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#blackhistorymonth
Before the marble roads and iron law, Before the eagle standard crossed the sea, There rose in mist and forest glen The songs of elder memory. In Gaulish fields and Brythonic hills, In Old Irish chant and Pictish sign, The Celtic tongues like woven threads Bound tribe to tribe through oak and shrine. Their words were wind along the moor, A harp-string drawn through rain and fire- Echoes that still in fragments live In Wales' proud speech and Gaelic choir. Then came the legions-measured tread- Roman Empire in bronze array, With road and aqueduct and law They claimed the breadth of Europe's sway. From Iber's sun to Rhine's cold line, From Britain's cliffs to Balkan plain, They carved in stone their ordered world, Yet left the old songs in the rain. Empires fade as embers cool; New banners rise where old have passed. Across the Channel's restless tide Came William the ******* bold and fast- William the Conqueror crowned by right of sword and claim, In 1066's fateful year, He stitched a Norman thread through England's name, And set a feudal age in gear. Centuries turned like weathered wheels; The crown and Parliament contended flame. Through civil strife and iron will Strode Oliver Cromwell into fame- A commoner with psalm and blade, Who bent a kingdom to reform, And left a legacy debated still, Half thunderclap and half calm storm. Across the western ocean's reach New settlements took root and breath; Old Europe's children, seeking hope, Faced wilderness and want and death. From thirteen strands of coastal claim A fragile union dared to stand; The Declaration's careful flame Lit liberty across the land. Yet liberty proved forged in fire- North and South in bitter cry; In cannon smoke and brother's grief The Union's fate was cast to try. The Civil War in sorrow's wake Unbound the chains of human wrong, Though scars ran deep in soil and soul And justice marched both slow and long. Then rose the clang of hammer's age- Steel and steam and coal-fed might; Cities grew where fields had been, Factories burned through day and night. Gibson shaped from maple, spruce, and flame In Kalamazoo's humming halls, Where luthiers bent the wood to song And jazz and blues leapt factory walls. On Detroit's line, in ordered pace, Stood Henry Ford with vision clear: To harness time, to master scale, To place the motor age in gear. Assembly lines like Roman roads Bound town to town in humming chain; Old craft gave way to modern speed, And progress carried loss and gain. Then shadow fell across the globe- A second war of iron and sky; From London's blaze to Normandy The cost of tyranny ran high. In trenches, camps, and shattered streets The century's fury reached its height; Yet through the ruin nations learned The price of darkness-and of light. So runs the thread from Celtic tongue To steel and wire and engine's roar- A tapestry of striving hands, Of fallen crowns and open door. Europe's tale, and America's too, Are woven tight in warp and weft: Old roots beneath new branches spread, Much gained by time, and much still left.
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Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 10:17 AM UTC
A Tapestry of the West
Before the marble roads and iron law, Before the eagle standard crossed the sea, There rose in mist and forest glen The songs of elder memory. In Gaulish fields and Brythonic hills, In Old Irish chant and Pictish sign, The Celtic tongues like woven threads Bound tribe to tribe through oak and shrine. Their words were wind along the moor, A harp-string drawn through rain and fire- Echoes that still in fragments live In Wales' proud speech and Gaelic choir. Then came the legions-measured tread- Roman Empire in bronze array, With road and aqueduct and law They claimed the breadth of Europe's sway. From Iber's sun to Rhine's cold line, From Britain's cliffs to Balkan plain, They carved in stone their ordered world, Yet left the old songs in the rain. Empires fade as embers cool; New banners rise where old have passed. Across the Channel's restless tide Came William the ******* bold and fast- William the Conqueror crowned by right of sword and claim, In 1066's fateful year, He stitched a Norman thread through