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Poetic Expressions
and Prose
The Ebony Kryptonite by
Samara King
 Poetry
is the fusion of the heart, body and soul. The raw force of the spirit's
delight, triumphs and tribulations. Journey with me...
"Shug like honey. And now I's just like a bee." Celie, The Color
Purple...
And so it is for me and poetry, inseparable from a time before my comprehension.
I can't tell you the precise time, minute or second in which words intertwined
their potent web around me or when concept of prose and rhyme married, blending
within it the very core of me.
What I can say is poetry is like air to my lungs, lyrics to a hot beat and
within its textures and hues; I create the motley of my life, experiences,
observations, and a mix of reality, fantasy and possibility.
I believe one of the most powerful legacies we as human beings leave behind when
we are no longer will be our words. Their power can provide strength,
inspiration and love. A legacy as described makes one richer than all the
millionaires combined.
About the Author
Samara King began her
literary journey at the age of twelve years old while sneaking to the back of
the library and indulging in romance novels; soon after, she wrote her own! She
has penned three novels and eleven novellas all within the multicultural erotic
romance genre, as well as two poetry collections.
In 2010, Samara launched SK MINIs, her novella imprint to be headed by
Samara King Books, her self publishing company.
Her first poetry collection, The Ebony Kryptonite, will be followed by
The Naked The Bare. She has been published by Cobblestone Press, Changeling
Press, Loose Id, and Total-e-Bound to date.
Currently she is working on her next SK MINI project! Samara lives with her
teenage son, where she encounters new adventures every day that service her in
the creation of each of her stories! Readers can reach her at: http://samaraking.com
STRONG BLACK COFFEE
Poetry and Prose to Enlighten, Encourage, and Entertain Americans of African
Descent
 The term African-American to me implies that we are a people whose original home was Africa, i.e. we are recent immigrants from her hallowed shores. The implication therefore is this: that we are secondary U.S. citizens.
In reality we are descended from a people whose original home was Africa. The journey from freedom to bondage, to freedom again changed us. The rape and miscegenation mixed our blood with many of slavery’s willing participants from Asia, Europe, and the Middle East.
We used to think of our blood as tainted, and indeed, there are many people who still feel that way. That feeling has divided us…and it’s too bad because…we are Americans first…and if you are an American of African descent, a descendant of the people who were brought here by force, then you are in everyone and everyone is in you!
This is your poetry.
This is the voice of a motherless and fatherless child.
This is the STRONG voice of a lost one now found.
Now grab this strong cup of black coffee, drink it up, and let it strengthen your soul!
Strong Black Coffee: Poetry and Prose to Enlighten, Encourage, and Entertain Americans of African Descent
by Lena M. Fields-Arnold
Now Available on Barnes & Nobles Online
Read excerpts on: www.strongblackcoffee.info
ISBN-13: 9780979561337
 About the Author
Lena M. Arnold is the author of For This Child We Prayed: Living with the Secret Shame of Infertility and For This Dream We Prayed Companion Journal. Lena and her husband Horace started INfertility Press an imprint of Emperor Publishing, in an effort to dispel many of the myths associated with infertility in both the African-American and Christian communities.
Her work has been featured in numerous periodicals, and will soon be featured in “Free to Fly: Transitions for the Seasons in a Woman’s Life,” published by InSCRIBEd Inspirations. As a motivational speaker, Lena applies the lessons learned from clinical infertility to the social, emotional and spiritual infertility many of us feel in various areas of our lives. As a wife, and mother of three—including her “double blessing” of twin sons—Lena seeks to encourage and empower women to “give birth” to all their dreams!
Lena is also a respected consultant on family and youth issues and has spent the last 20 years working tirelessly on their behalf. She is primarily responsible for helping non-profits & businesses achieve organizational goals through the creation of effective development strategies.
As a graduate of the Wright State University School of Liberal Arts, she began her career as a journalist and has written for several periodicals within the Dayton community where she currently resides with her husband and three children. She is consistently sought out as a motivational speaker for her dynamic public speaking abilities.
Black Pearls Community
Inspiration
THE TEARS OF A MOTHER
by Carlet Horne
No one knows the tears of a Mother but Another
The excitement of pregnancy brings them on
Morning Sickness, Crazy Apetites, Swollen Feet, Weight Gain….
Labor Pains, Birth, A Beautiful Baby; Tears come strong
From newborn to a crawling infant; Then comes the terrible two’s
Bottles, pampers, sleepless nights; So much to do
Pre-school, Elementary, Junior High…..
Look at how the years just seem to fly by
Then one day you look, Little Junior isn’t a baby anymore
Almost finished High School to embark on an adult world
You ask, “What happened to my baby? Where did time go?”
Lord Help Me! I’m not ready to let go….
Then one day, in a still small voice, God speaks and says….
“You must let him go so that he can grow….
Into the man I called him to be before the foundations were formed.
Do not be worried, neither be alarmed.”
