Activist Poetry
New poems are added periodically to this folder. There are 18 poems in this folder.
This is the direct link to my webpage at Outskirts.com with the ordering information for my first novel, ‘Real Magic’.
“Activist Poetry”
“The Middle Passage remains a stain upon the waters”
to see, to touch the past, is, unfortunately
impossible
even a headstone
a shackle, a slave cabin upon the fertile soil of the Delta does
not
does not reach out and throttle the now
but…
however,
a picture, of an ancestor, a stern slave holder
who raped your great-great-great grandmother
that, that creates a churning acid reaction, all the
more potent
for being two centuries later
in the abstract, chickens and cows and Negroes
as property, tabulated
economics fueling westward expansion
labor needed here
laborers, in abundance here
here,
being Africa, there
being the Americas, both north and south
and not all at that, poor white indentured
slaves as well
but
demand -ie white planters and the Five Civilized Tribes in the South,
White merchants and whalers in the North
met supply in the
Black rulers of Africa
the Arab traders shifting from dhows to cargo
more profitable than rum and molasses
ivory and gems
Dutch and English, American and Portuguese,
a trail of blood chumming the Triangular Trade,
French wine and death
wool and Spanish steel
all profited, all suffered
the records of Lloyd’s, deeds of transfers
scoured, seeking names not recorded,
births not celebrated
marriages not sanctified
cultures destroyed and yet,
out of the perished millions there arose
jazz
creole
rap
a pride in being black
being a victim, no longer enough
yes, this marks the resting place of a slave and
yes
this is my ancestor, my family, my tragedy, my heritage
my land
my history
my right to look at the past and say that the
Middle Passage
never ended
never began
that slavery remains an ever present evil under heaven
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“The Flowing Blindfold”
fear – it oozes-
puddles at my dirty feet, calloused,
bleeding – quivering lower lip – fear
it slides, harsh words, hard men, harder use
fear – it melts – forty flavors
and none,
for me: only fear – fear only… everything,
everyone hurts
lack sight, knowledge, to fear normal
to become someone else, different, better?
Please? – no, no… please…
to swallow anything but that! Not again!
unmoved by tears
uncaring
unable – years of thought
finally understood
mother was afraid too
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“Wounded”
Should I be concerned
about the urge to self-mutilate?
when
I pull my flesh
it’s doughy
and thick
warm
but…
that malleability
no matter how far stretched
torn away from the body
tacky gobs
flung to the floor
and clinging
shivering on the furniture
the room coated
the scars remain
some are…
accidents of fate
some are…
deliberate
caused by others with malice and intent
some are…
by my own hand
wielding a broad variety of
weapons
drugs and alcohol sharper
than any blade
dripping with beaded blood
rapturous pain
jubilant with possibilities
Is there such a thing
as pristine human?
never wounded
clawing at lines
plunging calloused fist
deep into chest
squeezing pumping muscle
until screams
echo to heaven
there!
a spark
who will be the first
to drink?
viscous and hot
such a tantalizing prospect
beyond masturbation and
the briny taste of the helix
swirls madness
acute connections
slender threads
snap
snap with weight of knowledge
and sin
where is the honor
in murder?
————————————————
“Friend of Cowgirl”
I hate rape,
I really, really do.
I hate it in the a.m.,
I hate it from the blue.
a moment with a girl,
that should be pure and true,
in a flash turns ugly,
and instead is very crude.
A joining that is sacred,
has now become so rude,
as the girl,
now women,
finds all she had to lose.
No means no,
or so was always told,
but today’s men take,
have always been so bold?
A girl is only meat,
or so to me it seems,
and nothing they can do,
will muffle all their screams.
So what happens now,
to this girl who we abused.
should she be now cast out,
and given to be used?
Nay,
I say.
Stand beside her in her need,
you out there can never know,
when it’s your turn to bleed.
For I hate rape,
I always, always will,
it is a crime,
that makes my heart be still.
———————————
“Because I have a vagina…”
… I am often molested when I’m only a little girl
… I am often kept uneducated and at home
… I am often killed because baby boys are preferred
… I am often sold to brothels to pay family bills
… I am often raped by someone I trusted
… I am often scorned for being so emotional
… I am often murdered by a jealous ex-lover
… I am often ignored when seeking medical advice
… I am often mutilated by cutting off my clitoris and labia
… I am often called a filthy whore for enjoying sex
… I am often forced to trade my body for food
… I am often dismissed by my professors
… I am often paid much less than males
… I am often expected to be only a breeder
… I am often viewed as unclean when I bleed
… I am often filled with shame and fear and remorse
… I am often wondering why God hates me so much
___________________________________________
“The 21st Century”
In the 21st Century.
