few seconds will it be heard
Not caring how it will be talked about when referred
Money could start a revolution
That is not the solution
Study the subject matter
Accept the pitch as a well prepared batter
Answer the call
To strengthen understanding the law
Many sides a debate may contain
Simply put it is easy to complain
Take pen and paper in hand
And make the editorial stand
Words are a powerful device
An intellectual platform that is nice
When someone sits down and reads
They are relaxed thinking about the information feed
Unlike a theatric demonstrator
Displaying havoc in the tradition of a raider
Society needs creative communication as a lighter
Getting into situations being a fighter
After a published piece has run
Noting a philosophical pondering job is done
Police handcuffs are not the result
In bringing the argument to a halt
Conversation could have chatter
Escalating up a healthy ladder
Allowing the writer
To walk away sounding intelligent by making the guilt party’s noose tighter
Presenting on a stage where one shines brighter
long after a full moon
had thrown its arms around the sky
I stood with Al Stone
ignoring the futility in our lives
adolescence gave way to manhood
or so we like to believe
our ideology stifled
from a serious lack of dreams
with the care of a midwife
removing a child from the womb
a marijuana cigarette was born
then quickly consumed
our reality now disfigured
discolored and frayed
the sound of a revolver pop-pop-pop
felt like a siren calling our names
along the asphalt we strode
where graffiti had not taken over
the corner of lesson and life
pondering the tips of our noses
underneath that streetlight
the story we all must tell
misplaced direction
led to a portal of hell
our lack of caution
our upbringing tossed aside
opened the door for the siren
that revolver in our eyes
angels decided to sing
that melody an alarming sound
wheels of society turned and screeched
leaving tire tracks on the ground
the order was given to freeze
alternatives held tight in their hands
one placed directly at my temple
a transition from boy to man
out in the heights of the land
i see her children coming,
from the banks of the rivers returning
it is the children of Africa i see
Africa,why do your children kill one another?
why do they hate and destroy each other?
you that makes wealth for other nations,
your children live in abject poverty!
you that has it all lacks so much!
why do you still wear these shackles of poverty and want?
why do you still suffer so much?
Africa you can make it if you try!
you can achieve greatness
because the dream i have of Africa is one of greatness
i know that for sure the day of you redemption is close at hand
because is see your children coming together
loving one another
in my dream i see them all gathered around your table to a feast
an AFRICAN feast
i see them as a strong united front
and you Africa enjoying the love of your children
arise now oh Africa!for the season of your greatness has come
and Africa,you shall live forever in the glory of you children!
Copyright © 2005 susan dudu
I dwelt in thought.
Reminiscing on the way that she made me feel.
Gradually I moved into her.
Packing light, reassuring that I'd bring the biggest piece of me.
She welcomed me with open arms. Extending a hand, she made room just below her heart.
I left my bag a few inches from her feet. Not wanting to overload her with excess.
She insisted, grabbing my bag with ease.
This was better than any trip I'd ever taken.
Falling in love at first sight. Staring out of the window in my room.
I kissed her once to ensure that what I felt wasn't a dream.
I kissed her again for ever doubting.
My whole inside blushed red.
I hesitated often, not wanting to become a burden in a place that felt like home.
In regards to table manner, we took our plates from one room to the next.
Emptying ourselves on empty plates.
The flutter of racing hearts, the comfort of vibrant linen.
Warm colors layered across one another.
Totally aware that I could be myself. Sleep was nowhere to be found.
Spending the rest of our time up, she gave me a key to ensure that I'd always have a place in her heart.
I gave it back, reassuring that I'd never leave
AN OLD GRIOT’S TANKA HOMILY OF OURSTORY
John Lewis and Stokely,
Recruited me as “Tex” Lowe:
Another SNCC "Bro":-
Like King, they have both passed on:
The vision and I, yet here:-
Know and be aware,
Integration…not the theme:
Rather, equity:-
Let’s seek the Dream’s true vision:
Political equity:-
Malcolm too…is gone;
Barak and Harris…still here:
Likewise, are you too:-
So many others have gone;
So many others still here:-
I shall soon be gone;
But I know we shall get there:
Completely equal:
Both economically
And politically, too:-
Christ was crucified,
Risen,, and then ascended:
Canvassing the way:-
Know that we are of God, too:
Kins to Simone of Cyrene:-
In now awareness,
Let’s ice oppression’s syndrome;
Journeying to home:-
We’re in God’s liberation:
He is the greatest power!
Before
Toussaint and Dessalines
It was nothingness
Organs, guts and spleens
Of our ancestors could be found alongside the roads
Many fleeing poor slaves in disarray
Were treated worse than animals
Oh! It's hard to find the words
To describe the usual carnage
From the time of slavery.