You talk to others who try and understand but to no avail
Then one day you share your story, its hurts and pains, with Another Mother
And you think to yourself, finally someone sees my tears; She gets me….
As if she hears your thoughts she replies, “Yes, I know how you feel.”
Written by Carlet Horne
gfmember2005@hotmail.com
© 2011 All rights reserved.
Walking the Country Road (from Earth Roads chapter)
by Deborah Renee, author of A Better Kind of Madness
I glance back, the view from here
is vast. The long serpentine country
road reaches out, surrounded by stoic
trees that are moved only by seasons.
Standing tall as a massive army,
the trees' only duty is to shade
lonely roads. Reaching through its
winding paths, the road seems
serene but not content, beckoning me
to return. Was there something I forgot?
Knowing mystical roads speak loudly
in stillness,.....
( Continued on "preview" page of Deborah Renee's website www.bettermadness.com
)
All poems included in the book A Better Kind of Madness. Copyright © 2010 by Deborah Renee. Excerpted and reprinted for promotional purposes with permission of the author. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
About Deborah Renee, author of A Better Kind of Madness
Deborah Renee has worked in the field of MH/MR, and with individuals with physical disabilities in direct care and as a case manager for eight years. She spent time employed as a coordinator and tutor in an adult literacy program, and also worked in customer service at an internet-based company. For the past several years, she has worked as a Nursing Assistant with AIDS patients, and the geriatric population in hospice, short-term and long-term care. She has had several poems published in various magazines, including Writer's World, Cat Fancy Magazine and Poet Sanctuary Reflections 2010.
Through the years she's taken study courses at Community College of Philadelphia and Temple University in Education. She spent parts of her childhood growing up in Sanford, Florida; Willingboro, New Jersey and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where she currently resides. This is her first published collection of poems.
She currently works as a Rehab Assistant in a Geriatric Care Facility.
Our Plate of Goodness
by Deborah Ann Belka
I love this time of year,
with Thanksgiving just ahead
it reminds me of some considerations
that in the Bible I have read . . .
In everything, be grateful,
let joy and praise flow out of you
in all things, be thankful
give God, the glory He is due.
Make peacefulness your habitation,
let your gentleness be made known
be kind, tenderhearted and forgiving
never be the first - to cast a stone.
Extend a hand to the poor and needy,
let hospitality be your perfect gift
help all those who have not
bring back to God, those who are adrift.
Show others your appreciation,
let them see your heartfelt gratitude
bless them for their helpfulness
be not selfish in your works or attitude.
Reach out to the sick and hurting,
let them see Jesus' true compassion
show all an act of grace and mercy
let not the sun go down on your passion.
Be content with all that you have,
rejoice and abound in whatever is your state
be satisfied with all of the goodness
God has placed on your Thanksgiving plate.
In everything, be thankful,
let your praise be heard by all
in everything, be grateful
let your joy be seen by one and all!
Copyright 2011. All Rights Reserved.
Poetry Original Article Source
Connect with the Author
Deborah Ann Belka
bdebby@hotmail.com
www.hiswingsshadow.com
The Joy In The Morning and a New Day Begins
By Doris Washington
Yesterday has come and gone.
Tomorrow brings promise,
And always hope.
And for now,
I’m doing alright.
Yes! I’m doing just fine.
And each breath I take,
It’s Good.
Yes! It’s All Good!
Hello Morning!
Morning © Doris Washington, April 2008. All rights reserved.
DORIS' POEMS
Email: Djeanw831@aol.com
Website: www.poetdoriswashington.com
Thinking by Walter D. Wintle
If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think you dare not, you don't
If you like to win, but you think you can't
It is almost certain you won't
If you think you'll lose, you're lost
For out of the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow's will
It's all in the state of mind.
If you think you are outclassed, you are
You've got to think high to rise,
You've got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life's battles don't always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man WHO THINKS HE CAN!
© 2008 All rights reserved.
My Flow by Marian L. Thomas
Some ask how do I write
I say to them that I don’t write
My heart begins to sing
And my mind begins to breathe
When my pen stops
Then the words drop
Slipping off my chin
To create the poetry from within
It’s like a flow
A constant passion
That moves me to
Think, create and feel
It’s essence
It’s not sexy
Or rehearsed
Just a flow
Of the poetry from within
It’s a moment
Not of silence
But of inspiration
Desire and compassion
To create this poetry
This flow
Of the poetry from within
It’s not just smooth
But soothing
It’s not romance
But romantic
When I begin to flow
you can feel the poetry from within
It's no longer written
what drops off my tongue
It's not even poetic
It's My flow
© 2010 All rights reserved.
About the Author:
Marian L. Thomas, reared in Chicago but lives with her biggest-supporter—her husband and their spoiled but playful dog, Winston in Atlanta, Georgia. Her debut title, Color Me Jazzmyne, went on to become an Amazon Best-Seller and was ranked as one of the" Top 100 Books"-1st Qtr 2010 by the Sankofa Literary Society Review.
