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Maple Mathers May 2016

Dear Mother and Father,*

        I spoke with Ali today. Maybe it was the first time in years. Maybe it was the first time that we’d ever actually spoken at all. Either way. She told me some things that I thought you should know.

Prostitutes, ******, what have you. They’re not born, they’re created.

         Focus on this. Your white picket fence. Your barbecue, your big family dog. Your pristine, rich neighborhood. Your uppity gossip. Your rules, judgements, “charity.”

         Behind your closed doors, however, dwells something else.

         Something like hypocrisy. Something like abuse.

Now focus on this.

         Ali: dark and brooding, even as a small child. Questioning all of your family values, the ones that I had merely accepted.

         My little sister, the ultimate judge, the supreme *****.

         Forbidden black fingernails, black hair; fingernails, which you forced pink, hair that you insisted blond. Friends that you deemed “greasy” and “unsavory”.

         Hateful, teenage Ali. Ditching classes to go off with boys. Returning home with track marks and glossy eyes. Sneaking out with no destination, if only to not be at the one place she couldn’t be herself.

         Home.

Now, this. That awful “it’s not to late to save your soul” camp. A reform jail. Holier than thou epithets. Squeaky clean repentance. A stockade full of higher authority telling her, “you’re wrong,” telling her, “we are going to fix you.”

         Brain washing robots with backhanded facades.

         Sad, scared Ali. It’s no wonder she chose to rebel, for all she knew of authority was hypocrisy.

         Not just you.

         Instead, a withered, sick janitor.

         The old man who brought her the food that they didn’t serve in the dinning quarters. Fresh fruit, chocolate, and cheese. Food to outweigh the everyday gruel.


         This lonely, forlorn man expecting compensation in return. ****** compensation; unimaginable and certainly ungodly acts.

         This Janitor, he would wander into Ali's room in the early hours of the morning. . . And vanish, several hours later.

        His pockets, empty. His heart, full.

         In this sick and twisted world, the janitor believed that love could exist anywhere. He believed that romantic relationships should not be constricted by something as trivial as age.

         And Ali, she had alternative motives, and compensated her innocence to reach them.

         This was, perhaps, the beginning of Ali's stark career.

         The *compensation of her soul.


         Or, perhaps, it was the man that picked her up next, as a desperate hitchhiker.

         Ali, who finagled the nun’s keys and escaped that ungodly place forever.

         Ali, who climbed into a sinister car with a pretentious man who warped her in more ways than one would even imagine.

         Penniless, solitary, and willing.

         But, think. What would you do with yourself if you had absolutely nothing and no one to lose?

         **Prostitutes, ******, what have you. They’re not born, they’re created.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)


.
Shari Forman May 2013
Everybody Loves Raymond

“The Long, Unforgettable Wednesday”

[Setting: Barron’s home]
[The kids and Debra are at the table eating breakfast.]
DEBORA: So Ali, John, did you guys finish your homework for school?
ALI: yea mommy, we finished.
DEBORA: Good.
[Long pause; Debora smiles]
DEBORA: Ok, you kids get your bags ready for school; I’ll go and wake Daddy up.
[Debora comes charging up the stairs.]
DEBORA: Ray, you have to drive the kids to school now.
RAY: It’s my turn already?
[Groans loudly]
RAY: Ok, here are my car keys. Tell them to call if they hit traffic.
DEBORA: Ray, this isn’t funny! I have to go to work now and have two new patients coming in! Get up!
[Debora pulls the quilt off him and opens the blinds]
RAY: [smiles confidently] There’s no way you can get me out of bed Deb.
DEBORA: [seems aggravated with him] Fine then Ray.
[Tries pulling him off the bed when the whole bed collapses.]
RAY: Holy Moly.
[John and Ali walk in petrified]
DEBORA: Hey kids! You have your bags I see.
ALI: Should I be worried?
[Ray quickly jumps out of bed.]
RAY: No, no Ali. Mommy and Daddy were just meditating.
[Debra gives Ray a nasty look]
[End of scene.]
[Ray, Ali and John are in the car heading to their school]
JOHN: What were you and Mommy doing before?
RAY: I told you guys; we were meditating.
ALI: It looked like you were fighting though.
[Ray seems tense]
RAY: Meditating and fighting are very different; therefore, we were originally meditating Ali.  
[Children look baffled]
[Children arrive at school at 9:30 a.m.]
RAY: You know pretty soon; John, Ali, you’ll be able to drive.
[Ray chuckles and the kids smile]
RAY: Love you. Just for future references, don’t go around like me telling the world that people should try meditating; you’ll end up in an environment like me and mommy.
JOHN AND ALI: [Kids laugh] Love you too Daddy.
[Ray arrives home to find his brother and parents in their house and an enormous shopping list to do.]
ROBERT: Ray, what happened to the bed upstairs?
RAY: It wasn’t like you were going to use it anyway Robert.
MARIE: Come Ray, sit down. I made you a roast beef sandwich.
FRANK: I thought that was my ravishing roast beef sandwich!
[Ray walks over to the T.V. and looks at the screen]
RAY: Jets are playing?
FRANK: Oh forget it, we’re done. He’s not going to get the yard goal.
[Makes the kick]
RAY: Yea! Woo!
[Gives Frank a hug and a high five]
FRANK: This calls for a celebration. Marie, go make me a tuna sandwich!
MARIE: What am I, the chef?!
FRANK: That’s why I married you…
[Marie gives Frank a serious look]
FRANK: And because you’re the love of my life ***.
RAY: Oh, God, see you two love birds later; have to go food shopping
MARIE: You didn’t even eat yet!
[Ray smiles and closes the door]
ROBERT: I’m sorry to have spoken, but may I ask kindly if I can have that sandwich?
MARIE: [surprised] what?
ROBERT: What, Rays gone and I just don’t want it to spoil.
MARIE: [Smiles] Good thinking Robbie; I’ll put it in the fridge for him later.
[ROBERT frowns.]
[End of scene.]
Steve Jun 2016
This here's the story of Cassius Clay
Who changed his name to Muhammad Ali
He knows how to talk and he knows how to fight
And all the contenders were beat out of sight

Sing, Muhammad, Muhammad Ali
He floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee
Mohammed, the black superman
Who calls to the other guy I'm Ali catch me if you can

Now all you fight fans, you've got to agree
There ain't no flies on Muhammad Ali
He fills the arena wherever he goes
And everyone gets what they paid for

Muhammad, was known to have said
You watch me shuffle and I'll jab off your head
He moves like the black superman
And calls to the other guy I'm Ali catch me if you can

He says I'm the greatest the worlds ever seen
The heavyweight champion who came back again
My face is so pretty you don't see a scar
Which proves I'm the king of the ring by far

Sing, Muhammad, Muhammad Ali
He floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee
Mohammed, the black superman
Who calls to the other guy I'm Ali catch me if you can

