My neighbor wished me Happy Juneteenth yesterday.
I felt alive saying it back -
Yeah! Happy Juneteenth!
Now! We can say it without feeling threatened;
without feeling alone or lame.
We can say it minus that chip weighting our shoulders
and absent the lump of shame sitting on our chest.
We can sing out, Happy Juneteenth!
in a new melodic tune.
Like when we wished each other, Merry Christmas!
We can say it loud with joy and release
and uplifting confidence
that if one doesn’t wish it back
that one is one of the sad and sorry lost who must suffer.
Juneteenth, you say? Who ever heard of that holiday?
Mrs. Horton would stare you down
like you don’t know your tongue
from your *******,
she heard you say that.
I learned of the true independence day of our nation
as a young student of 17 in public school.
Learned truths my programmed parents couldn’t teach
from one of God’s messengers of truth
manifest in the form of a high school teacher.
I found out because I wanted to know;
know why the ****** up **** I saw each day
happened mostly to people who were brown
and mostly not to people who weren’t that color.
And, I wanted to know why.
To really get to the crux of why -
even though my skin is peachy tan cream -
why I’m black too?
What’s that mean anyway?
Really, you don’t know. Do you?
Not till someone who knows shows you too.
Or, you just forget who they told you you were.
Then you too will be able to find the truth.
Only because of desire and pure will to understand.
But, if you don’t wanna know -
or cared not to know -
then you never knew of Juneteenth.
And this is all new.
And you think - How do these folks know just what to do?
On a brand new holiday
that trumps the other one they tried to fake.
Cuz no nation is free while it enslaves its own fundamental roots;
choking truth to hide its own crimes.
Holding back light to wallow in pitiful darkness.
J4 is nothing.
Juneteenth is all!
You never were free till you freed all your sons.
And you cannot be till you see all offspring free.
Until you hold the truth in your heart
you can never really be free to be what you are.
So really, any independence day was of undercover ******* -
a reminder of the lie.
While enslaved mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers walked with free minds on this land
and you celebrated your own cruel spiritual demise,
without understanding or true purpose defined.
But now! Look at the colors we have given you again!
Oh nation stained in blood and terror,
look at what we have given
as a token of our love and forgiveness.
Juneteenth! All is Juneteenth!
The one and only true day to symbolize
the day you finally took the first step -
to step away from your own chains
and the ones you tried to use to bind me.
This one day we give you -
symbolizing that this nation is finally now and forever
a sponsor and supporter and endorser of the free!
Pretend shock or chaotic mind
making judgement known?
All of my country is ablaze
with the discontent of its offspring
It’s birthing of a violent and privileged youth
who know the world of their dreams
is more real than the world of a grand other reality
They saw the slave master’s overseer
on the neck of Kunta Kinte
but their grandparents just saw
a black man getting smart
What kind of twisted psychological manipulation
had to happen for that thought to happen?
Think of the programming involved?
Then think of the gargantuan task of re-programming
And I see with more than eyes -
with the sense eyes fail to capture -
I see that the anti-fascists and the pacifists
marching with placards shouting their pain
they are only two halves of the same t-bill
One is me on a good day
And the other is me on a day
when my favorite uncle George
got murdered by a cop
I can’t judge neither one
I watched some young people looting some stores
The people moved quickly and indiscriminately
These ones were amassing large quantities of toilet paper
Or maybe it was paper towels
And other loot too ...but it was the TP that grabbed me
How to be angry with this?
Why are you out in the mayhem, young man?
Sweet young lady, why you wasting your heaven on a clean behind?
If we cleaned our own messes today would be different.
You can’t look away from young people looting paper goods
Just because you thought the TP fairy
supplied every household with a fresh daily roll
What want and clawing need drives a person to loot
And to loot the basics
Some other kind of slave master for sure
If we are so rich -
So abundantly wealthy and blessed with good fortune
Why are we watching men ****** men in our streets?
And watching our youth burn and loot our cities behind it all?