England's name, And set a feudal age in gear. Centuries turned like weathered wheels; The crown and Parliament contended flame. Through civil strife and iron will Strode Oliver Cromwell into fame- A commoner with psalm and blade, Who bent a kingdom to reform, And left a legacy debated still, Half thunderclap and half calm storm. Across the western ocean's reach New settlements took root and breath; Old Europe's children, seeking hope, Faced wilderness and want and death. From thirteen strands of coastal claim A fragile union dared to stand; The Declaration's careful flame Lit liberty across the land. Yet liberty proved forged in fire- North and South in bitter cry; In cannon smoke and brother's grief The Union's fate was cast to try. The Civil War in sorrow's wake Unbound the chains of human wrong, Though scars ran deep in soil and soul And justice marched both slow and long. Then rose the clang of hammer's age- Steel and steam and coal-fed might; Cities grew where fields had been, Factories burned through day and night. Gibson shaped from maple, spruce, and flame In Kalamazoo's humming halls, Where luthiers bent the wood to song And jazz and blues leapt factory walls. On Detroit's line, in ordered pace, Stood Henry Ford with vision clear: To harness time, to master scale, To place the motor age in gear. Assembly lines like Roman roads Bound town to town in humming chain; Old craft gave way to modern speed, And progress carried loss and gain. Then shadow fell across the globe- A second war of iron and sky; From London's blaze to Normandy The cost of tyranny ran high. In trenches, camps, and shattered streets The century's fury reached its height; Yet through the ruin nations learned The price of darkness-and of light. So runs the thread from Celtic tongue To steel and wire and engine's roar- A tapestry of striving hands, Of fallen crowns and open door. Europe's tale, and America's too, Are woven tight in warp and weft: Old roots beneath new branches spread, Much gained by time, and much still left.
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84
Langston Hughes; A poet supreme; Asked what happens to a deferred dream. If you work hard, And play by the rules. You should reap a reward; And not suffer fools. But the fools chose a leader Who crushes dreams with his pen And so the dream seems deferred; yet again. Dr King’s arc of justice took a hit; The work goes on, We refuse to quit! Happy Black History Month!
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Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 6:57 AM UTC
Dreams Delayed
***** dollars made on the backs of slaves Land of the free home of the brave? That’s a contradiction They forget the contribution Acres of land forged under the signature of a rifle, upon arrival Europeans were Indians rivals Hiding behind freedom of religion they stole land that was never given Black finger prints all over this nations blueprint While leaders have devoted their careers eradicating a whole races history This is America where ignorance comes at a premium, and knowledge is only acknowledged if it comes under the right shade
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Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 10:30 AM UTC
This Is America
WE ARE BLACK and WE ARE PROUD SAY IT LOUD!!! It's BLACK HISTORY MONTH, and WE STAND OUR GROUND, WE REPRESENT OUR HERITAGE ALL AROUND, We STAND ON BUSINESS and YOU CAN'T BRING US DOWN!!! BLACK HISTORY MONTH IS A MONTH TO COMMEMORATE, THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE FIGURES, THAT WE PROUDLY CELEBRATE, FROM THE U.S.A., TO OUR AFRICAN ROOTS, BLACK ACTIVISTS, 5 OF ALL KINDS JUST TO NAME A FEW!!! We have CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST SOJOURNER TRUTH, Dr. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR, and MAYA ANGELO, ROSA PARKS, and MALCOM X, ALICE COLEMAN and FREDRICK DOUGLAS, BESSIE COLEMAN, and CLAUDETTE COLVIN, SHIRLEY CHISHOLM, and BOOKER T. WASHINGTON, IDA B. WELLS and HARRIET TUBMAN!!! THERE ARE MANY OF THEM THAT HAVE PAVED THE WAY, THEY ARE STILL BEING LEARNED ABOUT THIS VERY DAY!!! B.R. Date: 2/16/2025
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Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 8:24 PM UTC
BLACK POWER!!!!