Sing, Muhammad, Muhammad Ali
He floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee
Muhammad, the black superman
Who calls to the other guy I'm Ali catch me if you can

I'm Ali catch me if you can
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGhXaBLIBso If you'd like to hear it sung. Originally released as a single in 1975.
Jordan Rowan May 2016
Ali Girl, oh Ali Girl
It's been a long time since we've spoke
You must think I'm a joke
Trying to reconnect something I expect must've gone up in smoke
If I wear you down or make you frown
Please doesn't hesitate to push me around

Ali Girl, oh Ali Girl
I think that my youth is a mess
And when my heart reflects on this lack of respect I hope you tear it right out of my chest
I can't stop or start a dying heart
So please just leave me in the dark

Ali Girl, oh Ali Girl
I know that you'll be fine
And when the winter winds blow away these petty sins I hope you keep me in your mind
When life is free and loved to be
Please tell a story about me
Mark Lecuona Jun 2016
It is very difficult to explain what someone means to you who you've never met. I suppose we all have our heroes and those we admire greatly. But beyond admiration, sometimes there is someone who has an effect on how you view the world; an effect that shatters your naiveté and profoundly opens the door of the human mind, personal behavior and possibility. For me, Muhammad Ali was that person.

“The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

That one quote of his is all you need to know about the man. It transcends sports and the violence of his chosen profession. And while we all admire the sheer will of his being to over-come a near death experience in order to win a fight, it was his willingness to accept ridicule, scorn and accusations of treason or of being a coward that showed how much more his will was than just beating up another man.

As a child I was loved boxing and studied up on its history, especially the heavyweight division. I was aware of Jack Dempsey and the long count, Joe Louis and how he fought Max Schmelling, the pride of **** Germany and how Joe came knocked him out in the first round after a previous loss to Max, but then later in life he became friends with Joe Louis and assisted his former rival financially in his later years, eventually financing his military] funeral in 1981. , Rocky Marciano and his undefeated record and Sonny Liston with his terrifying scowl. But to me Muhammad was the greatest of them all because he combined power and speed. He could fight like a middle-weight and stand toe to toe with the strongest men who entered the ring with him.

But all of that suddenly didn’t seem to matter when I learned that he refused to go to Vietnam. At the time, like so many of you I was a child. All I knew about the war was the child-like fantasy that our soldiers were supermen and that we were going to win the war. We were the good guys. And yet here was this black man, so known to me suddenly refusing to go. I learned about a phrase called “conscientious objector.” I wondered how a person could just say they wouldn’t go because it was against their religion; especially if this same person was savagely beating people in the ring. It was a dichotomy that I do not fully understand even to this day. I wondered how a man who had the courage to enter the ring and fight would be called a coward by other men who would never challenge him to a fist-fight. I wondered about hating our own country and saying that he had no reason to hate the Vietcong. I wondered about what our country had done to blacks over the years and how maybe, just maybe they had a point.

And I wondered about becoming a Black Muslim and changing his name while calling his former name, his "slave name."

These things all entered the mind of a child. And I didn’t know what to think. But as time passed and he continued on as a boxer, I continued to admire his skills. I admired the way he carried himself after his defeat against Joe Frazier in their first fight. That was a shock to me because I thought Ali to be almost god-like in his skills and the way he lived life. But then he came back and later defeated Frazier twice. It taught me that we can be great even with a blemish as he was no longer undefeated.

And then came George Foreman; another terrifying man in the ring. Even more terrifying than Sonny Liston. Nobody thought Ali would win. But win he did and it was the greatest victory of all; because it was a modern day tale like David versus Goliath; Ali showed how his mind was his greatest weapon and how it can help a person overcome any odds; any disadvantage if they are willing to use and believe in themselves. Again, the possibilities of life were presented to me. You can do it another way.

But you have to believe in yourself.

“The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

And now these words mean so much to me because I believe I have not wasted the past thirty years of my life. I believe I have changed. And I believe I am now able to consider all possibilities before I decide what I believe and how I should judge the actions of another person. Though we are taught not to judge we find ourselves in situations where we are forced to judge. And when a man refuses to serve while another man does serve, giving his life for his country, then it is hard not to judge. And I’m not here to tell you that Ali was right not to go because I know I have friends who went along with their Fathers. And they deserve every honor and not a message that they died in vain. But what Ali did was make me think about the future and a world where a young man should not be forced to give his life for the ambitions of another man. Or the fears of another man. It taught me to think about peace and love. And to understand the culture and burden carried by another man.

Because not everyone is raised by loving parents. Not everyone was born free and made to feel special. Not everyone can live a life of relative ease.

And very few have the courage to live their life by their conscience. Muhammad Ali was that type of man. A black man in America, straddling the times of Jim Crow and the Civil Rights Act of 1964. A black man living in a time of hate and violence. A MUSLIM black man who saw a CHRISTIAN black man assassinated for speaking out for TRUTH, JUSTICE AND LOVE.

All I can say to my children is that this man WAS A MAN.

RIP Muhammad. You rose before us all and now you can take your place among angels who stand waiting for your great soul.
This is not a poem but I wanted to eulogize the man and give you my thoughts; there are so many young poets on this site and I think you should look into his great life if you do not know much about him. I'm 57 and he was a huge part of the life; like The Beatles. Like Dylan. Like Martin Luther King. Jr.

All of this is to say that I was blessed to grow up in a time of great social change and the courage Ali possessed was other-wordly.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Ali
He floated like a butterfly,
Stang like a bee –
The one and only
Muhammad Ali.
“I’m The Greatest”, he always said,
20th Century Sports Personality,
Put his rivals to bed.

Yes, he WAS the Greatest, that’s for sure.
Above the rest by a massive score.
Faster than a hummingbird,
Slicker than a snake,
Those quick hands of his
They made opponents quake.

He’d get into bed
Before the light went out.
Rarely a whisper,
Usually a shout.

Like a long-distance runner
Ali had the endurance.
Anyone who fought him
Needed lots of insurance.

Ali was great and didn’t he know it.
A witty speaker and amusing poet.
Some of his lines I’ve used right here:
They had his rivals shaking with fear.

No way would Ali fight the Viet Cong.
For that he merits a Nobel Gong.
He was the champion of the oppressed,
A hero with whom we all were blessed.

He had charisma, way beyond sport.
Ali influenced our every thought.
He’ll call into Hell on the way to Heaven,
To knock out Satan, in round seven.

Paul Butters
After a sad weekend during which we lost The Greatest.....
Ali's Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don't tarnish. It ain't so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.

They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, "called a ***** a *****."
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.

Ain't got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ******, did me wrong.
A man can't be lukewarm, 'cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.

They said, "Now here's your bullet and your gun,
and there's your cell: we're waiting, you choose one."
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.

My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—BOLD.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child,
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

The poem above has been set to music in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong.

You are free to copy the poem for noncommercial use, such as a school project, essay or report, or just because you like it and want to share, but please credit Michael R. Burch as the author.