People can no longer hear,
because they have surrendered
their ears.
And instead they survive
every second by shooting
a drug called apathy
directly into their veins.
In the 21st Century.
People can no longer see,
because they have gouged
their eyes.
And instead they cope
wormlike by following
the noise of culture
blaring from every corner.
In the 21st Century.
People can no longer taste,
because they have severed
their tongues.
And instead they seek
sensations by observing
the suffering and
disasters of others.
In the 21st Century.
People can no longer feel,
because they have flayed
their skin.
And instead they crave
nourishment by rooting
in putrid refuse
heaped in the gutter.
In the 21st Century.
people can no longer care,
because they have siphoned
their brains.
And instead they grope
hopelessly for understanding
by desperate fondling
of the drug called apathy.
——————————–
“Wrong Turn Taken”
Two lives collided in the bloody hood
The sorrow I feel will never be gone
That single perp was up to no good
Slinking around where she never should
Her friends all said he done you wrong.
You go girl and give him a scare
Can’t walk away when he’s to blame
Tired of flaunting heself everywhere
Ragging his posse how he don’t care
It’s his child too dis ain’t no game.
That awful morning she made him pay
Don’t remember bout talking no smack
But got him good is what dey all say
Now sit alone behind bars and pray
Media howls they don’t know jack.
She was abused is lawyer’s cry
Headlines sneer likely defense
Wealth and privilege gone awry
black man dead white girl to fry
A wrong turn taken makes no sense.
———————————————–
“Healing”
It hurts
thinking
remembering.
why?
I don’t understand.
why?
I know why
I hurt myself
I cut myself
I want to die
too many
too many
we share a bond
of survival
of change
of longing to be normal
what is normal?
why?
do we hurt ourselves.
just stop
please just stop
wait a minute
please
it is possible
to heal
to look in the mirror
and see
really see that person
who is I
who is me
who is you
why?
why not?
why not heal?
why not heal pain?
why not heal abuse and betrayal?
heal
heal
it wasn’t your fault.
—————————————
“Our Children”
What is a child?
A string of DNA,
genes structured in our own images.
Sometimes abused, sometimes adored.
Sometimes scorned, sometimes loved.
Sometimes abandoned, sometimes cherished.
Sometimes ignored, sometimes respected.
Our children are very fortunate,
for they are adored,
loved,
cherished,
respected.
What is a child?
a laugh, a giggle,
a heartstopping smile.
We see the future,
and we tremble.
We see our children,
and we rejoice.
Yes, rejoice!
Rejoice in anticipation
of our joys to come.
Death comes to a child,
and we scream!
Why!
Why?
Oh God… Why?
Across the ages,
it has been screamed many times
in many tongues
in many ways…why?
For that,
there is no answer,
but this.
Never to feel grief?
then never love.
Never to feel pain?
then never care.
Never to feel despair?
then never hope.
Never to feel death?
then never live.
I ask you yet again,
what is a child.
A child,
our children,
are this communities heartbeat.
—————————–
“Snowcones“
look at the shiny things
they are floating in the air
what keeps them up?
what are they called?
can we taste them?
envision them running
without a care in the world
giggling, you know the sound
rainbows everywhere
melting on lashes
far above their heads
grown ups work
we children just laugh
hey up there
have a snowcone.
————————————————————————-
“Diversity”
What is black,
What is white,
What is wrong,
What is right.
What is yellow,
What is brown,
all our colors,
gathered round.
The bonds of time that unite us,
the links of place that divide us,
internal thoughts that betray us,
best intentions that corrupt us.
Together we are one,
yet as one apart.
Diverse in outlook,
heart and mind,
Our souls belong to all.
———————————
“Rainbows”
they stretch from side to side
a perfect arc of color
all shades are there
where ever you turn
young and old of all races
men and women dressed in pink
a rainbow of compassion
united in a common cause
——————————————–
“That hateful family bond that masquerades as love.”
This was a line that I wrote recently and I thought what a great title for a song.
The masks that they wear
crack in time
when lies aren’t enough
to hold back the change
with sudden sight
they become real
true twisted features.
holding their hands
up to sky
seeking to blame
all
but themselves.
They said they loved me
as they held me
and wiped off the blood
and dried up the tears
They said they loved me
as they hurt me
and cursed at my name
and broke all my bones
They said they loved me.
Well I’m still here
haunting your dreams
I’ll never leave you
until you all go to hell!!!
They said they loved me
as they scolded me
and used what was handy
and pretended to care
They said they loved me
as they buried me
and mouthed platitudes
and threw flowers
They said they loved me.