This is all of us
each and every one of us
If you refuse to claim it
you ain't one of us
You know how this started
and from where we Americans came
Karma plays out in each according to its own
Violence begets violence
and love begets love
If we want change -
if we care to do more than just dream -
and create a better world for ourselves
and our little ones future little ones
than the one that was made for us
then you know what must be done
Only love - all the sayings and cliches are true
Say them, sure, but more -
live them in truth
Lay down all weapons of attack
Violence can only fail to never quench or suffice
Drop all hatred at the source
cutting the power and ending all strife
We have this choice now
or the other hellish death
Choose now - tick tock -
time **** near gone
I bet you never stand around again
like a crowd at a lynching again
And watch a man **** a man in the streets again
You sick savage nation of shame!
Show yourself and be judged by your own justice
I can't do this with you anymore, America. This is a toxic relationship. You must get help now! No more second chances.
Meet me under the thorny tree
near the fishing pier, my Love
and I will sing a song you will want to hear
above all man’s kind of sirens
A melody to drown out popping death cracks
and stomping footsteps of captivity
And, I will paint for you a memory
in shades of purple and green
to recolor spinning red flames
that glisten in flowing crimson
stains of our demise
And I will show you a clearing in the path
you always knew was here
even if you couldn’t see it
past the pretty city lights
words fail so much of the time
i think, why speak?
when you can be
think i can leave a mark upon the world
what is the name of the one
who painted the hieroglyphs onto the pyramids?
who was his mother?
i walked a thousand and one miles
through swamp, valley and fields of gold
i crawled over mountains
to find a thing i somehow always knew i was
there is something real to this life
Cosby never knew until it was too late
his children learned it better
just be human with me
drop all the clever, snarky wit
leave off overcoats of pretense and PR masks
it’s so last century to think you’re living
when you’re really only hurtling towards death
in the drag of a composite
freedom is just through the other side of that false wall
you go not alone
we’re all here with you
The point of a flower is not to pick it
and arrange it like so.
The point of a flower
is only to witness it grow
and then die
and grown once again to Be U Ti Ful
Show me the meaning of encounter.
Each person one meets
tries to retell one’s story.
People want to make life their own;
chip it down to a fable or verse.
I sat across the table from ego
trying to convince me I wasn’t real;
to persuade me that I didn’t only just emerge
from the ether of nothing’s existence,
a glossing over in the eyes of the mask
at each utterance of Truth passing these lips.
What is this?
A piece which loathes the reality
of claiming one’s own inheritance.
Sick, psychotic fantasy.
Will you go to an insane person
who holds a degree in the study of the senseless
to help you decide what you are?
You are bound to find trouble.
Never let anyone tell you who you are or where you have been.
The mind collects moments
bad ones and weepy ones
moments to spark fires
and ignite engines
moments to roast the heart upon a spit
to watch the ****** sizzling juices of love
drip down and burn off into smoke
the mind is a storehouse
though vast isn’t spacious
its compartments crammed
full to popping
under the strain
of all the moments in time it collects
to make the body recall
and you gawk at the wreckage
in wondrous amazement
moments in bubbles
floating past on repeat
mind digs in the toy chest
throwing up dreams
more moments of nothing
to hold you away from me
two nations at war for my soul
and all three are me
what mind fudgery
and horrific intent
the whole point is you
just you, nothing else
think what that reality means
whatever you like
life isn’t a playbook of rules
some other person can write
real life is lived
and what can that mean?
other than whatever life looks like
when you’re living through me
each time you can’t see the forest in the leaves
the moments you seem to pull back out of me
are only a specter of what isn’t true
only a reminder to remember your Truth
and turn once again to the Self that is real
and is one with the whole of all life that is living
can you gain joy from rehearsing old stories?
of worries and woes and doubtful discoveries
of fake images and faulty dreamscapes
then go on, by all means, let mind keep collecting
and storing away
for some other fake day
you can’t really be living
if you keep letting mind
give you moments to see
instead of real life
living in your True Self
and you truly seeing
Then, words come slowly;
nothing behind them but space.