NOTES: (1) Muhammad Ali said that he threw his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River after experiencing racism in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep. The Ali family paid $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. Ali later made a joke about the incident that caused him to toss his medal into the river. He said that he took his medal into a white downtown restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger. The waitress told him, "We don't serve negroes." Ali replied, "I don't eat them either. Just bring me a cheeseburger!" (2) When drafted during the Vietnam War, Ali refused induction, reputedly saying: "I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ******." (3) The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. (4) The poem was originally published by the literary journal Black Medina. It has since been published by Other Voices International, Thanal Online, Freshet, Poems About and Poem List.
martin Nov 2013
I've had enough of all this wind and reindeer
We otter go away
Holidays are important, my parents tortoise that
Weasel have to look on the internet
You know I can't bear the heat
But here's a spa hotel where I'm sure they would panda to your every need
Alpaca suitcase right away

Toothpaste tube, cattle class
Purple stripes, rows of lights
A newly formed castle white
In concrete, steel and glass

Cloud-high halls, giant pots
Re-charging bodies strewn around
Turning deeper shades of brown
Volcanic sand, hot black rock

We watch a floating city, blazing light
Like a dying star, fade into the night

                        -

Ali, where do these bananas go?
What kind of tree is this?
How far does this levada flow?

Ali takes the tourists out
He throws some breadcrumbs in the water
He likes to feed the trout

Madeira born in forty five
Ali told me many things
Ali, our levada walking guide

His family was very poor
He collected mussels from the shore
And sticks to burn for heat
For today his mother said
I have no food and we must eat
We have to eat

Ali, where are all the vines?
How long before your boots wear out?
Do you drink the local wine?

Do the tourists drive you mad
With all the questions that they ask?
Ali smiles, shuffles us aside
To let some others pass
Muhammad  Ali- Poster,personification and Palsy
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

When I was young,I had posters of only two;
Bruce Lee and Muhammad Ali ,you.
I was uninitiated to understand Che Guevara.
Frankly,my dear; I had no clue.
Rest in Peace, Muhammad Ali ,Sir.
A part of my childhood and adolescence goes with you.

From Cassius Clay,the champion
to Muhammad Ali,
With the whole world as his nation,
You were an awesome thing to happen to religion.
A  naive thought-One may argue.
But I was small then,
it was a child's view.
                    
My young mind questioned,
how could you float like a butterfly
and how could your punch be
like the sting of a bee?
It was you who made me understand,
what Metaphors do.

You began to move slow.
I saw you shaking too.
Your body suffered,
but you remained unshaken.
More than what it could,
You allowed me to know,
What this 'Shaking Palsy' could not do.

Rest in Peace,
I bid adieu.
It all feels strange,
this world is new.
But the World is not that brave.
Muhammad Ali, Sir,
without you.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
As thousands of migrants sojourned from Timbuktu
All destined for Libya from the ancient Kingdom of Mali,
One ,a patched lip skinny kid , greeted them''Assalamualaikum''
''Why are we dying in Libya ?'' asks the young migrant called Ali.

For several months , everyday , from sunset to sunrise
Ali said he too dreamed of being a part of the mass migration
'' Oh my dear brothers, I wish your plans were otherwise ''
For many of you will not reach your final destination.

Ali said Libya was the cradle of modern day slavery,
Death trap ,a magnate that lures desperate poor Africans
Escaping prosecution, economic hardships and poverty
Just for them to end up dead like sardines in cans.

Oh Africa Ali asks,where are all of your leaders?
What have we done to deserve this unspeakable evil?
Is it because of the hues of our beautiful black leathers?
When did we become the slavery anvil?

Man to man , is so unjust '' he quoted Bob Marley
'' But Arab to Black Africans is another sad story ! ''
'' Why are Black people being sold into slavery?
Why is the whole world sitting so supinely?

~ Ivan Brooks Sr ~
Man to man is so unjust ''says Bob Marley
''Arab against black man is another story'' says the migrant called Ali
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
for Ali, Ali, Ali, a daughter by any other name
                                                        (April 2014)
Dear Nat,

your letter caught me up,
at the Village Vanguard bar,
so addressed and there saved,
knowing, believing it's a sign,
time to meet fleshed again,
my sometimes sub-let
neighborhood friend

doing a gig there
this weekend
finishing up the tour
where it all began,
nothing gonna change my mind,
in the city that's where I'm staying.

the road is calling out my name,
but I ain't walking out the door anytime soon,
they want too much body and soul,
but don't worry once or even twice,
got some cash, it's all right

early afternoon, bar empty,
got a few rainy minutes,
got me paper n' pen
and a beer, from the
bar man who also gets
me whatever else I need (haha)

sorry I missed you in Cleveland,
you, back in New York when
I'm finally out your way,
ain't just like fate,
to make us ache so all alone

read your lyrics,
made making some suggestions,
like a baby's new clothes,
lots of bows, a few lines fell
down onto the floor
can't be found
like broken pearls on a dance floor

J. sends regards,
told her what you wrote about
A Long Black Veil, she laughed,
promises she will wear one
when next we all three meet

touring was good and hard,
traveling time is writing time,
but sitting here thinking
how many years have passed and gone
since we first met,
so many roads different taken
by many a first friend,
each one I've never seen against,
let's not that happen to us

rail riding done for awhile,
see ya back on Bleecker Street,
if we're still "cool"
we'll have that fire burning!
Ok, we'll swap some  lines, fine,
but I want, claiming dibs
on that ole easy chair

P.S. got the rent money covered till your return in the summer

Bobby
April 1968
~~~~~~~~~
Between 1968 and 1973,
split my time tween Cleveland and NYC,
before returning to ny full time in the summer of '71.

I lived at 352 Bleecker,
above the long gone
but now moved to Brooklyn,
Pink Teacup restaurant. The eyetalian bakery on the corner of Bleecker and Seventh Ave., long time gone...almost fifty freaking years ago...anyway...I think the stain glass window is still there, gonna have to check it out...shoot forgot about Google Earth!
The 352 Blues

this city treats the poor
with swift unkindness,
but if you peel your eyes,
you don't necessarily have to always
sing the ole 352 Bleecker Blues

the eyetalian storekeeper,
gives us morning java,
when we sing for him on the guitar,
The Star-Spangled Banner,
refills, if we add America the Beautiful

they say that heat rises,
but that don't seem true
in our third floor walk up
on rue 352 Bleecker Street,
the cold companion enters
thru the busted stain glass window

no matter, no cares,
we light the fireplace,
with wood and anything that'll burn,
we scavenged from the street,
pallets and newspapers,
yesterday's 352 truths

at two AM, the cops, in their cars
cooping, fast asleep, only just us,
the johns, the ****** and troubadours,
walking the streets looking for
free stuff to burn

pass the hat for tips
next to the arch,
enough for daily bread
but we get our ***** and ****
for free, just for singing the 352 blues

even when down and out
on the village streets,
bleak on Bleecker street,
you gotta sing the 352 blues,
especially when you're
riding high and living cool,
down on easy Bleecker Street
~~~~~~~
Before you ask me if this true,
save your breath,
the answer is
Which part?
Bad Luck Jun 2014
Cheated and defeated –
                      my mistakes, themselves, repeated...
A monster made of gluttony;
                     I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
Which brings up some emotions -
                               Or maybe, they’re allusions?
But, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .  
                       All the while, stretching skin.

