Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Mr. Pittenger (for Congress)

Mr. Pittenger for Congress

I am not angry because I hate white people.
But I am angry.
I am angry at your blatant racism and
inexcusable comments about blacks.
I am angry that you found freedom in firing gay civilians.
I am angry because the land that was stolen---
my ancestors were enslaved,
raped, and whipped to death on.
While America welcomes you with open arms
and gift you sweet golden privileges
I, a black American,
walk with my brothers and sisters in fear---
trying to unravel the noose from around the neck of equality
and hide our black skin from the bullet wounds of injustice.
I am angry at the abuse, the exploitation
and the humiliation that my people still face
while marching and dying for civil rights.
I am angry at the segregation, the discrimination,
the racism and the hatred that 
breathes in the schools, neighborhoods, businesses,
and even in the system that elected you.
Yes, I am angry because
you hate black people more.


Wednesday, June 15, 2016



Summer flies
then light me up
with memories on Merry-Go-Rounds,
bicycle racing brother and cousins,
skate nights and hopscotch afternoons
kept cool by popsicles and snow cones.
Sharing Bubblicious bubble gum,
Lemonheads and Mary Janes at camp,
Snapping green peas with Auntie Jean on her back porch,
Collecting Cracker Jack and
sucking on  Now and Later with Nana,
Listening to Aunt Sue's stories,
Laughing at Uncle Ron's jokes and him calling me and cousins “Frogs
Eating pears and peaches from grandmother Roxie’s tree,
slicing watermelons with smiles
and picking berries until my palms stain red.

Saturday mornings,
at the library with mother and brother,
smelling through books.
Multi-color nails flipping through Word Up! Magazines,
popping Violin’s strings,
writing words and stories to tell and sell one day,
finding my crush’s hidden love letter,
before my first kiss.
Honeysuckle evenings, family cookouts,
and a deflated heart after father was a no-show.
Sitting still and breathing in scenes
of Poetic Justice and Higher Learning.
Daydreaming that I could borrow their light
at night, to see me through the silent sparks
of my own black, magical wings..........


Saturday, April 30, 2016

"Cul-de-sac" and "Cut-off"

PAD Challenge Day 30

Prompt: Write a dead end poem.


Turning me around again, huh?
Or is it me this time,
not paying attention?

Don’t count the years of knowing them.
Because sometimes-at-times,
Time doesn’t mean anything to anyone.
Even when they began to smell different.
Whipped into shape or out of align---
don’t mind their beauty either.
They can look pretty. Do pretty things. Say pretty things.
Talk of mustard seed. While planting a crooked one with rusty water.
Recollect the times they rooted you in real tight.
Stood by your stem.
Watched over its youth like the Father, the Sun and the Son.
Dared you to branch out, even when only their petals were blooming
and your life’s trembling leaves shook wild.
Don’t tally your exchange of good seeds to their gorgeous pots.
Because that was supposed to be God’s doing.
Reminisce, in your period of evolution,
while you were stretching--
We’re they flowering or arranging dead ends for your soul?


Me and my favorite: Sunflower. Keep your head-up to the sun and Son! Peace! Love! :-)

Friday, April 29, 2016

In the Shadow of My Words

PAD Challenge Day 29

Prompt: Write a haphazard poem.

In the Shadow of My Words

No order necessary.
This world has enough.
                                    Enuff ropes.
                                                       'nuff weight.
[ih-nuhf] innumerable series of half-full and half-empty persuasions
on hearts.
                               Skin shades.
Can I feed off the memories of my jumbo, jumbled heart?
Or will these confrontations starve the world too?
Cripple the mind?
                          Cheat that kid?
                                                 Judge that man? 
                                                                        Break that woman?
Down. Down. Down.
I just want to
Live. Live. Live.
I don’t want them to be classic.
                                               You won’t know me well.
Let me be classy today.
                                   Sassy to tomorrow.
                                                                Raw in between.
Silent like a vowel.
                          Then wake up with thunder on my tongue.

Intelligent, be my taste!
Before I say
Grace. Grace. Grace.
I know I have Elegant rhythm.
Its a key to
Turn. Turn. Turn.
                            Not just because I’m "One" shadow in black too.


Thursday, April 28, 2016

"Important to Remember", "Important Letters", "Important As Is" , and "Important Ingredient"

PAD Challenge Day 28

Prompt 28: Take the phrase “Important (blank)”. Replace the blank with a word or phrase, and make the new phrase the title of your poem. 

Important to Remember

The exploitation after
The brainwashing and watery traditions.
The struggles. The progress.
The tears and bloodshed on every street,
day and night, in lines
and on corners for democracy.
The unity before and after:
The Civil Rights. Black Panther. Black Lives Matter movements.
The love and the pride for the people.
The issues then. The issues now.
It ain’t picture perfect, so write ‘em down.
And Remember. Remember. Remember-
black is important and beautiful TOO!

  A mural in Kansas City, MO.  Artist Anon. circa 2015

March on Washington  (MOW) Washington, D.C August 23, 2013

Important Letters

It takes
Motivation and
Patience to
Rough times,
And sweet
To persevere.

Important As Is

If my eyes are not peeking through,
Ears fail to catch a sound, and
my soul is not freed from it.

If my feet are set in stone,
Heart doesn’t entertain a beat,
And my lips are numbed.

If my hands do not fight,
Thrust out for a lift or
Dance along terms to pages.

If it does not remove stars from my mind,
Circle itself around God,
and square itself inside love.

Then it is not as important as is.

Important Ingredient

I know your flavors-
deep down in my soul
like God's tears from the sky.


Wednesday, April 27, 2016

"First in Flight" and "Forsaken Children"

PAD Challenge Day 27

Prompt 27: Write a take-off poem.

First in Flight

From anywhere,
I claim row 7
with the bird's-eye view,
switch on iTunes, and
massage pen to pad
before Delta lift off.

Forsaken Children

Born broken, innocent, and pure.
Some unnamed and unknown
without any extensions to kin.
No lukewarm hellos
before ice-cold, “I’m sorry. I have to go”.

Others, claimed and named
then forgotten like passed due bills
or have queried conceptions
by the ones that take off from child support
with no shows or chilling goodbyes,
outcries of worthless  I love yous
and misfortunate “See you laters!”.


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

"Love More" and " Love's No"

PAD Challenge Day 26

Two-day prompts are:
  1. Write a love poem. Or…
  2. Write an anti-love poem

Love More

Love is us finding each other before we did.
It is more than blind folds and secret rendezvouses.
Love is our signature in union after divorcing our ancient lives.
It is attending to and healing each other’s souls.
Love is listening when really wanting to exclaim after any aches.
It is more than naked summer nights
or sharing blankets and warmed beverages in the winter.
Love is more than creating seeds.
It is watching them grow in the light of our tender loving.
Love is not just us.
It is everyone that made us know
what love could really be more of
as we love each other more….


Love's No

Love’s no dummy.
It does not have the eyes of envy,
a tongue of lies to a candid ear,
a heart of vicious cords frolicked by a soul of hell,
a belly of bitterness after a rancid feast,
a touch of aversion against prejudice skin,
or a walk in deceit.
Love's  no trinket.