Dear Martin,          So many years have passed and it breaks my heart to say that the oppression is still there. You'd think that in the years, the hate would have slowly died down, but sadly it seems to grow bigger, evolve, into a beast, a monster. Martin, I do not write to you to tell you that this war is still going on. I write to tell to that we've made progress. Broke stereotypes. moved mountains. Each day waking up choosing not to fight hate with hate.     But Dr.King I wonder, I truly do wonder, if they are so blind that they cannot see the pain they cause. I wonder if I am naive to think that all the movies and shows that portray the struggles that African Americans go through, will break them, make them show sympathy. I wonder if they have wrapped their heart in so many layers of stone, that no matter how many times the ocean hits the stone, it will not be able to weather the stone away. I wonder if someday, 'hate' will be too weak a word to describe how they feel, or maybe just maybe it will instead become too heavy on their shoulders, and they will have no choice but to let it go. I wonder if people think this is God's doing, cause Ma always tells me, whatever situation you find yourself, good or bad, believe the Lord will guide you through. Do you believe in God Dr. King? I do. I believe that he will take pity on us, on the brothers who have died, on the mothers who have mourned,   on the sisters who are mistreated, on the fathers who are wrongfully convicted, I believe he will take pity and end this war. I believe in your dream, Dr. King, and dreams do not die, they merely take time to manifest. I have hope that it'll become a reality, and I hope you do too. Sincerely.
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Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC
A letter to Dr. Martin Luther King
Dear Martin,          So many years have passed and it breaks my heart to say that the oppression is still there. You'd think that in the years, the hate would have slowly died down, but sadly it seems to grow bigger, evolve, into a beast, a monster. Martin, I do not write to you to tell you that this war is still going on. I write to tell to that we've made progress. Broke stereotypes. moved mountains. Each day waking up choosing not to fight hate with hate.     But Dr.King I wonder, I truly do wonder, if they are so blind that they cannot see the pain they cause. I wonder if I am naive to think that all the movies and shows that portray the struggles that African Americans go through, will break them, make them show sympathy. I wonder if they have wrapped their heart in so many layers of stone, that no matter how many times the ocean hits the stone, it will not be able to weather the stone away. I wonder if someday, 'hate' will be too weak a word to describe how they feel, or maybe just maybe it will instead become too heavy on their shoulders, and they will have no choice but to let it go. I wonder if people think this is God's doing, cause Ma always tells me, whatever situation you find yourself, good or bad, believe the Lord will guide you through. Do you believe in God Dr. King? I do. I believe that he will take pity on us, on the brothers who have died, on the mothers who have mourned,   on the sisters who are mistreated, on the fathers who are wrongfully convicted, I believe he will take pity and end this war. I believe in your dream, Dr. King, and dreams do not die, they merely take time to manifest. I have hope that it'll become a reality, and I hope you do too. Sincerely.
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29
It's not a sign board that says "Go away" That is a mark of a silent prayer It is the act of giving the poor a place to stay When your pockets are empty And you live in a house of despair It's not tear gas on the streets Or hostile stares to the cops That is a mark of a silent plea It is the act of kindness that takes heart When the world hates you and is against you And takes up it's arms
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Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 1:27 PM UTC
Not A Protest
*By no means is this my work, I’m highlighting this in celebration for Black History Month ————————————————————————-—— Southern trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant south, The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to **** For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop. -Abel Meeropol
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Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 11:34 AM UTC
“Strange Fruit” by Abel Meeropol
Three White People walk into bar. The first is a young man in a Wu-Tang shirt who speaks in ebonics, Except when it comes to black lives he says what happened to equality. All lives matter to say only black lives is nonsense. The Second is a women in her 40s, she takes two steps and looks around and makes eye contact with the bartender. The bartender shakes his head and walks away. She says he should know his place, I'm always right. I want to speak with the manager. The Third is a older Man who has a box in his night stand, with a white hood and pictures he treasures of him with his clan. Now theres a red hat that has taken its place, just Politics. So this racism is okay, he says to himself. As he's driving thru the projects with his doors locked, waving at all his neighbors he hates. Wearing the same fake smile, he hates their skin. They hate the place. What has been learned can also be forgotten. When black men bawl in cries for life with their deaths by a cops hand, We mind our business until they kneel before the flag.... Then we blackball them. As if there is another time that we collectively watch them. White privilege is "that's not my problem." Three white people walk into a bar, If this is the set up for a joke then it's one that has gone too far.