Marian welcomes the release of her second book, My Father's Colors-The Drama-Filled Journey of Naya Monà Continues
to online retailers, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, Kindle and Nook. Be sure to get your copy today! It is sure to be another Best-Seller for the author as it takes you on the journey of four individuals that lead to one destination filled with betrayal, lies and shocking secrets.
Author's Website: http://www.marianlthomas.com
God's Peace
by Doris Washington
When the world seems too much to bear,
Too much to grasp,
I seek your peace within.
I find your strength to sustain me at all times.
And I pray more than ever before.
For it's your peace that flows like the water
Along any brook or stream.
It's your peace that makes the new fallen snow
So beautiful on a brisk winter's morning.
It's your peace when the birds sing so lovely
On a warm summer's day.
It's your peace when the leaves fall so gently
In October.
It's your peace so beautiful.
When the world seems too much to bear,
Too much to grasp-
I look up to know you're always there.
With you-
Such Peace-
I Find.
God's Peace copyright (c) Doris Washington, August 2009. All rights
reserved.
Doris Washington, author of A
Blessing, Caring & Sharing and Faith, Hope & Love.
About the Author/Poet
Doris Washington is a spiritual writer, author, poet, and disability
advocate who resides in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania with her husband and son John.
Doris takes the inspiration from her poetry from an unfortunate incident that
involved her 18-year-old son with autism, and two police officers in December
1993. This incident impacted Doris' life greatly. She was empowered to advocate
for a statewide program for police officers to be aware of and recognize persons
with special needs. And it was through this period of Doris' life her writing
began.
Her son is her inspiration to write. She has written over 450 poems about her
closeness with God, spirituality, autism awareness, inspirations, positive
thinking, social issues in our world, and greetings. She is an entrepreneur of
DORIS' POEMS. She does poetry readings at nursing homes, and residential home
facilities, churches, and the community. Her poems continue to inspire many. Her
desire hopes that her poetry will be an inspiration for the world. Visit her
website, here.
The World Goes Around
by Allen Kai Ho Reyes
As one continues to meet new kinsman
Some of the new become good companions
Others become mere associates and acquaintances
Still others are passerby in life maintenance
Whatever the being
Whatever your actuality
Whatever the eventuality
Whatever your reality
Whatever your spirituality
Thank the Creator for allowing us to touch each other
Thank God for allowing us to learn about
self through others
We're spirits and souls in time and space
passing one another
We're in a shared journey as one world brood
Keep the peace as our stream flows one blood
One love blanketing one ground
As the world goes around.
© 2010 All rights reserved. Allen Kai Ho Reyes
Allen Kai is a Spoken Word artist who writes inspirational poetry. A native of Philadelphia, he writes about real life experiences.
Valley of Thanksgiving
by Muyiwa Babalola
I walk on the grass wondering how it grows
The wind is hardly seen but always felt
The rain falls and feeds the entire flock
Shining through the sky, the Sun says hello
For these and more I say thanks
I stare through my window and nature beckons
The Incarcerated reckons only with the bars of prison
The door closes and another strangely opens
For those six feet under they lost life license
Whatever my lot, I give thanks
My baby screams and yells for no reason
For some all they have is a pet for all seasons
I walk the four corners of my Life
My mind's a grocery of memories.
I think through it all and offer thanks
I taste the melodies of Soweto
The vagrant resides in the homeless shelter
I feel the sound of determined peace
For most the normal are the brutalities of war
For the solace and more, I bow my head in awe.
The turkey is roasted and dressed for thanksgiving
The season changes with the beautiful colors of the season
I am surrounded by my awesome cousins
I raise my head and my body reasons
My gratitude has several seasonings
I once held a job that paid the bills
I notice that the test finally made me whole
Lingering on provision so very distant
I hold my plate for the daily rations of Manna.
I lie down on the hospital bed
A friend just got shot riding to Middle school
The garden sheds all its fruits
We drop our strength at the savior's feet
Some have eyes but cannot see
Some can see but have no eyes
We can see and we have eyes
We give thanks to the Lord Above.
Muyiwa Babalola ©2010 All Rights Reserved.
About
Muyiwa Babalola
Muyiwa Babalola, is the CEO of Bablofest. A company that specializes in writing poems for different occasions and host exceptional events. For more information including Muyiwa’s bio, kindly visit his website:
www.bablofest.com
Always With Hope
by Doris
Washington
(In Honor of the survivors of Breast Cancer and those courageous women whose fight for life continues
on author Doris Washington)
Always with Hope there's the reassurance
Things will get better.
And no matter what you're going through
At the moment,
No matter what trials you may endure-
It too will pass.
Always with Hope you're encouraged
To never stop believing,
You're encouraged to hold on to the blessings
He brings to you on any given day.
Always with Hope there's the reassurance
Things will get better-
Always With Hope
Always With Hope copyright (c) Doris Washington, September 2010. All rights reserved.
