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I was of the South
Born in my ways I could not control
My path of rocks and stickerbriars
Led no where , I had no where to go

"I'm going back to Selma !. . . Selma !
And I had no reason just before
I'm going to Selma ! . . . Selma !
And I just don't know what for"

Do I really have the courage ?

Maybe love is a broken window
With cold air blowing in
Maybe salvation is just a desire
And it will be there at the end

Do I really know ?

Losing love is just the other part
And how do I depart
In Selma what is there to find ?
I'm sure it can't be kind

Take U S 80 , between I -20 and I -65
If I leave now I can be sure
To be there to see the sunrise
From the Edmund Pettus Bridge

****** Sunday , March  7 , 1965
Beaten trying to cross the bridge
God's rights marching upon trampled sights
Home to take back from the giver

Easy to forget Selma 1965
All to easy to forget the hate
Leading to Memphis April  4 , 1968
And to more than a simple mistake

Will the shooting ever end ?

January 20 , 2013 Jackson , Mississippi
Blackman shot , MLK celebration parade
The blood flows from Birmingham , to Selma
To Memphis and Mississippi's charade

Still I'm going to Selma .

"I'm going back to Selma ! . . . Selma !
But I have no reason why
I'm going back to Selma ! . . . Selma !
I think it will be just to cry"

written January 20 , 2013
This March 7 ,2015 will be the 50th anniversary of ****** Sunday . Another attempt to cross the bridge March 9 was thwarthed but on March 21 under protection of a court order and US troops the 2,500 marchers crossed the bridge headed to Montgomery , the state capital . Om March 25th the marchers reached the capital steps . The number had grown from 2,500 to 25,000 . The results of the march led to the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act . Today those rights have been undermined . As George Santyanna said in December 16 ,1863 , "Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it ."
Mark Lecuona Jan 2015
"Justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream"

Martin Luther King, Jr.


Brothers and sisters
Arm in arm
In grace
With faith
And agape love
Marched towards hate
And the steel of repression

     No door to heaven is easily opened
     Sometimes the only choice is to die
     Not quickly
     But slowly and painfully

The arc of justice bends under the weight of human sacrifice

They thought
"This is it for me"
Yes this was it
But it was time
Time for the signs to come down
The signs that said
     "You here"
          "You there"
               "Not for you"
                    "Sit in the back"

Separate but equal
A lie of monstrous proportion
There is no equality
When all is not shared
There is no equality
When a night stick crushes inalienable rights
There is no equality
When a child is called a __
There is no equality
When the love of Jesus
     Is not enough for some people
When the love of Jesus
     Is not enough for some hearts
When the love of Jesus
    Is not enough for grace on earth