                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
Once I took a second step, I guess I chose to dance.

               Oh, what a performance it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!

                 Although, I’m not sure when that is…
                            As I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      When my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.

Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I’ll trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.

Gaining speed, with increasing malice
I hopped right on
        And chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Muhammad Ali was a global boxing icon
Who was ebuillent in his personality
A champion at heart
That showed perseverance with dignity
Many stated that he would never succeed
But, he took that crticism and lit the fire
No one could ever question his strong will
Ali, had the courage to reach higher
They say farmer’s son will learn to take care of seedlings;
smith’s son will learn how to forge and beat the iron;
baker’s son will learn how best to bake
to conquer best the market…

They say some birdies grow up knitting nests;
***’s foals grow up carrying loads;
cubs grow up learning how to roar most

to scare most the jungle…
The blood brothers2 were brought up
like sibling cubs of the lion
as if Mesopotamia was forest.


On birth day3 they learnt to blow lives out of bodies as candles;
a witness will tell how a citizen was received
by Mukhabarat4 waiters
one of such days,
and describe conviviality at Saddam’s
where the evil has born the arch evil5,
and where they learnt the art of making people yell!

At bees biting babies6 Uday was taught to find rejoice;
at parents wearing Adam’s garment7
in front of children
his father’s great power was worth of praise! 8
and he burnt to rule like father or more!



Would the Maker of the Heaven and Earth hold the fit
at the fate of Nahle Sabet9, the cake thrown to swine?
Would Mucius’s10 soul hold the fit
at the fate of Saad Abd al-Razzek Nihaya11
whose medals and stars were made spots
fit to throw to bin after the half of his life
hurled down from the sky?
Would the pearl Ilham Ali al-Azani12 be thrown like dirt to bin,
father’s fear of Allah tried,
and shot like a sneaking thief,
and the abu sarhan 13 stay without a prize,
and cause more devastations in the garden of Allah?

1. The lion and his cubs: Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti and his two sons Uday Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti and Qusay Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti. - 2. The blood brothers: The criminal brothers. Though crimes committed by Uday, the first born of Saddam Hussein, have been the most reported by media, his young brother was not less cruel. In April 26, 1998 he ordered Colonel Hassan al-Amri to ****** on a grand scale at Abu Ghraib, Iraq’s largest prison, and more than 1,500 prisoners were all massacred the next day. – 3. On birthday: Reports say that Saddam’s sons received pistols as presents on their birthday! – 4. Mukhabarat: Saddam’s secret police. – 5. Where the evil has born the arch evil: such is the description of Saddam’s house. He taught criminality to his sons, and his first born became crueller than father. Uday told Latif Yahia, his body double, whenever he seemed weak or squeamish as a child his father would beat him with an iron bar and then force him to watch videos of prisoners being tortured. – 6. Bees biting babies: This is one of the tortures applied: naked children in a room with a bee hive, being stung hundreds of times, and their parents were forced to watch behind glasses! -7. Parents wearing Adam’s garment: men forced to **** their wives in front of their horrified young children! - 8. His father’s great power was worth of praise: First you note the irony. Uday told Latif Yahia, “Just wait until I become president. I’ll be crueller than my father ever was…” - 9. Nahle Sabet: A pretty architectural student. The girl resisted and rejected Uday publically; he threw her naked to his pack of wild dogs which ripped her to pieces while he watched, drinking champagne and laughing! Here is the testimony by Latif Yahia: «It was the look he was sporting on a crisp, dry winter day in 1987 when he drove around the campus of the University of Baghdad looking for action (for women to ****). He caught sight of Nahle Sabet, a pretty architecture student from a respected middle-class Christian family he’d noticed when he occasionally attended classes. He cruised past her slowly now, honking, trying to get her attention. She refused to even look in his direction. Two days later Sabet was a few blocks from her family’s home in a Baghdad suburb when a Mercedes sedan screeched to a halt on the sidewalk in front of her. Two men in dark suits got out and identified themselves as secret police. They told her she was wanted at headquarters for questioning and led her into the car. Headquarters turned out to be a farm Uday owned several miles from Baghdad. The frightened girl was hustled into a drawing room, where Uday sat at an antique desk. “You’re very lucky,” he said. “I’ve chosen you as my new girlfriend.” “You’re insane,” Sabet stammered. “I want to go home!” “Strip her,” Uday ordered his guards. The burly men pounced on her and ripped at her clothes until she was cowering naked on the floor. Uday towered over her, unrolling his favourite wire cable. “First I will beat you. Then, if you’re good, I’ll allow you to please myself and my men.” It took Uday and his men almost three months to break Sabet’s spirit. Then Uday was tired of her. Her face was ruined; her body was a mass of bruises. He had the guards take her out to the kennels where he kept his attack dogs. He’d told the keepers several days before to stop feeding them. Nahle Sabet was then smeared with honey and tossed into the kennels, where all evidence of the crime disappeared.» – 10. Mucius, (Gaius Mucius Scaevola): God of bravery and heroism in Ancient Roma. – 11. Saad Abd al-Razzek Nihaya: An Iraqi army officer decorated for bravery in the Iran-Iraq War but that didn’t help him or his new wife. Uday saw the couple walking together, took the girl to a hotel suite. She pleaded with him not to defile her - she had only been married yesterday. Uday beat her until she was ****** then ***** her. Then they heard a long, piercing scream, then silence. The girl had jumped from the seventh floor. Her husband cursed Uday, and he was soon sentenced to death for ‘insulting the president.’ – 12. Ilham Ali al-Azani: Uday always slept with the winner of the Miss Iraq contest. But when attractive student Ilham Ali Al-azami won she turned him down. Uday abducted Miss Iraq to his palace. He ***** her over and over again and then as ‘punishment for her defiance’ allowed all his bodyguards to **** her for an entire week. Then Uday circulated a rumour that the girl was a **** and let her go. The girl’s father, a devote Muslim, was so ashamed that he killed his own daughter. When the aging father appeared at Uday’s palace Uday had the old man shot.- 13. Abu sarhan: Uday seemed proud of his reputation and called himself abu sarhan, Arabic for "wolf".

