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Allen Hackett Poem
MOTHER AFRICA
"This is the most difficult letter I've ever written in my life. Where do I start?
What do I say? Does she know I still exist?...She probably thinks I'm dead!
I just wish I could touch her once and feel her warm embrace...That's so distant in my mind...I wonder if she remembers my name?
Will she recognize my voice or understand the words I speak?
Oh well...all I can do is speak the truth...She knows you're lost..."
Mother Africa...Only you posses the beauty unlike any other the world has ever seen
Elegantly adorned in all of nature's grace with the equator wrapped snugly around your waist
Ancient mystical pyramids jut up from your soil guarded by the wondrous Sphinx
Mother Africa...Dry your eyes the Nile River has overflown from all the tears you've cried
Diaspora broke your heart so maliciously
All your wealth and your children were taken away...Strewn across this old earth like a tattered moth-eaten blanket...Still used anyway
Mother Africa...Surely you know we not only sing...Africa! Africa! Africa!
Your endangered offspring's have created so many things of which you can be proud
Mother Africa...Don't despair one glorious day we will return and bring the bounty back home for all to share...AFRICA!
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2013
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Allen Hackett Poem
God the Artist
He who paints the sky is an artist beyond compare
His masterful strokes expand the universe
Down thru the depths of the sea
He creates...He plants...He harvests and He reaps
All to express His love and kindness within you and me
His mercy endures forever
Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2015
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Allen Hackett Poem
Son of the Sea TrilogyPart2
The Rising Son/ Dedicated to: The Slauson Village
On hot summer night lovers lay along the beachfront
Caressing each other so gently as the amber coals in the sandpits slowly melt away
The waves rise and tumult with such majestic force and beauty splashing against the shoreline relentlessly
Infinite as time itself and ever constant.
The pulsation of the conga drum permeates every pebble and grain of sand on the beach
The tinkle and the rat-a-tat-tat of empty bottles and discarded tin cans are transformed into precise percussion instruments
The melodic shrills of the magic flute weave it's translucent web encompassing the gritty growls and riffs that emanate from the golden mouth of the improvisational sounding sax...
The Dance Has Begun
Slender black bodies glisten in the soft moonlight...jerking and gyrating in perfect rhythm to the beat of the drum
The sweet aroma of herbs fills the night air and wine flows freely
Emotions are high and love abounds
The music reaches a crescendo and comes to a gradual halt
A long awaited sigh of relief can be heard then solitude follows...
Dawn ushers in the distant light
Destined to radiate its warmth and shine in the new day of the rising son
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2013
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Allen Hackett Poem
The Day the Drum Died/Dedicated to The Watts Drum Circle
It's festival time!...Congeros!...Timbaleros!...Same place same time
The Villager Caller is on the scene looking and waiting to do his thing
Start with a calypso rhythm...tap... tap...tap..tap...tap...tap...
One arrives with nothing but his pride
Another one comes with no drum...Then another but his ego won't let him
inside
The sacred drum circle in Watts once thrived...Every drum every color and
size...
Tumbas...Quintos...Djembes and Talking Drums too!!
What caused all this creative energy to subside?
Why slap these drums anyway?
This is a legacy of our African Ancestors
A commemoration of 1965 when Molotov cocktails flew by
Not Mongo! Not Berretto!...Get real and get down...
Otherwise, the generation to come will remember us and sing a sad song
called...The Day the Drum Died
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2013
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Allen Hackett Poem
*Cold Blooded Genocide (The Urban Wars Collection 1989)
What's the matter if a brother wants to wear red, black, or blue?
It ain't nothing but a color brother
Chill and socialize
Hang up your guns and don't commit cold blooded genocide
You owe it to yourself to be around
Sporting the good life...Hi-rolling you know
Now go another way and when you arrive at the other side
Be what may look back and say
I remember when I became a man and decided to survive by not committing
cold-blooded genocide it's just like suicide!
*This is the first poem from the Urban Wars Collection (1989) The newspaper
listed all of the children that had been killed due to drive by shootings. The
article featured a child who attended the same church I went to at that time. I
still see that little boys face today.
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2012
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Allen Hackett Poem
All That Jazz/Dedicated to Horace Silver
That underground sound sizzles because it's hot!
That sound from underground tells a story
Drawn deep from my soul
It's moody...it's blue
Sometimes so sublime it soothes you
Jumping and jiving with a crackle and a pop...
Who's chomping that silver sound from those ivory keys?
Who's thumping that bass and walking the talk?
Trumpets on fire...flying high to dizzy heights!
The sax said, "Just kick back"
The melody's serenade persuades me to relax...
Thunder rolls...lighting flash...cymbals crash
Those mighty drums!
Red tom-toms and rumbles set the pace
For all that jazz
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2012
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Allen Hackett Poem
Black on Black(2003)
The word I heard sitting on 103rd was Black on Black crime crept up
and busted ten caps!! "What's the Facts?"
They were Black...It's a crime committed every day
Especially in L.A....Brothers killing brothers
What's really going on? Stop the violence increase the peace
Empty rhetoric and cliques...Just something cool to say
If we keep it up total annihilation is on the way
Now you decide what part you play
Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2015
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Allen Hackett Poem
Vanished (The Urban Wars Collection/copyright 2001)
By Allen Hackett
Subjugated
Liberated
Migrated
Isolated
Assimilated
Humiliated
Degraded
Violated
Incarcerated
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2012
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Allen Hackett Poem
The Dead Zone
From day to night in a blur...
Rapid movements flash and stir reflections of your soul
Time stands still in awe of its own mortality
Paralyzed in eternity's abyss
Sonic sounds of endless silence
Are caged in mid-air
Trapped from within until freedom arrives on the wings of sunrise
You are never alone...
Welcome home from the dead zone
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2012
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Allen Hackett Poem
SAINT JOHN COLTRANE
Old Trane New Trane Coltrane
Stood on the edge of the avant-guard
Sanctified sax in hand blowing like thunder and rain
He acknowledged The Creator with Psalms in A love Supreme
A love Supreme... A love Supreme...A love Supreme
His horn screamed with pain
Alabama Oh...Alabama where our children died
Ka-boom!!
Expressions of rebellion as The Black Movement marched on through
Along came Joy and Peace yet he moaned and groaned
He ascended to a higher plane
As he sings praises in heaven his legacy abounds on earth and the spirit is still alive
SAINT JOHN COLTRANE
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Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2013
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