Let me take a moment

To cry

To feel the shame

Let us take a moment

And understand why some among us remember Selma
A memory of pride and pain
A memory of the willingness to die
For what is right
To give up their life
To give up their complaints
To give up their selfishness
To give up what we take for granted
So that they might die
For someone else
Because it was time
I wrote this a few years ago... thought I'd dust it off....
Daniel Regan Jan 2013
Can I borrow your voice, because I’ve seem to have lost mine. In search of a purpose, that I’ve found in a line. About love that’s been found in a place without hope, that oppresses its people without shackles or ropes. In a place with a light that shines in the dark, that echoes of praise, music and baby shark. Where the youth of tomorrow step for what’s right, in the name of equality and justice with unwavering might. A place where we have all given so much, and received even more from the people we’ve touched. But our yesterdays have passed and out tomorrow is today, and I struggle for happiness as Selma drivers away. So I stare out the window with my mind in a daze, as this once alien scenery catches my gaze. And the trees pass in rhythm as I fall victim to sleep, with only one thought on my mind…the company I keep. For I have been blessed by the company I hold, the experiences we’ve had and the stories we’ve told. By the games we’ve played and the relationships we’ve formed, by the tears we have shed for weathering the racial storm. And as I stir from my sleep I wake without fear, because the people I’d bleed for are sitting so near. So with my voice fading fast I say to you all, if the road gets too hard, don’t be afraid to call. For your callous hands look exactly like mine, from the work that we’ve done to make Teppers shine. And if you need a wise word or a shoulder to cry, I can be there for your lows and even your highs.  This trip has meant more to me then words can express, and its you with my heart that I choose to invest. So with these last and final words, I compassionately say to you. Keep you minds always open and your heart will stay true. Because our world is always changing no matter what we do, and it is you whom I love that will bridge the old and the new.
spysgrandson Sep 2013
“lets split this diner and have a beer”  
four coffees in an hour made the world
too awake for him  
we walked to the Pink Mule,
the first bar we saw  
he knew all of the bars--all bars knew him  
the bartender was Abraham
but looked like a Bob    
he had a bourbon poured before
Charles made it to the stool
and looked at me like I was a fool  
“a light beer”  
Bukowski didn’t bother to laugh
though I am sure the word “***”
was rolling around in his head  
looking for a place to get out  
he kept on about Selma,
sweet succulent Selma  
how anybody that hot
could rule the world  
dragging men around by their dongs  
without lifting a finger  
that is why the gods made wine, he said  
not for some sacrament for the holy humbled
but for men hunched over like balless beggars,
he said, when Abraham Bob  
filled his jigger a second, or fourth time  
men made that way by all the Selmas  
whose middle name had to be vexation  
a whiff of her could get you to take  
a **** job, where you spent the day
hunched over, hoping, she would be there
when you got home  
even if she was, you wouldn’t remember  
in the morning, when you would go back  
to the grinless grind, hunched over, hoping  
Selma would be your wine
The "Pink Mule" is the name of a bar, Bulowski's protagonist, Chinaski, visits in the book, "Factotum"
Victor Tripp Jan 2015
DR MARTIN LUTHER KING trained us in workshops based on non-
Violence to resist the water hoses soaking us and knocking us down
On hate filled sidewalks  or the sharp teeth police dogs set upon
Men women children biting our private parts and making meals of
flesh,the billy clubs sprayed tear gas on the EDMUND PETTUS
Bridge, but somehow as I walked saying inside that time will tell about
Me and I glimpsed ahead the resurrection of my soul and manhood
Rising from the dust of shame. We all locked arms together with our
Wounded bodies determined minds and hearts spirits soaring
From DR KING's I HAVE A DREAM words and marching right
On into history
Mauri Pollard Jan 2015
One man
can really change the world,
even if it's just by dying.
One man
can really lead thousands
if he kneels down and prays hard enough.
One man
can influence his pale demons
to lay down their pitch forks,
and also to pick them up.
One man
is just a man
is just a father
just a husband
just a preacher
just a speaker
just a man.
And does he truly want to be that
one man
that can really change the world,
even if it's just by dying?
devante moore Jan 2015
The trek of my deceased ancestors never seem so long
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...

“tell them
about the dream

transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future

from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...

from  the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags

“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky

cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho

today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...

from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares

advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children

yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...

Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis

to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s

he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage

Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed

Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…

Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on

Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho

kim bye  Feb 2012
kim bye Feb 2012
he was standing there on the sidewalk
down on selma avenue.
legs wide apart
in a proud pose.
i didn't notice, until i got closer,
the dark wet spot blooming from his crotch
running down his left leg.
how i admired him.
his shameless demeanor,
this ability to let go.
i have tried for days now
to *** myself
with no success.
RW Dennen Mar 2015
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never to be stilled
Abundance awaits you with courage

RW Dennen-

Came the Black voting rights march into Selma, Sunday

And being gathered in prayer before crossing, you soon felt smashing upon your body as blood seeped down your face
on a Sunday and the initial retreat too too much to remember:
About dogs and billy clubs; about fire hoses ready and that very bridge, later will carry hearts of conscience all in the great name
of the American ballot box

Today, I say hail for the slain and hurt of the historical past; I say hail to both black and white
brothers and sisters once endowed with bravery embued with inalienable rights

Hang strong my true people of the bridge
Hang strong for that greater bridge that bridges into dignity of today
Hang strong and hold dear to your hearts "The Sunday Selma legacy"
and  "The spirit of the Edmund Pettus Bridge"
In 1965 on a Sunday these brave souls of different religions and races
marched for black equal voting rights only to be met with bone crushing resistance.
Today these rights must be restored for a more perfect union
Graff1980 Jul 2015
I hear there is fear in your mind
The deep-seated preprogrammed kind
The kind that has soften slightly over time
From the cursing and calling negros mongrels
To the stereotypical fox news type portrayal
But it is a betrayal of our human nature
The denial of the better evolved brain
It is the maiming of our society
When we regress to the repressive ways
That we sought to overcome in our younger days
Some say things will never change
But the blood to brain-dead barrier can break
The rational can take hold with old and new love
With new scientific studies of all of us
We forgot that the legions are us
The whale beneath the boat
The behemoth that works and votes
The labor force that runs this country
The union of humans striving for a better world
That is us, in every tint, gender, ****** identity
Under each layer of skin there is a piece of me
And behind every strange shadow or reflection of myself
Is someone else different but in all the ways that matter
The same

— The End —