© 18 January 2005, The Griot Poet
I hear the cries of my ancestors.
A beautiful sister on a microphone in long, flowing choir robes
Rears back and belts out a tone originating from the tragicomic pain of American blues.
I hear the cries of my ancestors.
A people of differing tribes, customs and hues, herded through Goree Island gates; stacked end-to-end between bile and crates on slave ships
Subjugated by the threat of noose and becoming “strange fruit,” burning crosses, night raids and the incessant crackle of whips across backs stripped of skin – but not dignity.
I hear the cries of my ancestors.
On the one day (with chagrin) massa gave us a measured freedom: a Constantine-ordained Sunday measured by massa’s presence, measuring each word of the “Word” from the pulpit for content;
Raised fingers to ask his permission to relieve themselves during services.
I hear the cries of my ancestors.
As Invictus from William Ernest Henley: “their heads were bloody, yet unbowed.”
Bowed only to a God and a hope for a people they could not (yet) see.
I hear the cries of my ancestors.
Laying on hands made sense, as we had no access to medicines other than folk remedies from Africa, forcing us into a deeper spirituality, speaking in unknown tongues in intimate communion with the ultimate reality.
As I am juxtaposed between here and then on the unbowed backs of women and men like: Phyllis Wheatley, Ida B. Wells, Shirley Chisholm “neither bossed or bought”; Barbara Jordan whose “FAITH in the constitution was complete and whole,” Zora Neal Hurston, Toni Morrison, Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes, W.E.B. Dubois, Carter G. Woodson, Medger Evers, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr.
All this as I sit on the mourner’s bench, reciting the coded one-hundreds in unknown tongues giving the signal to Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman, hands laid on my countenance imparting to me the freedom cries of my ancestors!
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Friday, January 21, 2005
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar
© 21 January 2005, The Griot Poet
Inspired by William River Pitt of Truthout: http://truthout.org/fyi/.
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
As I swallow the bitter swill of pundit largess: “free speech zones” for the restless peon hordes told to “eat cake” by Marie Antoinette administrations and BLOGS for the alternate press.
Watching his Skull and Bones fraternity brother mouth the Oath of Office stone-faced… for what could have been – without much difference – his place?
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
Jesus, blond-haired and blue-eyed moves stealthily under Iranian skies spying on the next spoke in the “Axis of Evil” wars without end.
Any Melanin-rich Aramaic representations of Him or His mother’s visage’s long ago conveniently PC’d and purged by Michelangelo’s genius.
“The poor you will have with you always” did not mean CREATE even more in the rape, plunder and murder for 2nd and 3rd world resources from Malthusian slaves for cell phones, pagers, computers, TVs, Nikes, blue jeans and SUVs.
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
We are a hare’s whisker from totalitarian rule, in the image of “We” by Zamyatin and Orwell’s “1984”; one more terrorist attack from a Declaration of Independence and constitution also seeming “quaint” and inconvenient… like Geneva conventions, reducing the ideas of deistic founding fathers to the dreamy wishes of idealistic fools!
As I search in the political and spiritual darkness for my epidermal RFID chip (used for tithes and offerings at certain Constantine mega churches and approved by the current FDA)
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar!
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
”To the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
”Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Inspired by William River Pitt of Truthout: http://truthout.org/fyi/.
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
As I swallow the bitter swill of pundit largess: “free speech zones” for the restless peon hordes told to “eat cake” by Marie Antoinette administrations and BLOGS for the alternate press.
Watching his Skull and Bones fraternity brother mouth the Oath of Office stone-faced… for what could have been – without much difference – his place?
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
Jesus, blond-haired and blue-eyed moves stealthily under Iranian skies spying on the next spoke in the “Axis of Evil” wars without end.
Any Melanin-rich Aramaic representations of Him or His mother’s visage’s long ago conveniently PC’d and purged by Michelangelo’s genius.
“The poor you will have with you always” did not mean CREATE even more in the rape, plunder and murder for 2nd and 3rd world resources from Malthusian slaves for cell phones, pagers, computers, TVs, Nikes, blue jeans and SUVs.
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar…
We are a hare’s whisker from totalitarian rule, in the image of “We” by Zamyatin and Orwell’s “1984”; one more terrorist attack from a Declaration of Independence and constitution also seeming “quaint” and inconvenient… like Geneva conventions, reducing the ideas of deistic founding fathers to the dreamy wishes of idealistic fools!
As I search in the political and spiritual darkness for my epidermal RFID chip (used for tithes and offerings at certain Constantine mega churches and approved by the current FDA)
On the Occasion of the Inauguration of Caesar!
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
”To the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
”Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Sunday, January 16, 2005
In Tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
These are two tributes to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. They are written with the hindsight knowledge of Dr. King the man: preacher, teacher, prophet, adulterer, sexist, misogynist. I do not say these things lightly.
I prefer the whole package with all its strengths and flaws. I prefer to think of Dr. King as a man and honor him with these pieces. It takes away our excuse to be "perfect" before we get to the task he set before us.
April 4, 1968
© 4 April 2004, The Griot Poet
America deciphered: “I am race,”
Skated the slate of liberation,
Twisting freedom via litigation,
Stating we were three-fifths human.