Excerpt of Gallows Bird in Heaven, http://www.amazon.fr/Gallows-Bird-in-Heaven-ebook/dp/B005JKMW66

Source of the note: www.meritummedia.com, visited 2013/05/19
Excerpt of Gallows Bird in Heaven, http://www.amazon.fr/Gallows-Bird-in-Heaven-ebook/dp/B005JKMW66
preservationman Jun 2016
Until we meet again to the greatest
Boxing Championship wins being obvious
Muhammad Ali Motto, “Sting by a Bee”
Technique and motion being the key
The world truly had the opportunity too see
Your motto to us, “Be rough when the going gets tough”
Your victory is our honor
Yet in later years, you suffered from Parkinson’s Disease
But living your life being at ease
Boxing remained in your heart
You fought many boxing bouts
Your story alone is what many will continue to talk about
Your honor being inspirations to our soul
But what you established is our behold
Heaven has invited you up
Your amazement has filled our cups
The Angels stated, “Show us how to Box”
It will not be a match with God
This is Heaven’s way in illustrating Muhammad Ali’s courage and dignity
Sleep on Ali
I will always think of thee
The world mourns
Yet your spirit has enriched our yearns
We will always look up and our eyes to think beyond.
WARM WINTER Jun 2016
To be Ali is to be a lion of God,

a fighter for peace,

a lover of love,

and a vanguard of truth.

To fight the fight of life as if for your life is...

to be Ali.



So for the sake of truth,

love,

light,

life and prosperity,

fight.

#‎iamAli‬

*The Fugees - Rumble In The Jungle
my brothers memorial had me feelin' all purposeful ...again....*yawn* <3

my ego #is empowerment
Francie Lynch Jun 2016
Two sluggers emerged
From Louisville;
One fashioned from ash,
One molded from Clay.
One is The Greatest.
Ali.
The Greatest
stinging like a bee
stinging like a bee
nothing can beat ,my southpaw spree
my southpaw spree
stings like a bee
stinging, stinging, stinging
like a bee
nothing can beat, my southpaw spree

the punches I'd throw
the punches I'd throw
they'd pummel, from the get go
from the get go
from the get go
the punches I'd throw
pummeled my foe

I'm Ali the king
I'm Ali the king
my gloves produced, magic in the ring
the magic I'd produce, in the ring
was so thrilling
thrilling the magic
I'd produce in the ring

around my waist
around my waist
a champion's, belt was placed
placed around my waist
the belt of a champion
the title I won
the title I won
it made me, the heavy weight champion
A tribute to the greatest Heavy Weight Champion of them all.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2016
It takes confidence to proclaim with boldness that you are anything.
It takes strength to defeat various things to come your way.
And the greatest of great boxers faced events that's relevant today.

He stood out.
Even through his shouts.
He stood out.

He stood out.
Even through his prediction.
Yes, Muhammad Ali demanded attention.

A southern born son.
Who rose to be the face of the heavy weight division?
Who faced conflicts from members of the press?

Mainly cause he stood out.
When changes comes to anything conservative.
You stand out.
And without a doubt.
Muhammad Ali, the greatest always stood out.

When he refused to go to war.
Where he would have never saw the battle field.
More likely a driver from the generals.
Oh, he made a few upset.
Then more likely many of them create friction for attention.
He aligned himself  with a group of different religious means.

To some of the far extreme.
But they rule with fear to make many stand still.
And next to Elijah, Malcolm he was the face too!

Although years later, he would have a different view.

He knew he was brilliant.
He knew he was cute.
Ask yourself?
How many boxers or men states they have no bruises upon their faces.

Classius Clay, as he proclaim a slave name.
When in truth another did posses it.
But so did another leader of the Indian faith.

Who was known as Mohammad Ali?
So they changed a letter or two.
But in all reflection of the man called the greatest.
He stood out.
Worship, cherished and adored.

I can honestly admit, we will not see another like him anymore.
Richard Riddle Jun 2016
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!

He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.

A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!

richard riddle: 06-05-2016
Big Virge Oct 2014
EVERYDAY ... In this country ....
They're telling us ... LIES ... !!!!!
from Thatcher ... to ... Blair ....
To ... "Good Old" ... "HESELTINE" .....
  
So let me explain ....
why i've put this in rhyme ....
  
The army's had ... SECRETS ...
THEY ... "DON'T" ... talk about ... !!!
  
So read these words ... CLOSELY ... !!!
cos' now ... it's come ... " OUT " ... !!!
  
Policies on recruitment ....
were .... "STRICTLY" .... Defined ....
Black soldiers ... WEREN'T ... Welcome ... !!!!!
on ... "WHITE" .... Army Lines ...
  
They say it's been happening ...
Since .... NINETEEN FIFTY-SEVEN !!!!!
  
But somehow ... i'm thinking ...
it's been ... "ALL THE TIME" ....
  
This to me though ... is ... COOL ... !!!
and is ... NO SURPRISE ... !!!!!
it's just .... POSITIVE PROOF ....
of the ... LIES ... they've disguised ... !!!!!
  
as a youthful ... PROUD BLACK ... !!!!!
I REMEMBER ..... THE HATRED ..... !!!
and .... Racial Attacks .... !!!
  
There was ... "NEVER" ... ANY BLACK
in the ... UNION JACK ... !!!!!
These ... UNCLE TOM ... Blacks ....
Should ... "REMEMBER" ... THAT ... !!!!
  
They like to suggest ....
Black people are ... "*****" ... !!!
  
Well, YES ... that is ... TRUE ...
  
"SOME" ... Black people ... ARE ... !!!
  
But it's ... WHITE GIRLS ... I see ....
who like ... "****" ...
Up Their ... **** ... !!!!!!
  
So ...........
for them .... to say ....
English people ... have ... " CLASS " ... !?!?!
is just ... "ONE MORE LIE" ....
and is truly .... A .... FARCE !!!!!!
  
Now this thing with ... "Armed Forces"
NOT wanting ... "us ... BLACKS" ... !!!!!
is ... "Cool with me !!!" ... but ... !!!???!!!
when ... MUSLIMS ... " ATTACK " ....
  
They'd better believe .....
They should ... COVER ...
Their Backs ... !!!!!
  
Cos' ... THE TRUTH ... is out now ...
and this ... I DO ... BACK ... !!!!
  
The Army ... SHOULD ...
...... " ETHNICALLY " ......
Cleanse OUT ... The Blacks .... !!!!!!!!!!
  
Oh they'll be ... ALRIGHT ... !!!
when their army's ... ALL WHITE ... !!!
  
So to those who hate ... ******* ...
have a read of ... The Words ...
in the ... FOLLOWING ... Verse ...
  
Go fight your own fights ... !!!!!
cos' Black people have died ....
"PROTECTING" ... YOU Whites ... !!!!!
  
who suggest that ... us ... BLACKS ....
Shouldn't have ... Civil Rights ... !!!!!!!
  
My feeling is that .....
STEPHEN LAWRENCE ... Is ... ONE ....
whose family ... "SUFFERED" ...
from an ... English Law ... CON ... !!!
  
Film footage did show ....
Those White .... HOOLIGANS .... !!!!!!
were ... READY ... to ... **** ... !!!
Any Black ... and just ... Run ...!!!...
  