Before
The Battle of Vertières
Graveyards and cemeteries
Were virtually everywhere
Before
Pétion and Boukman
Christopher and Biassou
It was slavery
Blacks and Indians were considered savages
Worse than animals
Were humiliated, lynched, tortured, massacred, and killed
By adventurers, buccaneers, hyenas, deplorables, freebooters
Pirates, motherless bastards and marauders of the time
In search of sugar, foodstuffs, indigo and gold.
Copyright © June 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
never expected a cherry flavored cherish
that is what this here moment reminds me of
never thought that you who i loathed the most would be the one i love most passionately
yet here i am....sampling the sweetness of your flavor....black cherry indeed
never expected a cherry flavored cherish
sometimes the best memories are made in smiling darkness
never thought that you who wished dead the most would be the one i cannot ever imagine living without
yet here i am....having my world rocked with my favorite fruit on top....black cherry indeed
never expected a cherry flavored cherish
it definitely and evidently proves who is really in control
never thought that you who i thanked God most for departing would be the one i give Him thanks and praise for more than anything or anyone
yet here i am....making you a chocolate fudge sundae on sunday wish whipped cream and the obvious as a topper....black cherry indeed
I cannot forget Trayvon Martin - slain teen
no matter manifold more young people
unthinkingly killed, who spirits aspire
to ascend higher than a steeple.
revisited and slightly revised today
March 14th, 2021.
One deliberate shameful death,
whose demise linkedin
violent cessation of breath
thank heavy gun wielding hand
innocuous thug disguised
as armed neighborhood watch
firearm brandished
as weapon of choice.
Once again rifling thru outdated drafts,
I unwittingly repost grievous bulletin
that made headlines nine plus years ago,
an innocent lad received fatal shot
into said unarmed teenager's chest
according to testimony
courtesy Doctor Vincent Di Maio.
Memory of aforementioned crime
relegated to dustbin of criminal minds
whereby dime a dozen killings
(nowadays barely register shock)
countless young persons
genetically bequeathed with
healthy dose of melanin
gunned down during their prime.
George Zimmerman (then age 28)
ought to be pitched into the
alligator and crocodile infested Everglade
for his senseless killing (outright murder)
of Trayvon Martin slammed
as involved some illicit wick kid trade
(a slender African American
more precisely youth flush with color
only 17 years young -
(birthdate - February 5th, 1995
death date - February 26th, 2012),
whose martyrdom grows
as days/weeks fade
an exemplary gregarious helpmate
swimming against the tide
to make the grade
now slain while just a youth -
the unfounded killing
by a neighborhood watch volunteer,
who felt afraid
that this dark skinned young man
appeared suspicious pulled the trigger
with comeuppance to be paid
though -- no retribution can restore
lifeless body, still
agitated waters nor offer shade
from the justifiable media frenzy
sparked from Geraldo Rivera made
even with unanimous
approval of guillotine blade
for violence cannot only rejuvenate
a promising future
evinced by Trayvon Martin
reincarnated into tree or leaf blade
but only serves to beget subsequent
violence now unto his grave
said teenager laid!
Trump in court is not what black people want to hear.
We have a kinship with people terrorized for years.
I explained the reason in poem a time or two before.
I will never deep-throat like an American whore.
As an ex-soldier who dropped down in parachutes.
This killing of civilians, I could never get used to.
Deep-throating muthaaz, just ain’t my style.
I give water and food to any starving hungry child.
I cannot stand the tricks being played on me.
I voice my vote on what I actually see.
No anointed individual will ever be my choice.
When you deep-throat the killing of young boys.
In Two Thousand Fifteen, Donald Trump stood firm
Said smart folks will soon come to learn
That the U.S. is in need of sounds from his horn
But he soon switched, for use of his trumpet
He's been blowing non-stop with no regret
He's Producer of fiery political script, don't forget.
This privilege trumpeter I soon began admiring
His consistent pattern of behavior is astounding
Saturday Night Live has nothing over him
The Don takes no hostage, but now he's lying
First, Dr. Ben hit his Mamma; then Mexicans come sinning
Next, his trumpet blew all Syrians down, none escaped him.
Donald J. Trump is star in his very own show
Neon lights flashes bright wherever he goes
His opponents' role, his hands can never slow
You'd think the Don's on Comedy Central show
Foreign and Domestic policies will take a toll
The Presidency's pendulum will surely fall.
Now, Hillary has the Don nit picking again
He's blowing, huffing and puffing... all to win
And because he's loud, I detect he hiding
Right behind that voice; that's not really him
I wouldn't be surprise to see him joining in
Switching sides, endorsing Hillary would be big win.
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