They Don’t Want Us to Recite Our Poems


They don’t want us to recite our poems, don’t want the people to behold any signs or see any symbols and they d-mn sure don’t want us to know that the ancestors are with us. They don’t want us to recite our poems.

They fear the foreign sounds of our secret language: Hope. They thought it long dead. They are afraid of the spread of our fever how it creeps along the sense—our hearing and seeing, our awakening perception, our ability to sniff out what’s false.

The willingness to feel our most painful wound, the taste of blood on our lips. They don’t want us to recite our poems.

They are afraid of the promise of our spring, the way mother earth blushes green for us, hiding her gift in full view of both the strong and weak alike.

She has shown us fine stones in a babbling brook: love, faith, courage, tenacity, and understanding. They fear the inevitable fall of their rampaging giants.

They don’t want us to recite our poems. They want us to die with our songs unsung. They want to bury our burnt-out husks perfectly preserved shells, with sightless eyes of bitter black smoke and a mouthful of tightly clenched pearl-white teeth, trapping inside, for all eternity, the music that they desperately fear.

They don’t want us to recite our poems.

Black, Gifted, and Proud


Since I’m Black and considered 1/3 of a man
They feel I can only relate to crime
My physical imprisonment is a tactic
To conceal thoughts produce by my creative,
Innovative strength of mind
I’m united as one man
& hope my Brothers and sisters will unite as one Klan
Stripped of our nationality and culture
Only to become ancestors to no land
My pigmentation is a pig temptation
To annihilate our race and uplift America
To a white man nation
The truth is basic
Only seek by those willing to see
If you choose to face it you’ll learn
What seem to still be confusing to me
One nation under God
Was facilitated by a façade
To weaken our defenses from simply
Oppressing the odds
Now who’s in charge
The last decision
As a whole we must proclaim
We’re Black, Gifted and Proud.

Inner Strength


As a product of his environment,
He could not read nor write,
Designed and programmed for destruction,
Thoughts of suicide haunted him at night.

As a product of his environment.
Incarcerated overnight
Afraid to give up, he decided to fight

Six years later a GED, Paralegal diploma and
An Associate’s Degree in Business Management
He found life.

As a product of his environment
He took flight.

I Got Up


If you see a man down, do you assume that he fell?
If the burning in his eyes is there, which story does it tell?
If he is on his knees, is this a sign of submission?
Or was he once on his back, and rose to this position?

If you see him dropping his head, staring at the ground
Did he quit? Or is he looking for a new way to get around?
If you see that he is in tears, and he is letting them run
Do you assume that he lost, or that he has won?

Is he giving up or getting up?
Is he content with the notion of slumber
With no real inclination of waking up?
Could you give him a sec, could you wait?
To watch him fall, and then rise to be great?

For his struggle, though long and imperfect
Built him up from nothing
So it was worth it
From laying to sitting, from sitting to kneeling
To now almost standing – his resolve, so willing!

To be standing on his own, is his burning desire
It’s what drives him, like passion filled fires
To put his head up high, and his chest popped out
And not many can say, they know what “getting up” is about

My Cell


It’s in my blood, the trait of the drug
Sickled wit love for a cause that causes y’all laws
To disease young souljas 
I’m trapped in this nightmare and praying for closure
But then I see nightfall 
Then my environment slowly breathes quiet 
And dark thoughts in my mind coldly creep quiet
I’m replaying the scenes that generations have seen
A past unshorn, while my father’s genes
Fit his boy like compression
Oppression of my bloodline before the Great Depression
My blood cells got invaded by their cancers 
Genetically I’m strapped though, like Baking Soda’s Arm & Hammer
This virus…which provokes mental breakdown 
But rules been that if you get down you stay down 
That’s why I got up with the sunrise 
And pretty soon I’ll be walking across the gun line 
The gun line boss…you tried to lock me in that cell for life
It’s in my blood and my cells gon’ fight 
The hell in my cell