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Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
Three White People
"Come on Rosie let's go to town." Rosie smiled instead of a frown. Finally she can leave that giant white house, she's tried of being an indoor mouse. The nanny smiles and gives her a kiss, lets her know that she will be missed. Mama gently grabs her hand, Rosie wants to explore that outside land. Watching through windows as life rolls on, too young to be someone until life rolls on. The summer air hits her face, the cool breeze makes the trees wave. Summer flowers are strong and in bloom, she wants to go to the park soon. "Mama mama can we go?" Anything for her angel she shows. Skip down the sidewalk not a worry in mind, life is beautiful Rosie will find. Into the park mama lets her play. If she could she would stay all day. Climb the tree and play in the dirt. Not much to do but she makes it work. A wall of trees hold her back, just like the rules, she silently laughs. Look back to see mama's not watching, sneak into the woods at the rivers crossing. The feeling of excitement rushed through her body, time to explore, time to be naughty. She sees pretty birds and little creatures, the fascination excites her. New emotions fire up like a lighter. Then she feels something touch her head, stops in her tracks with feet like lead. Look up to see a man hanging there. Feet dangling in the air. Catches her breath, she can't scream, look into his eyes and see the pain. A fresh noose around his neck, body torn, body limp. Rosie screams with her held air, she doesn't understand why, she knows that shes scared. Mama covers her eyes, mama grabs her away. Rosie hears of a lynching that day. What does it mean, she doesn't know. Years go by before she knows. It's not fair what they did to him, her family doesn't care that there are more like him. Rosalie cries for the lost man. And this is where summer ends
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Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
The End of Summer
"Come on Rosie let's go to town." Rosie smiled instead of a frown. Finally she can leave that giant white house, she's tried of being an indoor mouse. The nanny smiles and gives her a kiss, lets her know that she will be missed. Mama gently grabs her hand, Rosie wants to explore that outside land. Watching through windows as life rolls on, too young to be someone until life rolls on. The summer air hits her face, the cool breeze makes the trees wave. Summer flowers are strong and in bloom, she wants to go to the park soon. "Mama mama can we go?" Anything for her angel she shows. Skip down the sidewalk not a worry in mind, life is beautiful Rosie will find. Into the park mama lets her play. If she could she would stay all day. Climb the tree and play in the dirt. Not much to do but she makes it work. A wall of trees hold her back, just like the rules, she silently laughs. Look back to see mama's not watching, sneak into the woods at the rivers crossing. The feeling of excitement rushed through her body, time to explore, time to be naughty. She sees pretty birds and little creatures, the fascination excites her. New emotions fire up like a lighter. Then she feels something touch her head, stops in her tracks with feet like lead. Look up to see a man hanging there. Feet dangling in the air. Catches her breath, she can't scream, look into his eyes and see the pain. A fresh noose around his neck, body torn, body limp. Rosie screams with her held air, she doesn't understand why, she knows that shes scared. Mama covers her eyes, mama grabs her away. Rosie hears of a lynching that day. What does it mean, she doesn't know. Years go by before she knows. It's not fair what they did to him, her family doesn't care that there are more like him. Rosalie cries for the lost man. And this is where summer ends
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7
Hush little baby Don't you cry Look into my Deep brown eyes I tell you now there comes a day When life gets better for you baby Baby. Ooh. Baby. Yes. Life gets better for you baby. Chains, all around me. Whiplash everytime I hear a heartbeat. Work from dawn to dusk All day in the sun No break for me No I don't get none. "Plow this pick that. I need some cotton. Make me my money Before I beat you rotten" Beat me down But my pride's unbeatable. **** me now But my hiers will be equal. Be equal. Be equal. Be equal. Chorus "Hey, fight this war for me. If you do I'll bring you All out of slavery" Deal's fair enough Only if it were true I might be out chains But still beneath you. Can't learn. Can't vote. And Why you ask? It's cuz my skin's Dark and you just can't have it. Cant have it. Cant have it. Chorus We'll fight our war And we'll fight it united. Unity and peace That's what we'll fight with. Our battle scars They will come with us knowing That our blood was shed But the better days are coming. We'll dream like kings And we'll sit in our seats Breaking down the walls Separating you and me. And me. And me. The better days They are coming for you baby You'll see the better days One brighter day For you baby. The better days They are coming for you and me Won't be no slavery It's so justly for you and me. Chorus
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
February (BHM Song)