Not A Rhetorical Question

If

Racism is a pigmentation of

Imagination

A dangerous

Hallucination

Illusion of confusion

Erroneous perception of

Reality

The wrong idea

Then

Why do we still

Have to fight to get a

Foothold in the doors of

Opportunity?

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Dance Africa

Motherland not the homeland

Or the promised land

Though she nurtured us

From her breasts

Dancing among and around

Us protecting us at times

From the elements of an

Unknown world for as long

As she dared Africa Motherland

Not the homeland not the promised

Land but we danced on her shores

The Nile River valley waters rushing

In over heads bowed down to

Other deities for survival out of

Necessity we danced on Africa’s shores

 

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Mourner’s Bench

Oh Lord save my soul
I’m down on bending knees
Praying on the mourner’s bench
Lord I do believe
Oh Lord save my soul
Father hear me now
I need to be born again
Lord just show me how
Oh Lord save my soul
Hit me with Thy might
Oh Lord save my soul
Thy spirit guides my sight
Thank you Lord for peace of mind
A joy that before
I never could find

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Photo Bomb circa 1953

A lopsided wooden church

With a steeple

Leans in the background as

A well-dressed young man poses

For a picture out front

With his foot on the fender

Of his ’49 Pontiac  Grandma

Hettie dressed in her darkest

Sunday best inadvertently passes

Through the path of the camera’s

Lens  just as the Kodak snaps she

Covers her face with a widespread hand

 

 

making POETRY

The love of all things

poetry has me holding

fast since a child

needing to put words

on paper

string and thread them

like beads into meaningful

patterns put words together

like puzzle pieces perfectly

fitted

 

the Dr. is out, but…(for Dr. Maya Angelou)

without knowing you
taught me the
meaning of love and
understanding of myself

as a person of color
in all things
to no longer be
afraid to lift my
voice and  sing
rise above the friction

of life relegated
to the 2nd class
citizenship lane

rise above

the  life sentenced to
the iron bars of
a caged-in soul
which now sings
praises to you daily
for healing me for
making me fit
enough to lift
my voice
to rise still
rise

HER STORY

*******************************

Shelly Halpern Ph.d
Knows Black History
How I want to be

I sat in her class
And to my surprise
Tears began to swell up
In my eyes

I could not deny
Her superior knowledge
She knew what she  spoke of
She taught it in college

But I never got over
that night
I walked out her class
For spite
Shelly Halpern Ph.d
Was  white

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REMEMBERING MAMA

she was tall and lean

skin as dark as night

hands on her hips

fist clenched

when she caught the spirit just right

and at pee dee baptist church

on any sunday afternoon

mama be shoutin and singin

some ole time spiritual tune

struttin back and forth

holy ghost dancin cross the floor

shoutin in the fire of the spirit

til she couldn’t shout no more

praise the lord

she sayin

glory must be on high

praise him hallelujah

praise him

til the day i die

jail-house blues

came home this mornin
bout half past three
got in bout
half past three
got in this evenin bout
half past three
county sheriff there
waitin for me
you under arrest
for shootin ben brown
i arrest you for shootin
ben brown
i’m lockin you down
for shootin ben brown
and not puttin
that fool in the ground