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poems of the week

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A-B-C's (a historical alphabet of) 
  K	-or-  the Economy of E-Bonics

   they cAme 
   	   Columbus &thought 
      they Belonged because

          Being born in 
          places like Botswana
          Biafra, Bimini &Brazil

                 Captured &
               Begging to be Brought 
                    Back by Boat …

                      Bale of 
                       Cotton left
                     Branded as Burglars …

                     Bandits & Burdened 
                     Brought & Bargained 
                     for by Bigots

                     Beaten & Broken

                             Betrayed & Brutalized
                             -- by being black --

                                       but it … BE'S … that
                                         way sometime!

All  Black Common Denominators Eventually Find Grievous Homicide Is
Justified Killing Lasting More Nor Opposing Proper Questioning 
Reasonable Standards Test Underachievers Vicariously When X & Y = Zero

26 letters in the alphabet …19 out of 41 B-ullets in Diallo's B-ody 
"How do you spell B-elief?"

                       "Class - Diss’- Missed"

Saleem Abdal-Klaaiq (c)

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             IN MEMORIAM

if you have tears give them to me
when have you heard that the man in the supreme chair
has exchanged his thinking cap for the shell of a crab?

where have you heard that it is right
to close your eyes when all around you
open their eyes to be humanely judicious?

if you have tears give them to me
when the hunter's snare catches the monkey
it is time for crawling animals to beware

the leopard and the wolf went to fish
when the sun went down to sleep the
wolf did not return to his children

what befell the wolf only heaven knows
only the leopard knows
only the gods would know

to hold your knife and drill holes
into the skin of a deer
and ask him if he has red blood

can only be a song sung to children
but when it becomes a dance-drama
only those who eat fresh skull-meals

can be bold to say:
I don't care, I won't care
and it does not matter

tell me which mother would not cry
when the child of her hopes
drops dead in his quartermoon

not that he was called home by his Creator
but gunned down by the man paid to protect him?
tell me gently that I may know

tell me softly that I may have a word for my children
my brother, when the hunter's snare catches the monkey
tell my sisters it is time for crawling animals to beware

Padmore Agbemabiese (c)

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41 shots
4 trigger happy cops
Another Black man is dead
Not a street savvy punk
Like the last one they beat up
But, a hardworking immigrant instead
Still there is no justice
Still no proper blame
Move the trial to the suburbs
Where all folks think the same
Worried about their riches
The dirty sons of witches
Didn't have the nerve
to convict those that protect & serve
their interests
One less potential thug to worry about
Besides one cop did shed some tears
As he worried about the years
of retirement pension he might lose
once word got out
Was he sorry?
Yes indeed
Such accuracy & speed
He followed his peers straight to Hell
Too late to undo the damage
This would cost a lot of cabbage
Hurry! Conjure up the right story to tell
They reloaded & kept on shooting
Although the poor man was on the ground
They thought he'd raped some white women
So they had a right to gun him down
But, when they figured out
No medals would be earned
They had to figure out 
how to keep from getting burned
Take it to the suburbs
Where all the folks think white
Doesn't matter what color
All Dollarmites think alike

Crystal Cartier (c)

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I awaken to the still ..
of the morning sunrise
Beckoning it's reckoning...
                yet am I surprised?
I grace my thought 
to the world's famous entertainment machine.
As I'm reminded
        Of another dreadful scene.
A six year old 
        With gun in hand.
Another life taken,
        So short a time-span.
A gunman goes on..
        Yet another killing spree.
As bodies fall briskly,
        All around me.
As I peer out the window,
        To start my day.
I wonder what homage.
        I will have to pay.
I glance back,
        As a father is shown from his captive cell.
Is there any valid story,
        He could possibly tell.
I walk through the room,
        As my body slumps on a chair.
Am I surprised...
        At the dread in the air.
I glance back motionless..
        At the beauty of the morning sunrise.
And hold my face in hand..
        For I'm still not surprised.
Then in a flash,
        Another story spills.
41 shots....
        Another of the innocent killed.
Now I fade..
        For my body is just a shell
From the morning glory,
        My soul has fell.
I slowly move..
        And force my energy to rise.
I have to get started..
        Yet still I'm not surprised.
I press the button,
        As the screen goes dark.
I try to hide my thoughts.
        From the place where.. 
                reckless random has parked.
Now in the space.
        Serenity...herein lies blank.
As I wallow in the misery,
        Where my senses have also sank.
I open the door,
        And peer up at the now clouds in sky.
Still not surprised..
        That sadness devoured herein lies.

Gloria Ware (c)

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A World Trade Center in Smoke,
In Lockerbie, metal souls lay shattered,
Simple diners in a Luby’s Cafeteria,
Blood on their chests,

Apple tarts in their laps.
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

Murrah building in bits,
Concrete and flesh mixed in the rain,
In Colorado Columbine scent of gunsmoke,
While a beauty queen lass lay grotesque.
In a Michigan McDonalds, coffee mingles with death.
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

A mother mourns her daughter just six,
A two-year old calls for dad,
Who is quiet in the twisted metal of a van.
While a drunk asks stupidly, "what happened?"
A teen in the gutter, a needle in his arm, vacant, gone.
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

Strewn body parts across the nation,
Young girls disembodied for a maniac’s grin,
Young black boys floating sightless in the river,
While we once again sit shocked, in denial.
Forty whacks with an axe?
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

Burning crosses in the night,
Flayed flesh tattered at the end of a chain,
Chevy vengeance because of a name,
A door not hung straight,
And the skin color not right, but red is red.
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

A Cuban boy in the seas alone,
Forty-one bullets fly to an unknown now known,
Smoke curls from the Branches of Dividian fame,
Bombs burst, and bodies fly,
So who is afraid of Virginia Wolf?
All for what?
And whom shall we blame?

Catastrophic destruction,
Personal losses and pains
Road rages, acts of anger unchained,
Public defenders now public offenders,
Guns, drugs, bombs, alcohol, fate,
All for what?
When will we take our share of the blame?

Shaun Cecil (c)

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Roaming free through the field of dreams
Not realizing all is not what it seems
For I did not see, until too late
Never knew of my awaiting fate
Bound in chains, feet & hands
Never to see again my beloved homeland
Thrown in a ship to sail cross the sea
To begin a new life in this thing called slavery
On an auction block, sold like cattle
Only served as a catalyst for my mental battle
To not forget from whence I came
Even though they have decided to change my name
Whipped like an animal, it only makes me stronger
Lay awake at night wondering how much longer
Children stolen from parents, raped and tossed away
We’re not considered human, we have no say
As to what happens to us, that's decided by others
How I long to hear the sweet voice of my dear mother
But in this land, I must become a man, 
Whatever the obstacle I must stand
Bound in chains, but free in my mind
Knowing freedom for my people will come in time
But now it the time to assimilate all I can
To learn how to do things like the white man
For they don't know but they have given us the vehicle to move ahead
To use their knowledge to our advantage, they soon will have much to dread
For we shall attain greatness, through inventions, 
sports, artistic talents & financial gain
We shall rise to the occasion, we shall never be the same.
For the fight is not physical, but in one’s mind
Remember who you are and you will never be left behind.

Lamont Bishop (c)

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