African-American Themes

The following selections are dedicated to the memory of our ancestors and all who suffered, fought, sacrificed, and died for the freedom and advancement of our people. They faced demons deeply entrenched in the fabric of this country and through their collective efforts and perseverence accomplished things that our ancestors could not imagine beyond the chains and darkness of the slave ship bowels.

But to fully honor these heroes the fight must continue, and we as a people must unite in love and in the knowledge of our great heritage. Even as Barack Obama, the first African-American president, has ascended to the helm of the most powerful country on earth, we must ascend above the plantation mentality that has long divided us toward a future worthy of the Kings and Queens in our bloodlines.

But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first. Matthew 19:30

I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight,
that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mountaintop Speech

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But,
America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you, we as a people will
get there. President Barack Obama, President Elect Victory Speech

List of Selections
Click on links below

Uncommon Valor
Drums
Believe
Spirits of the Passage (2010)
My Name is Coretta
He Marched On (MLK)
My Beautiful Black Man
Original Woman
Rise
The Women in Me

Uncommon Valor

To cross a bridge
over waters troubled by
night riders
disguised as police

To unearth the remains
of four little girls
crushed in the rubble
of a haven for a people without sanctuary,
infiltrated
bombed
burned.

To lift a fist--
black socks
black scarf
on a stage before millions
who were caught off guard
appalled
afraid
of the mettle in your heart,
that gold and bronze
could not buy
your dignity
or silence

Climbing a mountain
knowing you
would not live to see
its summit
but the mountain called,
so began your march
though spat on
jailed,
and ambushed.

You breached racism’s barriers
to affirm
the genius in your blood,
science,
arts,
technology,
even the heavens
you have touched
then your ancestors smiled back
and declared,
“Well done, good and faithful servants.”

“Go down Moses, down to Egypt Land,”
they sang
hushed,
anticipating,
a woman would lead them,
shotgun on her hip,
$40,000 on her head,
the North Star was her pillar by night
on her Underground Railroad,
leading her people
to a dawn of freedom,
by any means necessary.

“I shall not
I shall not be moved…”--
to the back of the bus,
to the back of the line

for the last shall be first
and the first shall be last,

No greater love has a man than this,
than to lay down his life for his friends.

With no less than dignity
no more than our very lives,
we must honor the sacrifices
that paid for our advancement.

The chains that shackled us
in the belly of a ship
are the ties that bind us
to a future unfolding,
a People risen like Lazarus
impossibilities realized--
we peer into the White House
and see ourselves looking back
not as slaves or servants,
but as President and First Lady.

As the North Star beckoned
our ancestors
through the wilderness
to destiny,
we must be the light
that nurtures the courage and dreams
of our children,
so they may speak as our heroes and she-roes spoke,
stand as they stood
fight as they fought.
and love as they loved.

God bless the dreamers…
Long live the fighters

(2009)

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Drums

Drums.

Beating…

Far away
in the expectant future,
a glorious past
from the Mende
Mali
Ashante
Igbo.
The Mtetwa and Zulu call
from their great
Paramountcies.
Kings and Queens
across the Serengeti,
the mighty Pharoahs of Egypt
with the Nile as their footstool;
Timbuktu,
the great ancient
learning center--

All call across time.

“I am Black but comely,”
noble Solomon decreed.

Speak to us
O’ drums of Africa,
whose children survived
Maafa—
the African Holocaust,
souls lost at sea,
souls lost in a New World
they haplessly and hopelessly toiled
for centuries,
only to be set free—
to Jim Crow,
billy clubs
and burning crosses,
Night Riders
and German shepherds.
Dreams festered and deferred
until a King rose up
in the anointing of God,
among the greatest of the prophets
and teachers of his people.

“I have a Dream…,” he proclaimed,

to champion the rights
of his Brothers and Sisters.
Though he laid down his mortality,
the struggle endured
through the destinies of others—
Mandela
Malcolm X
Rosa Parks
Jesse Jackson
People in all walks of life
scaling toward the mountaintop of liberty.

