Archives for posts with tag: african american poetry

“…So for me patience is most fitting”

            -Yaqub Father of Yusuf

 

While we wait,

Droning along

Towards world excellence

Towards new order.

 

Policing the heinous crimes of The Others.

So Christian like-

This show of black intelligentsia.

 

Covert. Ignorance. Advocacy.

 

Yes the Dream is real.

The fight won. So

You and I can fight some more

 

And some mo’,

and some mo’.

 

Yes,

I had a Dream

That my big brother was spying on me,

To keep me mo’ safer, make my life mo’ betta.

Ensure my loyalty

 

Les’ I be

Unpatriotic,

A lone wolf wandering amongst the sheep

While the shepherds preach?

 

The reporters ask,

“Would He be here today?”

“Is this the Dream which

Thine eye did seek?”

 

Hell no

 

This dream reeks

Of Orwellian overtones,

Unmanned. Fallacy. Orbits.

So that the children of the world may

One day

 

Be free.

HAIR COILS UP BUT IT DON’T SPRING BACK

LIKE A MATTRESS MADE LOVE ON

IT DON’T SPRING BACK

 

SKIN IS BLACK LIKE

FINGERS DRAPED ON THE BASE OF A LOVERS NECK

BLACK LIKE, DON’T GET LOST IN THIS NECK

OF THE WOODS

 

THIS MUST BE SPOKEN ALOUD

THE PAIN UNTANGLED

BECAUSE COMPLEXION IS HARD TO EXPLAIN

 

YOU CANT QUITE PICTURE THESE HIPS

ARE FULL LIKE POLITICIANS

ARE FULL OF SHIT

FULL LIKE HOOD BABIES

ARE FULL OF DREAMS

FULL LIKE DISPLACEMENT GENTRIFICATION

 

TO SWIM IN A POOL SO DEEP

THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER YOU’LL NEVER REACH

IT’S FUCKED UP, SO GET UP. GET OUT

DON’T WANT YOU IN THE POOL ANYWAYS

YOU ARE FOREVER DISPLACED

 

THIS AIN’T ABOUT RACE

IF IT WAS WE’D NEVER

IN A GAME RIGGED

 

TOO MANY TIMES  BEEN MADE TO CHOOSE

EITHER TO LIVE UP

OR STOOP DOWN

RED SAID IT BEST-ON US PLYMOUTH ROCK LANDED

 

AND SO THIS NEEDED TO BE WRITTEN

THE STORY NEED NOT BE SCRIPTED

WE ARE BLACK

OUR HAIR COILS UP IT

DON’T SPRING BACK LIKE

THE MOVEMENT THAT WAS LOST
Via Google Image

Art Journaling By Me!

This poem was influenced by the eloquent deviancebyciaraswan’s poem titled “Random Emotions.”  The theme behind my poem isn’t taken from her work, but from the song that she mentions in the poem, “Rose Royce’s “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore.” Please go and check out deviancebyciaraswan’s blog, she has some truly admirable work.

And Then You Start Writing Love Poems

because it is the only way to tell this man how you feel

it is the only way to welcome in the stranger, that’s come to stay at your heart

because before him, there was a vacancy

you thought only God could fill

you had real estate like S.E. D.C.

Pricey, yet essentially worthless

with a view of the river,

and even that stunk

Today it is rare to come across a literary figure that also serves as an activist for his community.  Langston Hughes was just that.  He was an acclaimed writer, playwright, and social activist by means of his work.  He was also well-traveled and often times accused of being a communist; claims which have little base.  Regardless of his political associations the man was a poetic genius.  His poems are simple, undiluted masterpieces.  Since I’m reading through a complete collection of his work “The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, Editor Arnold Rampersad, and Associate Editor David Roessel,”  I’d like to share a few poems with you all.  I’ll try to post some of his lesser known poems so that you can get a true sense of his poetic prowess.  If you would like to share any poems by Langston Hughes, or by any other poet you hold in high esteem please leave them in the comment box below.

Without further ado here are a few poems of his I’m really digging, enjoy!

 

God to Hungry Child

Hungry child,

I didn’t make the world for you,

You didn’t buy any stock in my railroad.

You didn’t invest in my corporation.

Where are your shares in standard oil?

I made the world for the rich

And the will-be-rich

And the have-always-been-rich.

Not for you,

Hungry child.

 

Justice

That Justice is a blind goddess

Is a thing to which we black are wise.

Her bandage hides two festering sores

That once perhaps were eyes.

 

My People

The night is beautiful,

So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,

So the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.

Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

 

Formula

Poetry should treat

Of lofty things

Soaring thoughts

And birds with wings.

The Muse of Poetry

Should not know

That roses

In manure grow.

The Muse of Poetry

Should not care

That earthly pain

Is everywhere.

Poetry!

Treats of lofty things:

Soaring thoughts

And birds with wings.

That all folks!  I apologize if the form of some of the poems is distorted.  I tried to copy them as true to form as possible.

Just a little fun for the end of the week, share this with your co-workers.  I’m sure they’ll appreciate your sense of humor.

I love an ignorant man,

who speaks on

what we ain’t got,

instead of what we don’t have.

When we go to restaurants

he knows not what he eats.

All he knows is the menu says chicken,

and that’s some kind of meat.

I’m partial to men that, prefer incarceration.

I like em’ a lil’ illiterate too.

I stay far, far away,

from the educated, well-to-do.

Do you know where I can get one of these?

Good men are so hard to come by

I needs me a real man,

you know, a 3 time felon, that does drive-bys.

If you enjoyed this poem, by all means please, do share.  Don’t be selfish 🙂

My feelings on the current status of African-Americans here in the U.S.

We the black sheeple of America

Long ago we were sheared of our rights

Robbed of our identities

The wool that once held our families together,

The very fiber of our communities

Has been traded for a lowly price

The black sheeple of America

Do not have a culture of our own

Our image has been herded and manipulated

By a shepherd who’s never been down for the cause

We parade around entertaining THEM

As if that’s our only cause

Where have all the great thinkers gone?

To what land have they disappeared?

Leaving us stranded here

Stranded here with only singers, dancers, and jigaboos

And Jack Johnson like businessmen

There is no real representation

Plenty of I(s) on the team

And no congregation

Alas we’re only a herd of sheep

Infected with the disease of want

I implore you

Is there any man, woman, or child,

Who will put aside the seeking of material things?

To step up and lead the flock

Do you have an opinion on the status of Blacks in America (or anywhere else in the world) please comment below.  We can also discuss this on Twitter @UmmQamar .

I’m a late night coffee drinker

Black-American woman, modern thinker

lover of color, colored lover

premature, unwed mother

they say, I’m a “strong black woman”, an “African Queen”

but my heart is weak, my sentiment, mean

my independence IS dependence, my patience won’t wait

my passion has settled, so for me, no soul mate

the hues of my canvas, red blood, burnt sienna skin

my eyes a shade of black, like looking into sin

the brushstrokes of my soul

paint my life, a story untold

in vain I’ve searched for company

so that the dark voids could be filled in me

and when I think I’ve found it, it runs away

leaving me in my demise, alone to face the day

that doesn’t phase me, my heart refuses to be broken

I’m not in need of trinkets, or silly love tokens

that’s right don’t you ever forget

I am the best woman you’ve never met

I am the train that keeps coming

the song that keeps humming

my honey is too strong for tea

and baby I’m everywhere you want to be

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