I fear for my generation and the ones that follow. I worry that as we get older we will no longer have respect for our historical legends and continue to live in utter oblivion. We won’t care about how the school book got to be in our hands or how we can move through our daily lives so freely. I am afraid. That my great grandfather’s stories and those of his class will be buried with him and his children. His venerable words will be lost on a split tongue and be.poked fun of rather than respected. I am afraid. Though we are not worse than before, we are at a standstill of mental progression because its not cool or the easiest thing to do. Be different. Girls and boys hold no respect for themselves or one another. Adapting the Cash over everything mentality, have we lost ourselves in things? Mindless possessions that can bring temporary satisfactions but when all goes away we have nothing to fall back on but our pampered butts.I am afraid. That as each historical legend passes away there is no one there to take their place to continue to create a history to be proud of. I belong to a generation who only cares for a struggle of its televised or worldwide..but have we forgotten Gil-Scott Heron’s words? A…the Revolution can still occur and need not be televised or glamorous because it should be real and on going…I fear for my generation…my heart bleeds when history is not a demand in our lives. We no longer want to seek future knowledge of our past in order to bring all that was right into our present to fix it. We must fix this. Or be forever lost. Forever searching for meaning and purpose in this life and the answer lies within us. I cry for my generation. I fear for my generation. But I also live for my generation.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Liberate
Liberate her....
The lover who feels freely without inhibitions
But is stopped from performing..
For her land has hurt her
Used her
And discarded her
Liberate her....
And watch her enchanting dance entice and woo her lover to husband
And nurture her children
Liberate her....
The artist that captures her emotions through paint, pictures, and sculptures
But hands are bound by stereotypes and shades of grey ugliness
Fingers pricked by needles of sickness
Inspiration fogged by troubles of survival...
Liberate her...
The intellect that never ceases to educate herself with knowledge that she can fan out to her people
But is closeted by talks of beauty as priority over her mind.
Books closed..not bought and replaced by superficial ideals
Liberate her...
Allow the breeze of self discovery run through her hair
Caress the skin
And be inhaled...
Liberate woman...
Let her LIVE
Monday, January 9, 2012
Addiction
Images of things that once were...haunt the mind
Creeps down through the shoulders
Into the blood stream
Straight to the heart
no tune available to inject into the veins of longing
No book with sad endings to empathize
Gotta numb the pain
The craving
The addiction of remembering
Skin itches for the touch from that supply
Where is the fix
That cures the heart
Flows throw the blood streams
Up the shoulders
And into the mind that temporarily erases those images
Embraces
Words
Images of laughter
that now are deathly screams
Ring loudly
Reminding that there are no smiles here
Gotta numb the pain
The craving
The addiction of remembering
You
Saturday, January 7, 2012
TREE RAIN SEEDS
with the wind,
on fresh plowed land, fertile with the seeds of hope, restoration, and freedom
They dance...
Heads bent back palms out and up, those shades of Brown move to songs of evolution and promise...
Their cries of jubilation will be heard through the eardrums of generations to come...
Watch..
And behold the release of knowledge as he dances on and alongside his foundation....
Witness his desire to support their growth..
He bends and sways like the graceful tree
But never cracks..
He provides shade, OXYGEN and the ROOTS for his fertile land that lies underneath his sturdy limbs..
With the SON giving him light and guidance...his fertile land can stretch far and wide...
Into plantations of educated fruits that produce the like....
Behold...
These Brown figures are men..
Now slow the pace...
A sultry rhythm can be heard....
Hips grow wider..
Wombs..ground fertile
Here comes the rain...
Smoothe....
Nurturing rain...
Providing the necessary ingredient to keep the fresh plowed land alive.....
Rains heartbeat beats for all seeds that she waters.
Her soul....
Attached to the ROOTS of that tree....
Giving him life assistance...
Aiding him with maintaining that plantation of abundance....
Watch.
Her soulful moves are the wind...
Rain....
For these brown figures are women....
On fresh plowed land they dance on one accord....
No step is forgotten...
No beat missed....
Free together....they rely on one another for survival....
Watch
Behold....
Witness them disappear into the SON
for guidance....
The tree, his rain, and their seeds...
Witness
Testify
For on this day a family was born
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Old Sara
Crooked back...aged....
Eyes gone bad..teeth narrowed down to tooth..
Yea I know Old Sara..
Sits on her porch..rocking in her chair.. smile on her face..tooth exposed...
One tear down her right cheek...
Yea I know Old Sara..
Say she is over 102..
And she lived through times greater than me
...rocking in her chair..smile on her face ....tooth exposed
One tear down her right cheek...
Yea I know Old Sara..
No one dare speak to her...
Something must be wrong with this old woman..
Crooked back...aged....and still smiling....
Each wrinkle well earned...deserved...
Say she used to be beautiful....Old Sara....
Thick hair as long as it can get...
Look now..
Old Sara...I know her...
Same hair thick as cloth...silver by knowledge...
Look there now....At Old Sara...
She beckons all to draw near...
I know old Sara....
But not of her words.....
Say she doesn't speak much....so I lean in to hear...
One word is all she says....and leans back..rocking in her chair...smile on her face...tooth exposed....
One tear down her right cheek....
Yea I know Old Sara...
Old Sara is ...
History
The Smell Life
This smell is familiar to me...
Of morning hopes intoxicating fragrance lingering in my air..
Reminding me that yesterdays stench was only a test.....
I passed....
This smell is familiar to me......
Fresh rain falling, caressing her lover...
Encouraging him to grow and provide the grounds for their seeds to flourish...
Love....
This smell, yes, is familiar to me.....
It is smell of rotten flesh....
For Dead is the people who cease to progress..cease to evolve...to learn..
I cry...
Eyes closed I breathe in all that I smell...
Strengthening my lungs...my soul....my mind