Well I’m still here
haunting your life
I’ve decided to move on
heaven is my new home.
——————————————–
“Pissing Genders”
Well you had to do it
bring up the gender
wars
After they’ve been
buried, under an
Avalanche
of politics.
Multi-culture-ism, so many
isms, all perfect
people
Perfect homes, perfect
lives
Identical in every way,
send in the clones.
I’m a mesosexual, I love
poetry and flowers
and NASCAR
Woman and dancing,
rituals in the deep
Forest, turkey calling
and pissing.
Me, a man, who writes naked
prose
open soul and heart and mind
Striving to reach for that
apple
Hanging out of reach in
the Garden.
——————————————–
“Trapped in the frame of an old photograph” (Sara)
“suddenly vivid in a world of lucid dreams” (Moonmaid)
“a faceless fear crept around our circle” (Rethabile)
“Trapped in shadowed box of iniquity” (Beaman)
“Screaming; they cannot hear”
The land cried out; danger comes
near.
We, the tribes out of time,
waited; while there, a mist,
a faceless fear crept
around our circle.
It had no color, just rage
and form that showed no mercy.
Suddenly vivid
in a world of lucid dreams, our
limbs, truncated and
bleeding
seeped into the fertile soil.
Pushed, herded, prodded, we
ran.
Oh how we ran. To no
avail; trapped in a shadowed box
of iniquity, we faded.
Our history had ended.
Our lives were forfeit.
Our children sold.
I wake screaming, they can’t
hear me, but I can hear
them.
Reclaiming my breath, I shake
with emotion,
tears,
tears,
tears, stain the drawing of my
ancestors;
trapped
in the frame of an old photograph.
Although it would be tempting to draw conclusions from this poem, it is not written with a color in mind; nor even a date. It is all of us, and none of us. It is now, and thousands of years past. It is simply a poem, a collection of words gathered just so. But it is also words seared into our collective consciousness by millennia of suffering. Slavery, is one of the most heinous of human endeavors, but sadly, one of the most common, even at this very moment.
Most estimates for modern day slaves range from 20 to 30 million, today, around the world, as you read this poem.
———————————————————————-
“Untitled”
Human beings are monsters, we devour ourselves, gnawing and chewing our sinews that bind us to God, burning and burning and burning we fall, lamenting at what we’ve become, sightless and helpless, overwrought with cares and desires, they ride us with spurs, the blood flowing from a million deaths a year, a month, a week, an hour, a minute, a second we fall, falling we die but not before life lived with hope and peace and justice, is there no justice for me, for us, for her, for him, for we stand together and fight for our beliefs, a sense of harmony and love and trust and peace, peace of the grave for many today, some pass, some killed, all the same, cold and gone, the ones left to ponder is this Hell, Hell of our making or His/Hers/Ours, where does it end, does it ever end, close my eyes, my mouth, my ears, my heart, my heart closed to the suffering and cruelty of Human Beings are Monsters.
Are You?
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“Distant Memories”
respectability… polite… yearn
yearnings… froth
that’s it!
froth… yes, froth.
I wanted, you see
doesn’t matter who really… not really
not at all… distant… wavering now
I don’t even remember, what she/he/they looked like.
unattainable… unavoidable… unrequited
buds to be plucked… no that’s not it,
blushing blooms to be sniffed… no! NO!
it wasn’t like that!
let me begin again.
differences… skin… class… style
it never was… never would be…still
still, I wonder… if the chains that bound her/him/them
if the chains were not there… broken… freedom
would I have learned love then?
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“Living Wage; A Satire of History Repeating”
crack
of overseers whip, multi-thronged
bloody slaves
spoils of conquest, sold
to state
by chariot
by elephant
by longboat
by horse
by
deception and lies, have monuments been raised on
skeletons of ancestors
rotting flesh, multi-hued, murdered for wealth
cached in tombs, plundered from temples, torn
from mines and smelted in
bronze
lead
copper
iron
shackles of losing sides, bitter harvest of cellular treasure
mixed blood flows
tribal councils, locked behind gates of thorns, don wealth
of bangles and beads, met with gunpowder and cannon
forcible redistribution of
silk
tea
spice
opium
dreams consuming mercy none found, harsh addiction of
trade imbalance wars
palaces in marbled splendor rise anew, class blurs with
possibilities of mass commerce and production lines
cause hope for many in
steel
rubber
nylon
plastic
injection molding, heaped piles of toys, profits greater
than gold ingots melted
standard, paper future mortgaged with frenzied purchase
inflating costs, bloated companies replacing kings, palaces
of consumption
crack
of managerial tongue, sarcastic and cruel
worker drones
few benefits, dismissed
to starve.
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