Happiness by Opal Craine
It’s when you know how to enjoy the small moments in everyday; it’s appreciating the randomness of it all in every way.
It’s the jolly you feel from a good hard laugh, the refreshing feeling of a good hot bath,
It’s good conversation over dinner for two, it’s someone you love saying I love you too.
It’s being enlightened by a beautiful mind, expressions of gratitude towards an act that’s kind.
It’s the cataract victims’ brand new sight-enjoying the beauty of a full moon’s light.
It’s cancer hiding its face in remission, a good man taking your daughter’s hand with permission.
It’s working hard to lose the excess weight, finally getting compliments and being asked out on dates.
It’s conception for the woman who’d been unable to conceive or a goal that was reached that seemed impossible to achieve.
It’s the experience of staring death straight in the face, renewing your strength and finding you place.
It’s a timely sermon from your favorite preacher, the sense of accomplishment of a mentor or teacher.
It’s the excitement of catching your first fish, thankfulness for a love one cooking your favorite dish.
It’s finding an old friend and feeling home again, it’s swallowing your pride and making amends.
It’s Dad with girls when he finally gets a son, it’s appreciation for family and special loved ones.
It’s the joy of a parent on graduation day, after struggles, and trials-they turned out okay.
Happiness is accepting that situations will come your way-believe in someone greater who can make the storms obey.
Copyright 2010. All Rights Reserved. Poem written by Opal Craine, Ladies of the Round Table Bookclub
Pressure by Opal Craine
Confusion, drama, dysfunction, deceit,
Obstacles, roadblocks-dreams incomplete,
Everywhere, everyday, images of defeat,
Pressure, stress, unbearable heat…
This madness is overwhelming and testing my beliefs.
Praying and fasting, results seem too slow,
I’ll fix it myself using everything I know,
No matter what I do the problems seem to grow,
Trying to hold it together-realities can’t show,
Pressure of high mountains while I’m deep down below.
Could this be Karma, remember days gone by?
Far from an angel easily told lies,
Poor choices, bad attitude I can’t deny,
Selfish and inconsiderate with no reason why.
Life makes its circle I’m feeling its pain,
Remnants of struggles and heartache remain,
God where is that care package to help me sustain,
Please don’t let this test leave me heartless and stained,
Rescue me peace, I’m, slipping-I’m drained.
Copyright 2010. All Rights Reserved. Poem written by Opal Craine, Ladies of the Round Table Bookclub
Fear by Fabiola Sully
Fear
I know your weaknesses.
I know your doubts.
I know when you're feeling down.
And your pessimistic thoughts.
I have crippled your thought process.
I have made you sulk.
I even broke you down,
Worrying about your insecurities.
I have kept misery within your grasp.
Knowing you're searching for true happiness.
I’ve kept you away from the unknown.
And all the inexperienced.
I’ve even kept you away from love.
Knowing you won’t know how to handle it.
Why deal with something you can’t control.
When you can’t step to the challenges.
You’ve tried to get rid of me.
Yeah, I know you fought back.
But I’ve kept striking.
Once your defenses were down.
Eating your confidence and well-being.
I know one day you will find the courage.
To put me out of my misery,
But when you have those feelings.
Of nervousness, tightness, and heat flashes,
I'll be there.
You know my name.
© 2003 Fabiola Sully. All Rights Reserved.
Finding the Way Home by Fabiola Sully
ISBN-13: 978-1432716226
Category: POETRY / General
Distributed via: Ingram, Baker & Taylor
Available at: www.outskirtspress.com/findingthewayhome
Author
and poet Fabiola Sully is a Haitian-American from Long island, New York but born in Brooklyn. She has been writing off and on since she was seventeen. Currently she writes part-time and works in the medical field full-time. Her book of poetry, "Finding the Way Home" was published in June 2009. Other than writing, she loves music, watching movies, reading, swimming, the arts and theater, and hopes to travel more in the future.
A Godly Marriage by Arnita L. Fields
God gave man an awesome role to cover his wife and to band around his home.
The husband's presence in the home, lets the whole world know that he takes
his position seriously, and that God has given him control.
His wife respects and praises him and neither are ashamed.
There's total peace in their home and no shifting of any blame.
The husband loves his wife and cherishes her with all of his heart.
He teaches his children God's statures to give them a godly start.
He is the priest of the home and a good provider too.
He manages his affairs with integrity, as a Godly man should do.
The husband does not allow outside forces to come in to disrupt his home.
Even with small concerns he does not try to handle them alone.
He and his wife share and are honest from their start.
They open up their extra baggage and also the doors to their very hearts.
Their marriage is a success as Godly marriages should be.
With obedience, faith and their special love with God the Father at the lead.
Just the Three of Us by Arnita L. Fields
It's you and me and God, just the three of us.
That's the way it should always be, just the three of us.
Marriage is not about our families, but about a covenant shared by three.
It's love that's bonded and begun by God.
As long as we walk together it should never be very hard.
First separately we must love God alone, and make sure our
relationship with Him is indeed strong.