But when court time came ....
They were given ... FREEDOM ... !???!
  
Well ....
To Stephen's ... DAD ...
and to ... Stephen's ... MUM ...
  
I'm writing this verse ....
cos' the way it was ... Handled ...
was ... "TOTALLY" ... " WRONG " ... !!!!!!
  
See .... The BBC showed ....
How .... Police Training ... goes !!!
  
That ... " Racists " ... get recruited ... !!!
and ... "WELCOMED" ... to the ... FOLD ... !!!!!
  
But People ... Only Know ...
cos' the ... "HIDDEN CAM" ... Showed ...
that .... RACISM'S .... hidden ....
like ... "COVETED" ... Gold ....
and that's when ... THE RACISTS ...
be acting .... ALL BOLD .... !!!!!
  
But catch them ....
on ... Their Own ...
when their ... "BNP Buddies" ...
are sitting ... AT HOME ... !!!
  
In Black Company ....
They're in ... " THE DEADZONE " ... !!!!!
  
They Quickly ... Transform ...
into .... " ALI G ... mode " .... !!!
  
"I've got LOADS of Black friends ...
so ... what's happening bro !!!???!!!"
  
Meantime we are told ....
"EQUALITY" ..... is in sight .... !!!
  
Now I ... DON'T LIKE ... using
"EXPLETIVES" .... when I write ... !!! ...
But ... i've got to say ... THIS ...
  
"That ain't ... ******* RIGHT ... !!!!!"
  
So ...  i'm fighting ...
...... RACISM ......
These Days ......
when I ... WRITE ...
  
while Police just ... DELIGHT ...
in ... beating Black Folks ....
til they're .............
  
"BLACKER than ....
  
NIGHT" .... !!!!!
  
Can this really be right ... !!!?!!!
  
These ... RACIST ... whites .... ARE ....
  
OHhhhhhh ...... Soooo ..... POLITE ... !!!
  
But ...
Don't want to ... "INVITE" ...
A time or place ....
where ... BLACK and WHITE ...
Can ... Try to... "UNITE" ......
  
But .... it's okay now ....
cos' Blacks be acting like ... Whites ....
now they're in the ... " LIMELIGHT " ...
  
Every ******* ... is ... "BLINGING" ....
with ... Custom Made ... Jewellery ...
  
"Correction" ..... ofcourse ....
that line should say .... "ICE" ....
  
See ... we ... DON'T ... Talk About....
Our .... "HUMAN" .... BLACK LICE ... !?!?!?!
  
Those ... " KILLING " ... Their Brothers ....
just for a slice ....
.... of ....
  
" Uncle Sam's Pie " ......
  
Well ....
The same rules ... apply ... !!!
  
The U.S. .... just wants them ...
to ... lay down ... and ... DIE ... !!!
  
cos' they ... Like The ... " British " ...
are just ... " FULL OF LIES " .... !!!!!
  
The UK's what ... I know ...
but this ... " LIE " .... Titled Prose ....
just goes to show .....
whether ...  HERE or THERE ....
The same **** ... flows ... !!!!!!!!!
  
From the ... LIES ... that they feed ....
to ... THOSE TRUTHS ... still ...
  
.............  "UNTOLD" ................ ???????
  
But ... NOW ... we've been told ....
  
Will Blacks ... "BREAK THE MOULD ?"
  
Well .... Probably ... NOT ... !!!?!!!
cos' ... most now ... have ... SOLD ...
Their ... TRUE SELVES ... behind ...
  
cos' now ... they're ... refined ...
and are ... STUCK ... in a Bind ...
B'cos' ... what they've ... Believed ...
Now ... leaves them ... " BEHIND " ...
  
THAT ...  Rock and Hard Place ... !!!
with visions ... " MISPLACED " ...
without .... recognizing ....
"NEW PROBLEMS" .... we face ... !!!
  
cos' ... White Moguls ... now know ...
what makes ... "*******" ... Break ... !!!
  
A Nice ..... Fancy Car .....
and .... *** .... on a plate ... !!!!!!
  
So ... YES ... Some DUMB ...
........ " ******* !!!" ..........
have ... Quickly ... got ... A.I.D.S .... !!!!!
  
cos' of ****** ... they've been ...
.......... " Bedding !!! " ..........
by their ... New ... Fireplace ... !!!
whilst telling ..... "LIES" ..... !!!
to their ..... Wives ......
  
Maaaannn .........
That ... ****'s ... A DISGRACE ... !!!!!
  
See ... this is a ... Trait ...
that now makes me ... Irate ... !!!!!
  
Some White Girls be .... "ACTING" ...
like .... "Black men are ... GREAT" ... !!!
  
But .......
"CANNOT" ..... take them ....
back to .... "Daddy's Place" ... !!!?!!!
cos' ... The Truth ...
then comes ... OUT ... !!!
  
They'd get a ... SLAP ... !!!
in their ..... FACE ..... !!!!!!!!!
  
B'cos daddy's ... Not Happy ... !!!!!
with the thought of his daughter ...
as a lamb to ... "BLACK SLAUGHTER" ....
  
cos' ... sounds that she's making ....
  
Sounds like *** ...
is ... " Pure TORTURE !!!!! "
  
and that's when his ...
  
"Lies and Untruths"
get ........ "Found Out"  ... !!!
cos' now her ... Black Boyfriend ....
gets treated like ... "GOUT" ... !!!
  
See ... These ... are the ... "LIES" ...
We ... "DON'T" ... talk about ... !!!
  
But ... This is ... "THE TRUTH" ....
  
coming out of ... My Mouth ...
or ... if you're a ... Reader ...
Yes .... Out of ... MY HANDS ...
  
Just think about this ......
and you'll ..... "OVERSTAND" ... !!!
that ... LYING .... comes easy ... to ...
..... "TRUE" ..... Englishman ... !!!
  
But .... LYING .....
...... to me .....
I now ... "OVERSTAND" ... !!!
  
It's fed ... YES ... to ... Man ...
and ... YES ... to ... Woman ...
  
to keep us from being ....
  
" UNITED " .....
  
..... as ......
  
" PEOPLE " .....
  
These things ...
  
" I BELIEVE ! " ....
  
have always been ...
  
" PLANNED "
  
cos' if people .... "UNITE" ....
The Divisions .... would ....
  
............. " DIE " .................
  
and then ...
People Like ..... "YOU" ......
and ... People Like ... " I " ...
  
could ... finally see ...
  
"THE TRUTH" ....
  
From the ...
  
.... " LIES " ....
  