The delusion kept alive from a pulpit
For Sundays and centuries
From slavery and bitter memories
Until a vilified, controversial
Whore-mongering warrior poet
Would take the stand.
After Rosetta Park’s
Defiant, seated stand
Put boldness in backbones
Stooped by noose,
Night raids,
Razed townships like:
Rosewood;
Greenwood, Archer and Pine
(Black Wall Street before the GAP Band)
Jim Crow and burning crosses.
He
Would put into practice
Philosophies
By Mahatma Gandhi
And Palestinian Prophets
Taking action against
Pharaoh’s factions
Daily hurtling
Towards being a noble sacrifice.
April 4, 1968:
Bethlehem Community Center
In East Winston-Salem, North Carolina…
Teachers sat down a kindergarten
Class relaying the sad news
That their Moses,
Who had “been to the mountaintop…”
Died.
Urban children,
Spread three-to-five
Shed hot tears
In an understanding
Beyond their years
Until time for
Their 11 o’clock
Nap.
After that,
Recess was recessed,
The slow build never
Really got to the
Typical level of activity
We enjoyed.
Confederate flags
And pick up trucks
Rode through our
Section
Honking,
Cursing,
Hoping
To start
A ruckus.
No joy
In the usual
Toys; no joy
In parent pick up:
My father
Solemn
And red-eyed.
I held him tight with
Five-year-old
Arms,
Needing his strength on
The day
Moses
Died.
Mountaintop Sermons
© 14 January 2005, The Griot Poet
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
But, I want you to understand,
I was just a man
Just as flawed, just as human
Prone to mistakes
And at times, degraded women and my own race
In unintended ignorance
Playing a slave singing dark ditties
In Margaret Mitchell’s film version
Of the novel “Gone With the Wind.”
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
But, I want you to understand,
I was just a man
And don’t take this day
As a day off
But a day ON
Do the marches; sing the songs
Don’t go back to “business as usual.”
You see,
If you let them
They’ll make a symbol out of me,
They’ll use select verses of my
Most heart felt sermons
To propel a commercial agenda
And a political bent
Which is meant
To keep you behind a neon
Mental sign of exclusion
More powerful than the ones
I viewed
On water fountains and theaters saying:
Whites only; Coloreds only
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
And, I want you to understand
I was just a man
Like David,
A man after God’s own heart
That if he lived today
Would be vilified
On 24-hour news stations diatribes
Before this and every nation
Until he
Abdicated dignity and civility
In costly impeachment investigations
You will see
People still trying to vilify me
Years after I’m gone
Fallen by natural causes… or other means
Using FBI tapes and illegal wire taps
I was just trying to follow Jesus
The living revolutionary
Who told me in His sermons “they will hate you, as they hated me.”
But that didn’t stop His march to Calvary,
And it didn’t stop my march in Selma,
It didn’t stop my march in “Bombing Ham” for four little black girls,
It didn’t stop my march in Atlanta,
It didn’t stop my march in Chicago,
It didn’t stop my march in Detroit,
It didn’t stop my march in Washington, DC!
It won't stop with YOUR march...
You see,
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
If you really want to honor me,
"Try to love somebody,"
Be a "drum major for justice,"
And realize,
One person
YOU
Can make a difference!
I prefer the whole package with all its strengths and flaws. I prefer to think of Dr. King as a man and honor him with these pieces. It takes away our excuse to be "perfect" before we get to the task he set before us.
April 4, 1968
© 4 April 2004, The Griot Poet
America deciphered: “I am race,”
Skated the slate of liberation,
Twisting freedom via litigation,
Stating we were three-fifths human.
The delusion kept alive from a pulpit
For Sundays and centuries
From slavery and bitter memories
Until a vilified, controversial
Whore-mongering warrior poet
Would take the stand.
After Rosetta Park’s
Defiant, seated stand
Put boldness in backbones
Stooped by noose,
Night raids,
Razed townships like:
Rosewood;
Greenwood, Archer and Pine
(Black Wall Street before the GAP Band)
Jim Crow and burning crosses.
He
Would put into practice
Philosophies
By Mahatma Gandhi
And Palestinian Prophets
Taking action against
Pharaoh’s factions
Daily hurtling
Towards being a noble sacrifice.
April 4, 1968:
Bethlehem Community Center
In East Winston-Salem, North Carolina…
Teachers sat down a kindergarten
Class relaying the sad news
That their Moses,
Who had “been to the mountaintop…”
Died.
Urban children,
Spread three-to-five
Shed hot tears
In an understanding
Beyond their years
Until time for
Their 11 o’clock
Nap.
After that,
Recess was recessed,
The slow build never
Really got to the
Typical level of activity
We enjoyed.
Confederate flags
And pick up trucks
Rode through our
Section
Honking,
Cursing,
Hoping
To start
A ruckus.
No joy
In the usual
Toys; no joy
In parent pick up:
My father
Solemn
And red-eyed.
I held him tight with
Five-year-old
Arms,
Needing his strength on
The day
Moses
Died.