This will enable us to love each other as God has ordained in His word.
It's you and me and God, just the three of us.
This is how God always wanted it and how it should always be.
Copyright 2008 Poems taken from the book, "And the Beat Goes On, Includes Poems from a Restored
Marriage" Copies can be purchased from the following websites:
www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com
Meet the Author
Arnita L. Fields, a woman after God's own heart, has been blessed with the opportunity to write and publish four books of Christian poetry to date. She is currently working on her first novel and a new poetry collection which both will be released late 2010.
Because of her passion and desire to see marriages operating in God's divine order, Arnita has returned to school to get a degree in Psychology and Marriage Counseling so she will be better equipped to help couples move past the hindrances that seek to destroy marriages today.
To contact Arnita you may email her at arnitafields@yahoo.com
or you may reach her on her Face book, Twitter and My Space pages.
For
The Children
By
Doris Washington
(In
Dedication To The Children of Haiti Earthquake Relief )
Give
to the Children -our children all over the world.
Let's
give with our hearts and hands open wide.
For
The Children! For The Children!
Let's
give to the children whose homes were
Taken
away as the earth shook,
Leaving
much despair, and the loss of so many- so many lives.
Let's
give to the Children- our children all over the world.
Let's
give to the children that live in a place
Where
poverty has large numbers,
And
their dreams for prosperity are their hopes to survive.
Let's
give to the Children - our children all over the world.
Let's
give to the children whose needs are so great,
In need
of food and medical care- and so much more.
Let's
give, and pray that their lives will be filled
With
prosperity, good health, much joy and love.
Let's
give to the Children- our children all over the world.
Give To
The Children - our children all over the world.
Let's
give with our hearts and hands open wide.
For
The Children! For The Children!
For
The Children copyright (c) Doris Washington, February 2010. All
rights reserved. Approval needed BEFORE reprinting. Recognized by former
President Bill Clinton in March 2010 with a personal letter to the author
The Revealing Journey by Nanette M. Buchanan
How far back in your history can you travel?
How far before your presence begins to rattle?
You can remember when you were three or four....
Further back...your ancestor's history is yours to explore.
Let your heart beat at a steady even pace.
As you journey to this revealing place.
Close your eyes, open your mind.
There's a lesson in this short journey back in time.
Do you see the ship, the torture chamber,
The transporting vessel to this land of the free.
Captured like animals, shackled and chained,
Forbidden to speak, freedom? How could this be?
Don't become upset,
Travel on....remember pages of history you have been taught.
Pages that state your ancestors were slaves, traded and brought.
Pages that say they were the white mans structured molds,
Our ancestors picked cotton, as the white man tore at their pride and souls
The chapters are vague when mentioning
Any black man or woman that contributed to inventions.
But how they talk of riots and lynching,
Not many pages on black cowboys or heroes, just fearful uprisings
They only name our mentors and leaders after we march and demand
They don't fit that white man's mold.....how surprising!
The books are to short to reveal what we touch, speak on and then forget
The ignorant white man's fear was "An educated nigger is a threat"
Boy was the name for males of all ages and size.
While wench and gal were names for girls soon to become Masta's prize.
In generations to follow history repeated again and again
We forgot the past as we scattered,
without education afraid of the white man.
The journey continues on today, what will be our history for tomorrow
Close your eyes now in prayer, save your tears for the foretold sorrows.
We have to learn from our history and our ancestor's experiences
There is a weapon to succeed.
If education is what they fear, education is what we need.
Copyright 2000--Thoughts & Reflections
No One Knows My Name by Tinisha Nicole Johnson
A little shy girl who grew into a woman with dreams and a voice to be heard
And no one told me this world was going to be so cold
I am but a speck on the earth from up above, looking down
I am but one,
I am but a person,
I am but another writer, another author, another expression of my serenity
I also recognize I want to get noticed...but no one knows my name
I can hear a mild sound, a distance bump-bump in the night,
It is my heart and it is yearning and sometimes stirring with mixed emotions, not knowing which turns are right
Walking on a line so thin, trying desperately to figure out my pathway
I already tried to be someone else, but I now know I can only be me, and yes… I have a name
Calm, delicate, watching the world pass right in front of me,
I see love and hate – a world filled with so much drama and different attitudes
And I just feel full of energy and take on the world by writing in magnitude
Writing is my comfort, it is my Life – I sometimes find myself hidden behind the words on the page
Words for people to read, enjoy, cry and laugh,
I’ve made my decision, and you will find out it’s affections upon you - generations upon generations
I’m ready to say what’s on my mind, so I need your attention, because this may take you on many elevations
I’ve been chained, banged, whipped and multiplied
And you don’t know my name
I’ve raised many children – some, not my own, and they have carried my values and fed from me
I have slaved the fields and held down an entire generation
And I am everyone’s mother, it seems
I’ve been called the minority because of my gender and my race
I have to fight with words and stand by my man and defend my family
If you only knew what these eyes have witnessed…Go ask you grandmother
The world is changing and things are happening, and if you don’t pay attention…well… you may have already missed it
A new generation, a new time…afro-puffs and hand cuffs, trying to fight for freedom. Black Power!