Peace y'all and Recognise !!!!!
Seems like the Brits aren't the only ones, but, they do like to tell some whoppers !!!!!
Ekhafu ya kamevele niyo ekamayanka elurende!
It goes a Bukusu saying, from Kenya,
It has it English equivalence as;
The most productive Milch- cow
is the one that often dies at the creek,
And truly Proffessor Ali A.  Mazrui
Africa’s global intellectual Milch-cow
Has died today from his drinking creek,
At Birmingham hospital in New-York,
His death is a deep wound
To the world of knowledge,
An impeachment to the voices
Subscribing to classical reasons,
An old wine skin to the new wine
Of nothing but global democracy,
I mourn you Mazrui in this solemn dirge,
I grieve for you deeply from my heart
I grieve for you as you grieved Okigbo,
When the bullet took his youthful life
at Nzuka battle front during the Biafra,
My mind’s eye is seeing you,
Like my Mr. Giraffe the driver
In your political epic
That tried Christopher Okigbo,
Mazrui the global son
Sired in the neoclassical times
We shall miss you,
As there is no whence
That cometh another Mazrui
From all the four corners of the earth
Rarely will he come one more Mazrui,

You failed your O’level exams at Mombasa Sec School
As you humbly basked in Muslim poverty, in 1943
Not because you were a stooge
But a genius of cultural radicalism,
Refusing to answer a history question;
Who is the Archduke of Canterbury?
Dismissing it as academic sham,
For what value has Archduke of Canterbury
to an African, Asian or Mexican boy?

You were denied a chance to study
At the then colonial Makerere University,
You sublimated to Edinburg and Oxford,
You come back into its deanry of political science
You met Milton Obote face to face,
When he was an African-English song bird of Gulu
You shouted loud when Id Amin plotted to **** Okello Oculli
You were then detained for this noise of humanity
You voice was heard,
And you were exported to southern Tundra
As an exhibit for non-white intellectual
Mazrui let me mourn you for the efforts
That sired intellectual democracy in Uganda,

When I reminisce of you Mazrui,
Pages of African Conditions open
Widely before my mind’s eye,
I see your intellectual pilgrimage
From Rudyard Kipling to Julius Nyerere
As you made your Al Hajji stone
at the graveyard of  Shakespeare the bard,

You met Daniel Moi face to face
Daniel Moi the Kalenjin Cow of Dictatorship
And black Maestro of ethnic terror
You took this despotic Moi cow to the well,
You pleaded for it to drink politics of reason
But Mazrui I pity, you were unlucky;
Kalenjin cows never drink whatsoever
From the democratic wells of political reasons,

Mazrui Maalim the star of Islam,
I envy your for your elonguence
I envy you for the unique power of ideas,
I envy you for unique intellectual bravery,
I envy you for constant intellectual dynamism
For your firm stand against utopian socialism
For your intuition into Nkrumah’s Leninist czarism,
And Senghorean cultural despair in paradoxical negritude,
For your firm stand against Ngugi’s literary tribalism,

Mazrui the stellar saint of Swahili Nation
I remember your glowing tribute
In eulogy of Julius Nyerere the swahilist,
When you held the world stand-still
With your cadence in tribute to Mandela
You have used every English word in your scholarship,
Indeed Mazrui you are the African sky
that cannot be vilified by any  ***** mouth,


Mazrui the angel of good thought
You cautioned Wole Soyinka in 1988,
When he embarked on his racist mission
That made him to call you a white African
Or a non- African African, An African Arab
In his blurred thoughts in dint of bigotry
Emanating from your Jekyll and Hide
Vintageously Serialized at Albert Schweitzer,
You sang to him ballads of the scholar
On the African of the soil and African of the blood,

Rest in peace Mazrui at the Fort Jesus
Let your glorious name and teachings
Remain permanent to the future people
As the stubborn stones of the Fort Jesus,
As your name takes the official knighthood
Of the leopard skin on death of the leopard,
Eu pintei-me de preto e vesti-me de *****,
E colori em forma de arco-íris, o meu coração!
Descansei os sapatos e assim com ar integro,
Analisei todos os meus males, aqui atrás do Marão!

Olhei o sol que estava lindo, assim como a luz do dia,
E eu ali senti-me um milhafre perdido no raiar do céu,
Despi-me de preconceitos e agarrei a luz que me alumia,
Comecei a correr até ficar cansado, até perder o chapéu!

Comecei a despir o ***** que trazia vestido e foi nu,
Que comecei a procurar ao redor uma nova capa,
Com cores coloridas com sorrisos tirados do baú!
Não servia sorrir de novo, sorrisos fingidos á socapa!

Jurei que iria sair do escuro, que trazia vestido,
Comprometi-me com a alma, e entregar-me ao destino,
Porque afinal, eu não tinha perdido, então porquê, o alarido!
Seria por me despir, reflectir e sentir culpado e latino?

Hoje não é dia de pensar assim, não é dia de fingir,
Não é dia de mentir, nem é dia de ficar para ali a latir.
Porque quem me pudesse ouvir, estaria ali não para me ouvir,
Mas sim para fingir, que eu era o corvo, e tinha de partir!






Quanto tempo durou o fingimento que te cativou?
Porquê que eu nunca percebi que teria de sair!
Não sei, nem posso deitar-me a adivinhar. Sei, acabou.
Não tenho mais comigo razões para me prostituir!

Como poderia eu ter sido ingrato, se tivesse visto,
Que afinal tudo que vivi, até ali, nunca foi real e meu.
Nunca fui afinal muito mais, que um pequeno imprevisto.
Ingrato, não estou. Hoje eu sei, que afinal, estou ao léu!
Sem qualquer compromisso no coração, e pode ser teu.

Autor: António Benigno
Dedicado do Romeiro para a Rameira.
David Ehrgott Jun 2016
A fighting man
and now he's gone
May he never be forgotten
How he led his country towards peace
away from defeat and destruction
Rising above the powers that be
Knocking them down
Muhammad Ali

A poet, a boxer, a comedian
but, mostly a fighter,
One beautiful bad man
If you ask me, we need more of these
I speak of the Greatest
Muhammad Ali
Homage to the late poet; Kofi Owonor


By
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)