But the drums thunder,
growing ever louder,
for in the wake
of civil rights advances
and accolades,
many of our people
have ascended upon
the wings of eagles,
but the ghettos cry out
from the incest
between crime and poverty
destroying entire generations
of families,
intoxicated on crack and self-destruction.
Multitudes have forgotten who they are
and wander, trapped in the illusion
of a pre-conceived identity
meant to neuter and destroy them.
Some who would lead us
have bowed down to Baal,
the blind leading the blind,
an eye for an eye.
Our Mothers and Sisters
are plucked from their thrones--
and called out of their names.

Still the drums cry out—
in the heartbeat of a child
who yearns for knowledge
and self-discovery,
in the breast of a woman
who refuses to sell her majesty
for scraps from the table
of those who would pimp her
beauty for bounty,

in the robust arms of a man
who would hold up
his daughters and sons
in the glory of self-love and respect
that they should not befall
the snares
of the modern-day Massa.

O’ listen to the drums
in your own heart of hearts
where the blood of our People,
sacrificed and sanctified,
runs from great rivers
and tributaries
that originate
in Mother Africa,
inscribing the history of man
on Earth and in destiny,
from the Beginning
through the great Diaspora
to the present
and even a future
which awaits our children
and their children’s children,
to many generations,
so long as we wholly embrace
that our ancestors
are the vessels of all humanity,
and that we must subsist
on more than just the material,
the finite,
the ephemeral,
but on the Spirit
that has always dwelled in us
in the face of seemingly
indomitable evil and despair.
The eclipse of our triumphs
is but for a season,
and will soon shine forth
in truth and justice.

(2008)

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Believe

Where once
the nighttime sky
held stars
that led captives to freedom,
now shines forth in brilliance
the calling of our People
to dream exceedingly beyond
man-made horizons
and self-inflicted doubts,
grasp the Heavens
and bestow her gifts
to our youth,
to live to love and inspire them.
Let us commit to responsibility
for our lives
and our communities,
standing as Brothers and Sisters
arm in arm
and heart to heart,
bearing ever higher the banner
which our mentors and leaders,
from Harriet Tubman to Barack Obama,
have elevated before us all—
that we too are America,
our story is her story
and our glory is her glory.
Though our journey
to the mountaintop of freedom and equality
has been long and beset
with trials and tribulations,
we are yet beacons of light
of what is possible
when the heart of a people
transcends injustice
with hope,
excellence,
and dignity.

(2008)

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Spirits of the Passage

Mafaa!

Africa’s children cry,

chum for the triangle trade divide,

lost nations crushed beneath the sea,

yet haunting the slavers’ progeny,

in the name of justice deferred.

Seeds untimely strewn

into the soils of the New World,

empires burgeoned from their cremated bones

and raped bodies,

their blood lining communion chalices

and white robes,

strange fruit

smeared on smiling faces.

No Mother.

No Father.

Only the faceless, endless Black upon Black

death march into the ocean,

trail of tears into the fields,

orphans unable to grieve

in the tongues of their ancestors.

Yet the sea that has shrouded your bones

never drowned your whispers and screams,

haunting dreams darting through generations

from genius to prophet to messiah.

Speak to us, children of the passage.

Hear us--

“Never again.”

***

(2010 revision. Originally written in 2006)

Note: Maafa is a Kiswahili term for "Disaster" or "Terrible Occurrence".

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My Name is Coretta

The Songbird is silent
Nevermore
To raise her voice again
In lyrics and promise
In condemnation of injustice.
O’ Comely Dove
With the cares of a People
Poised upon stoic shoulders,
Placid eyes
That often belied the turbulence
They beheld.
Racism, War, Poverty,
Softly impressed upon your face.
Though many bowed at your feet
And bigots cowed at your strength,
Dignity remained your armor,
Humility your crown,
And Love your scepter.