I now have many roles
I have my struggles, but I move on, cause my kind is strong like that
I can be anyone, the opportunity is there for me to grab
Visions, desires, and new challenges…
I am taking on the world with boldness
And yes, you will remember my name, because I am a Black Woman
An undeniable, evident, special, beautiful, God-fearing, phenomenal Black Woman
Written by: Tinisha Nicole Johnson
Author, Writer & Poet
www.TinishaNicoleJohnson.com
Now
Go Ahead Blame The White Man
by
Nanette
Buchanan
I decided to venture through the city, explore what may be new
Working a nine to five each day, sightseeing ain't what I normally do.
I let my mind drift through the struggles our communities face each day,
And my thoughts touched on what we often hear our people say.
We can't get jobs the unemployment rate is at an all time high
Health insurance, taxes, the gas prices have passed the ceiling heading for the
sky.
Programs are for the immigrants, damn we've been here longer then them
Let them get new businesses, buy property, give their kids scholarships, it's
just a sin.
More kids on the corner selling and skipping school
Don't nobody wanna hear that shit about living by the golden rules.
I stopped in mid thought and slowly looked around,
The saying "a product of your environment" now had a different sound.
Have you ever noticed the scenery in a city change?
We don't even have to check the mailboxes, something ain't the same
The lawns uncared for, trash and rubbish between each house,
Graffiti on the siding, what is that all about?
Doors wide open, cussing and drinking on the porch, what is that smell?
A stench of old cooking grease
Some of the places look as though they carry disease.
"A product of your environment", the children romp and play
Did anyone even ask them what they learned today?
The white man don't live here, it's just us
I don't think I'm better but I'm beyond disgust.
We blame others saying they don't give,
Who do we blame when we destroy the homes where we live?
We don't take care to make the environment safe,
Our streets are taken over by the thugs, dealers, and gangs
Even though we know their parents, where they were raised
We go back 400 years to blame the white man for making us slaves
Slaves to a community that we won't take care of, not even our rented homes
Blame the landlord for the damage, the needed repairs, rent is cheaper if its
slum
We don't even know our neighbor…..cause we live in the hood.
The village concept wasn't the white man's, it was what made us feel good.
We felt good about our community, the placed where we lived
The families struggled together, and each had something to give
Words of advice and encouragement, a nod of recognition a friendly hello
"A product of your environment", meant your home a place you wanted to
own
When you get a moment walk through your "hood",
cause you're the product it made
Now go ahead blame the white man,
for creating that environment where only our people stay.
Copyright 2008, Author Nanette Buchanan
Website: www.ipendesigns.net
Myspace: www.myspace.com/ipendesigns
Bruised Love Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N1uL43qBSc
Gingerbread
Lady by Michael Lee Johnson
(Version 2)
Gingerbread
lady, no sugar or cinnamon spice;
years ago arthritis and senility took their toll.
Crippled mind moves in then out, like an old sexual adventure
blurred in an imagination of fingertip thoughts.
Who
remembers the characters?
There
was George, her lover, near the bridge at the Chicago River:
she missed his funeral; her friends were there.
She
always made feather-light of people dwelling on death,
but black and white she remembers well.
The
past is the present; the present is forgotten.
Who remembers Gingerbread Lady?
Sometimes
lazy-time tea with a twist of lime,
sometimes drunken-time screwdriver twist with clarity.
She walks in scandals; sometimes she walks in soft night shoes.
Her
live-in maid smirked as Gingerbread Lady gummed her food,
false teeth forgotten in a custom-imprinted cup
with water, vinegar, and ginger.
The
maid died. Gingerbread Lady looks for a new maid.
Years ago, arthritis and senility took their toll.
Yesterday, a new maid walked into the nursing home.
Ginger
forgot to rise out of bed;
no sugar, or cinnamon toast.
-2008
As They Slept by Nanette Buchanan
- The Black Legacy
While they slept.....
Their life was torn from it's roots
The land robbed and invaded.
While they slept....
They were shipped across the world,
Their freedom masqueraded.
While they slept....
The women were raped,
The men were abused.
While they slept....
They became a part of a manipulative scheme.
They were in a world frightened and confused.
While they slept....
More and more mentally they began to stir.
They withstood it all to be free again.
As they awoke....
They rose as a group
Mentally strong, physically able,
For their journey to begin.
As they awoke....
Becoming free
they began to see,
What the new land would mean to you and me.
As they awoke....
It was taught all eyes closed, do not sleep,
They left underground, they learned to creep.
As they awoke....
They brought us stories of our history and past.
With our eyes open how long will our slumber last?
Copyright 1998-Thoughts
The Definition of Love by Nanette M. Buchanan
He said he knew a little about "true love", my ears tuned in.....