Mountaintop Sermons
© 14 January 2005, The Griot Poet
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
But, I want you to understand,
I was just a man
Just as flawed, just as human
Prone to mistakes
And at times, degraded women and my own race
In unintended ignorance
Playing a slave singing dark ditties
In Margaret Mitchell’s film version
Of the novel “Gone With the Wind.”
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
But, I want you to understand,
I was just a man
And don’t take this day
As a day off
But a day ON
Do the marches; sing the songs
Don’t go back to “business as usual.”
You see,
If you let them
They’ll make a symbol out of me,
They’ll use select verses of my
Most heart felt sermons
To propel a commercial agenda
And a political bent
Which is meant
To keep you behind a neon
Mental sign of exclusion
More powerful than the ones
I viewed
On water fountains and theaters saying:
Whites only; Coloreds only
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
And, I want you to understand
I was just a man
Like David,
A man after God’s own heart
That if he lived today
Would be vilified
On 24-hour news stations diatribes
Before this and every nation
Until he
Abdicated dignity and civility
In costly impeachment investigations
You will see
People still trying to vilify me
Years after I’m gone
Fallen by natural causes… or other means
Using FBI tapes and illegal wire taps
I was just trying to follow Jesus
The living revolutionary
Who told me in His sermons “they will hate you, as they hated me.”
But that didn’t stop His march to Calvary,
And it didn’t stop my march in Selma,
It didn’t stop my march in “Bombing Ham” for four little black girls,
It didn’t stop my march in Atlanta,
It didn’t stop my march in Chicago,
It didn’t stop my march in Detroit,
It didn’t stop my march in Washington, DC!
It won't stop with YOUR march...
You see,
“I’ve been to the mountaintop…”
If you really want to honor me,
"Try to love somebody,"
Be a "drum major for justice,"
And realize,
One person
YOU
Can make a difference!
Friday, January 07, 2005
Pastor Feel Good
© 6 January 2005, The Griot Poet
Since when did the disciples rock mansions and Bentleys?
Wed million-dollar Barbie-doll models (on their second or third marriages)?
Tele-evangelists fleece their flocks of millions of desperate souls
That no pundit pollster is LIKELY to poll
Sending silver and gold “Reverend Ike-like” prayer cloths tracing my hand and foot for a two hundred buck investment into your 50-foot yacht – WHAT?
Pastor Feel Good:
How do you sleep damning the memory of Palestinian Prophets receiving a Roman “empire-strikes-back” beat down and rusty nails in His hands and feet?
“Depart from me, you workers of iniquity” was preached when the Hebrew sect called Christianity did not exist – YOU were on that list!
They say “war is a racket,” then church is a hustle!
And the bustle to merge the twain that never should meet frees us of the guilt of stealing civil liberties in
Guantanamo;
Afghanistan;
America and Iraq.
Torture memos disavowed by the author of the same in confirmation investigations;
Having corporate selections and calling them elections.
Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. had to go!
“Their dead bodies lying in the streets of the great city spiritually called Sodom and Egypt.” (Rev 11:8)
Because the beast could not suffer the truth told by servants humble, humanly flawed and meek.
But each, as Ozzie Davis said of Malcolm, were seeds planted in the ground nourished by their own blood coming up not just as “trees planted by rivers of water” (Psalms 1:3),
But like Langston, just as deep and resurrected in spoken word prophets: some Christian, some Hebrew, some Muslim, some Buddhist, some Atheist, and some Anarchist,
Spoken word prophets preaching peace to power in venues instead of pulpits where TRUTH can’t be warped, spun or STOPPED!
Since when did the disciples rock mansions and Bentleys?
Wed million-dollar Barbie-doll models (on their second or third marriages)?
Tele-evangelists fleece their flocks of millions of desperate souls
That no pundit pollster is LIKELY to poll
Sending silver and gold “Reverend Ike-like” prayer cloths tracing my hand and foot for a two hundred buck investment into your 50-foot yacht – WHAT?
Pastor Feel Good:
How do you sleep damning the memory of Palestinian Prophets receiving a Roman “empire-strikes-back” beat down and rusty nails in His hands and feet?
“Depart from me, you workers of iniquity” was preached when the Hebrew sect called Christianity did not exist – YOU were on that list!
They say “war is a racket,” then church is a hustle!
And the bustle to merge the twain that never should meet frees us of the guilt of stealing civil liberties in
Guantanamo;
Afghanistan;
America and Iraq.
Torture memos disavowed by the author of the same in confirmation investigations;
Having corporate selections and calling them elections.
Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. had to go!
“Their dead bodies lying in the streets of the great city spiritually called Sodom and Egypt.” (Rev 11:8)
Because the beast could not suffer the truth told by servants humble, humanly flawed and meek.
But each, as Ozzie Davis said of Malcolm, were seeds planted in the ground nourished by their own blood coming up not just as “trees planted by rivers of water” (Psalms 1:3),
But like Langston, just as deep and resurrected in spoken word prophets: some Christian, some Hebrew, some Muslim, some Buddhist, some Atheist, and some Anarchist,
Spoken word prophets preaching peace to power in venues instead of pulpits where TRUTH can’t be warped, spun or STOPPED!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)