(2006)

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My Beautiful Black Man

I touch your face
and touch time itself,
rippling back
to the Beginning,
when the Nile first sprang
from your eyes.

Your heartbeat
is the tale
of many Kings,
whose blood winds through
your pain and dreams,
cuts through the denigration
shackled to you
daily.

When I look in your eyes
I see the souls
of our people
shining like moonlight
on still waters.

I see you.

I see you

for who you really are.

(2002)

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Rise

Aborted from our Mother Land
by avarice & hate,
we were scattered by the Eastern wind
as spoils of misery.

For centuries we tilled this contrary New World,
its might forged upon our backs,
but the milk that flowed therein was bitter
and its honey tainted with our blood.

We yet hungered for the nurturing breast
which fed us our culture and dignity,
but we became hypnotized
by the clank and alarum of our shackles.

Though the irons which once bound our hands
have long since been removed
our self-consciousness
is steeped in self-hatred.

In this abyss the Taskmaster creeps & roves
as a thief while we sleep,
murdering our children & stealing our dreams--
pitting sister against brother.

The Great House never ceases to run
with the blood & tears of our people,
for fear and hatred ever whet its appetite
for sacrifice.

Though deep into this Holocaust
we are swept by the thousands,
God shall stir the slumber of His People,

And from the valleys shall rise up
from bones great warriors & teachers,
ascending in the twilight hour
of justice unduly deferred,

To lead our lost & disillusioned,
weary & war-torn souls
back to a place within our hearts
which we left long ago.

Let us then rise and lift our hands
in one august accord
to affirm the glory of our tribe
and restore our dignity.

(1996)

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He Marched On

He marched on,
Forward,
as the Horsemen rode in
on teargas clouds,
swinging billy-clubs,
swearing allegiance to American apartheid.

He marched on
in the thousand-yards stare
of Assassins,
his wake undulating
in the glare
of burning crosses.

He scaled
through the bigotry and despair
that clouded the peaks
of a mountain
he’d live to reach
only in his dreams,
daring to bind
the jagged seams
between Black and White
with pen and speech,
love and peace.

Even as
the dogs of war
thirsted his surrender,
he gave his blood
but not his dignity.

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Original Woman

Pain.

It runs through my soul.

Deep.

My Mothers bore my legacy
in the anguish of slavery.
In pain
I’ve borne my children and buried their dreams
as they were sold away.
In pain
I’ve consummated my contempt for my Master’s lust.
In pain
I’ve tempered my love for my Man
with the fear of his torture or death.
This river runs
through the bedrock
of my soul,
washing against the skeletons
of my sub-consciousness
and inundating my dreams.
Yet it rises up
like a great spirit
and imbues me with the strength
to bear the burdens and iniquities of others,
and I gather their tears to myself
and hide them in my heart.
What storm is there
that is common to man
that I have not stood against,
yet still be regarded as less than a woman,
less than human?
I carry the multitudinous
burdens of life
on shoulders strengthened
by centuries of affliction,
sorrows transformed
in a crucible
to Gold,
to Light,
for all to see
that I am a Queen.
I am a Black Woman.

(2006)

The Women in Me

I see my future
Through Zora Neale’s eyes.
Harriet Tubman leads me there,
feeling for God’s marks on the trees.
I trace the footsteps of Sheba
across the Sahara,
and soar over Kilimanjaro.
Sowing my seeds along the Nile,
I harvest the Daughters of Hannibal,
the Sons of Nefertiti.
I rule as a sovereign,
and men build pyramids to my glory.
From Sappho to Maya Angelou
I’ve written my legacy,
a story that crosses oceans and mountains
and binds the blood of many nations.
I am Shakespeare’s Dark Lady of Sonnets--
for the midnight sun and stars
owe their splendor to darkness.
I am Candace,
The Black Madonna,
Mother,
Progeny,
All.

(Revised 2009)

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