It had been weeks, no months, a few years.....since we had been just friends.
We had gone to heights where I felt pure pleasure, total ecstasy,
We had explored our minds, entwined our bodies, engaged in shared fantasies.
He said he knew what to say but didn't know what it truly meant
It had be said over and over we were the others angel......the love heaven sent.
We took no chances playing the other for a fool,
Our relationship was based on honesty, it was our silent rule.
He said he lived this night in his dreams from the time we met
We both new what was expected, our love would die now or move on to the next step.
I tried to tell him I loved him, what happened in the past, was explained and defined
His past, their love, was not our struggle, not a part of our time.
He said he thought he loved once before and failed, but found it was not true
Today she told him he was a father, and after three years, what was he to do
He said he didn't really know why he never knew about his responsibility,
But he was now known as "Daddy" to a little girl that was three.
He recognized himself in her tiny face and bright eyes,
He didn't want to lose our love for another, I listened, he cried.
We share our love with his angel, we know this was not a mistake.......
The definition of love........it's never too late.
Copyright 2010--Nanette Buchanan, I Pen Designs
Books by Author Nanette M. Buchanan
• Bruised Love
• A Different Kind of Love
• Family Secrets, Lies & Alibis
Books are available wherever books are sold and online:
• www.ipendesigns.net
• www.Amazon.com
• www.bordersbooks.com
Contact Information
• Website: http://www.ipendesigns.net
• View the Video Postcard: http://www.audioacrobat.com/note/CR5Q90VQ
What If by Nanette M. Buchanan
Celebrating those who heard the call to lead
What if......
There had been no ships approaching the coast, no overseers,
No masters, no plantations, no whips, no chains.
No slaves,
Those things that "kept" us from being free.
Would we.....
Have self-respect, morals, pride,
Those things that have died
Imagine how it would be.
What if.......
There had been no Crispus Attucks, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks,
Martin Luther King, Malcolm X
Those who heard the call to lead
Would we....
Work to achieve, become educated, assist one another,
And rid our crab mentality, our greed.
What if.....
There were no civil rights, no equal opportunities,
No affirmative action, no NAACP,
No programs designed to assure a percentage will succeed.
Would we....
Be Kings and Queens in our homeland,
Rich and have responsibilities
Able to fulfill our goals,
Desires and needs.
What if We.....
Stopped blaming our past for our present conditions,
Blaming the "white man" for what was done,
Blaming our successful brothers and sisters for selling out.
Would we....
Understand the wealth of a man is instilled with each of his experiences
and his accomplishments,
That overcoming obstacles is what success is about.
Would we.....
Raise our youth as our prized possessions, make an investment in our future
generations, realizing this is key
Would We....
Recognize we are a nation within this nation and our
"Black Power" is our Nobility......
What If We......
What If We......
Copyright 2009-Quiet Times; Nanette M. Buchanan
Harvest
Time By
Michael Lee Johnson
(Version 5)
A
Métis Indian lady, drunk,
hands blanketed as in prayer,
over a large brown fruit basket
naked of fruit, no vine, no vineyard
inside-approaches the Edmonton,
Alberta adoption agency.
There
are only spirit gods inside her empty purse.
Inside,
an infant,
restrained from life,
with a fruity wine sap apple
wedged like a teaspoon
of autumn sun
inside its mouth.
A
shallow pool of tears
mounts in native blue eyes.
Snuffling,
the mother offers
a slim smile, turns away.
She
slithers voyeuristically
through near slum streets, and
alleyways,
looking for drinking buddies
to share a hefty pint
of applejack wine.
-2007
Charley
Plays a Tune By
Michael Lee Johnson
(Version 2)
Crippled,
in Chicago,
with arthritis and Alzheimer's,
in a dark rented room,
Charley plays
melancholic melodies
on a dust filled
harmonica he
found abandoned
on a playground of sand
years ago by a handful of children
playing on monkey bars.
He
now goes to the bathroom on occasion,
relieving himself takes forever; he feeds the cat when
he doesn't forget where the food is stashed at.
He
hears bedlam when he buys fish at the local market
and the skeleton bones of the fish show through.
He
lies on his back riddled with pain,
pine cones fill his pillows and mattress;
praying to Jesus and rubbing his rosary beads
Charley
blows tunes out his
celestial instrument
notes float through the open window
touch the nose of summer clouds.
Charley
overtakes himself with grief
and is ecstatically alone.
Charley
plays a solo tune.
-2007
Nikki
Purrs By
Michael Lee Johnson
Soft
nursing
5 solid minutes
of purr
paws paddling
like a kayak competitor
against ripples of my
60 year old river rib cage-
I feel like a nursing mother
but I’m male and I have no nipples.
Sometimes
I feel afloat.
Nikki
is a little black skunk,
kitten, suckles me for milk,
or affection?
But
she is 8 years old a cat.
I’m
her substitute mother,
afloat in a flower bed of love,
and I give back affection
freely unlike a money exchange.
Done,
I go to the kitchen, get out
Fancy Feast, gourmet salmon, shrimp,
a new work day begins.
-2007
Fair Game by Rosemarie Wilson
Before partnering, unmarried men were fair game.
Took someone’s man—feel quite the same?
No longer comfortable hanging with single women,
Working hard at becoming happily married with children.
Would it sit well if a woman pursued your man?
He’s not married and fair game from what you had me understand.
Reluctantly disclosing a former outlook that’s changed,
Looking back on reckless views that now appear deranged.
Should people respect a relationship just recently committed?
Should former ways of thinking be promptly acquitted?
Desiring the respect that’s never been shown.
Praying that women leave committed men alone.
Loving your man, in him you’ve laid trust.
Going for broke, all or nothing, together forever or bust.
Been together two joyous years.
Laughed and loved barely shedding any tears.
Now your man is starting to act slightly foreign.
Called a woman’s name as he slept and was snoring.
Repeated calls to him ring on an unanswered phone.
Wait it out, or maybe drive by his home?
He told you Monday afternoon that night he’s working late.
Monday evening he ate from another woman’s plate. . .
Who considered your man as fair game.
She embraces your old ways now you think it’s a shame.
What goes around comes around, you didn’t quite believe.
The same way he came may be the same way he’ll leave.
© 2009 All Rights Reserved by Rosemarie Wilson
From her first poetry collection entitled:
“One Single Rose . . . Poetry Blossomed from a Rose Core”
Website: www.onesinglerose.com
About the Author
Rosemarie Wilson was raised in Detroit, Michigan’s east side. The youngest of four brothers, she became involved in the community at a young age. As a Girl Scout from kindergarten through high school, she learned valuable lessons by helping others. Raised in the Baptist church and educated in the Detroit Public School system, Rosemarie graduated from Cass Technical High School and spent two years at West Virginia State College. Upon returning to Detroit, Rosemarie obtained her bachelor’s degree from Davenport University (formerly Detroit College of Business). In 2005, as a staunch advocate of fidelity, Rosemarie’s conscience was awakened with her induction into the literary world as the editor of “Saved, Single and Satisfied” written by Shaunda R. Hill. Since that time, Rosemarie has been active as a guest on the Write the Vision “Raisin’ the Praiz” radio show on Detroit’s WHPR FM, 88.1. Her poetry has also been featured on Jolie Magazine's former website, the Soul
S.I.S.T.A.H.S. Café of Reading and Poetry (www.thesistahsministry.com/soulsistahscafe.htm) and the Key of Gee newsletter
(www.keyofgee.com). For the past 19 years, Rosemarie has been employed at top law firms in Michigan and freelances in her spare time.
Rod
Stroked Survival with a Deadly Hammer
By Michael Lee Johnson
Rebecca
fantasized that life was a lottery ticket or a pull of a lever,
that one of the bunch in her pocket was a winner or the slots were a redeemer;
but life itself was not real that was strictly for the mentally insane at the
Elgin
Mental Institution.
She gambled her savings away on a riverboat
stuck in mud on a riverbank, the Grand Victoria, in Elgin, Illinois.
Her bare feet were always propped up on wooden chair;
a cigarette dropped from her lips like morning fog.
She always dreamed of traveling, not nightmares.
But she couldn't overcome, overcome,
the terrorist ordeal of the German siege of Leningrad.
She was a foreigner now; she is a foreigner for good.
Her first husband died after spending a lifetime in prison
with stinging nettles in his toes and feet; the second
husband died of hunger when there were no more rats
to feed on, after many fights in prison for the last remains.
What does a poet know of suffering?
Rebecca has rod stroked survival with a deadly mallet.
She gambles nickels, dimes, quarters, tokens tossed away,
living a penniless life for grandchildren who hardly know her name.
Rebecca fantasized that life was a lottery ticket or the pull of a lever.
-2007
Mother,
Edith, at 98
By Michael Lee Johnson
Edith,
in this nursing home
blinded with macular degeneration,
I come to you with your blurry
eyes, crystal sharp mind,
your countenance of grace-
as yesterday's winds
I have chosen to consume you
and take you away.
"Oh,
where did Jesus disappear
to”, she murmured,
over and over again,
in a low voice
dripping words
like a leaking faucet:
"Oh, there He is my
Angel of the coming."
-2007
Meet
the Poet
Michael Lee Johnson is a poet and freelance writer from Itasca, Illinois.
His new poetry chapbook with pictures, titled From Which Place the Morning
Rises, and his new photo version of The Lost American: from Exile to
Freedom are available at: http://stores.lulu.com/promomanusa.
The original version of The Lost American: from Exile
to Freedom, can be found at: http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-46091-7.
He also has 2 previous chapbooks available at: http://stores.lulu.com/poetryboy.
Michael
has been published in over 22 countries. He is also editor/publisher of four
poetry sites, all open for submission, which can be found at his Web site: http://poetryman.mysite.com.
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