In one Sunday Nation article, Professor Ali A Mazrui analyzed the inter-politicality of The Jaramogi Odinga family and The Kennedy family by arriving at a difference that the Odinga’s have curse of long life but the Kennedy’s have a curse of early death through violent and untimely  mode of death .Mazrui made these analogies in reference to violent death of John F. Kennedy and the subsenguent Chappaquiddick bridge tragedy.Similarly,the salient difference between a European and American or a Japanese and African writer or African artist is that most of African writers die early in the mid of their lives through violent death but in contrast American and some European writers die peacefully and comfortably in their old age. Early and violent death is the dominant bane, fate and misfortune that now and then besmirch an African writer. This position is in recognition of a fact that my child-hood American popular literature writers in the name of Mario Puzzo author of the God Father and Robert Ludlum an author of several anti soviet spy series like; Borne dentity, Borne Ultimatum and Icarus Agenda plus very many others like The Matlock Paper had just to die recently in their late eighties. The most surprising of all is Phillip Roth whom I read at the age of twelve years while in my primary four.  Now I am forty years and this year 2013 Phillip Roth is still alive and active to the American literary civilization that he has been touted by the Ladbrokes as a probable candidate for Nobel Prize in literature. But sadly enough on 22 September 2013 in Nairobi the black angel of early  death has carried ahead its  foul duty by claiming the life of Africa’s most honorable literary scholar Professor Kofi Owonor during the helter-skelter of Alshabab terrorist lynch of the upscale West Gate Mall in Nairobi.
Actually this essay is meant to be a deep felt homage to the late Kofi Owonor, Killed by Islamic terrorists in Nairobi. However, the essay also goes ahead to decry the violent and early deaths of several other African writers. The deaths which have almost turned Africa into a literary dwarf if not a continent of artistic bovarism. Kofi Owonor, who peacefully and honorably came to attend Story Moja Literary festival to be held in Nairobi, was violently shot by the Islamic fundamentalist terror group known as Al shabab. Whose gunmen lynched the Mall in which was Kofi Owonor and his son. The terrorist were sending out the Muslim catchword on which if one fails to respond then he was known not to be a non- Muslim on to which he is shot or held hostage for ransom.Fatefull enough, Kofi Owonor was not muslim.He was an elder, an Africanist, a scholar, a poet, a realist, a rationalist, a Christian, a religious non-fundamentalist and a literary liberalist. He could not respond with any tincture of religious irrationalism to the question of the terrorist. He was shot dead and his son injured. Too sad. This is actually the time when Christian positivism goes beyond rigidity of other religious affectations in its classic assertiveness that the devil kills the flesh but not the soul. And indeed it is true the devilish terrorist killed Owonor’s flesh but not his literary soul. They are such and similar situations that made Amilcar Cabral to observe in his Unity and Struggle, in a section on Homage to Kwameh Nkrumah to rationalize that the sky is too enormous to be covered by the palm of a sadist nor to be vilified by the spitting of the filthy ones; Truly, like Nkrumah, Kofi Owonor was the sky of African intellect never to be covered by the brute of the cannon from the parrel of a Muslim terrorist.
Kofi Owonor is not alone neither are we alone. You, my dear reader and I  we are not in any historical nor literary solititude. In Africa God has blessed us with the opportunity of the dead relatives in the name of the living dead. We are not the first and the last to grief. Owonor is not the first and the last to dance with fate. Even Ali A. Mazrui in his literary expositions of 1974 otherwise published as the trial of Christopher Okigbo.A  novella in which Mazrui cursed ideology as an open window into the moving vehicle that let in  a very bad political accident to Nigeria in the name of Biafra war which claimed life of  Christopher Okigbo at the Nzukka battle front. This was one other sad moment at which Africa lost its young literary talent through violent death.
Reading of African literary biographies in all perspectives will not miss to make you attest to this testimony. Both in situ and in diaspora.Admirable African American writers like Malcolm X, and Dr Luther King all died through violent death. Even if in the recent past, the Daughter of Malcolm X revealed to Sahara Reporters, Nigerian Daily, that Louis Farrakhan was behind the assassination of her father, wisdom of the time commands us to know that it was evil politics of that time that made Malcolm X to die the way international politics of today in relation to crookedness which was entertained during the formation of the state of Israel that have made the son of Africa professor Kofi Owonor to die.
An in-depth analysis into the life and times of African writers and artists will show that the number of African cultural masters who die violently is more than the number of those who died normally in their old age. Some bit of listology will show help to adduce the pertinent facts; Patrice Lumumba, Steve Biko, Lucky Dube, Walter Rodney, Tom Mboya, J M Kariuki, Che que Vara, Ken Saro Wiwa, Anjella Chibalonza, and Jacob Luseno all but died through violent death. Lumumba died in a plane crash along with Darg Hammarskjöld only after penning some socialism guidelines. After writing I write what I want, a manifesto for black consciousness Steve Biko was arrested and tortured in the police cells during those days of apartheid in south Africa.Biko died violently while undergoing torture in police cells. Lucky Dube was fatefully shot by a confused ****. Walter Rodney who was persuaded by his student who is now the professor Isa Shivji at Dare salaam University not to go back to his country of Guyana, desisted this voice and went back only to be assassinated in the mid of the rabbles that domineered Guyanese politics those days of 1970’s. This happened when Rodney had written only two major books. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, being one of them. Tom Mboya was shot by a hired gunman in down-town Nairobi, some one kilometer away from the West Gate Mall, at which Kofi Owonor has been shot. Mboya could have written a lot. Even more than Rudyard Kipling and Quisling. But fate or bad luck had him violently die after he had only written two books; Challenges to Nationhood as well as Freedom and After. Both of them are classically nice reads until today. He had also submitted sessional paper no. 10 to the Kenya government which was a classical thesis on Africanization of scientific socialism.
J M Kariuki, Che and Saro Wiwa are all known for how they violently died. Powers that be and terrorists that be, expedited violent death against these writers. Thus, brothers and sisters in the literary community of Africa and the world as we mourn Kofi Owonor we must also let Africa to unite in spiritual effort to rebuke away the evil spirit that often perpetrate terror of violent death which  especially  claim away lives of African writers.

References
Ali A. Mazrui; Trial of Christopher Okigbo
Amilcar Cabral; Unity and Struggle
izzn Aug 2019
Madam Elly arrived early
Parked her car nearby the abbey
Then walked to the school's alley
She had to stop for a moment
'cause she's now in her fifties,
and she need to breathe
so she took a breath, one so deep;

The air was a crispy breeze,
and she thanked God for it.
Then, she headed to her office.
As she passed the pantry,
she saw Ali
under the kitchen sink.

She approached him,
asked him how he's doing
and why he's down on his knees.
Then, she noticed
the droplets of tears in his fist,
ones from a weeping.

She asked him
the cause of him
to despair like this.
With trembling lips,
he said that morning,
his parents drove him.

He paused and weep,
shrieked in agony,
and continue the story.

He said they were in a hurry
as they got places to be.
He said in car, they were laughing
'cause his dad is funny.
He said in laughs, they were hugging
'cause his mom is loving.

He said it was one minute before thirty,
when a lorry came crashing in,
and murdered his only family,
with full of cruelty,
mercilessly.

And he stopped the story
to cry heavily.

In cries, there was crimson red on their seats,
and he screamed loudly, frantically, helplessly, hoping
that someone would be helping.

But it was too early,
and there was nobody,
not a thing.

And he drained his energy
panicking on the whole tragic scene.

After the tragedy,
he walked wearily to the school's alley
'cause he don't know where else to be.

He cried and said he's sorry
and Madam Elly could do nothing,
but hugged him lovingly.

She then dialled the police
to tell them about the tragedy.

After that, she said to Ali
to not be worry, to not be sorry,
as his arrival was still early.

So, she brought him to his classroom seat
and she smiled at him
and said "you're a strong boy Ali".

And then, she continued her duty
teaching him his favourite subject, Mathematics,
like how teachers did,
even though she only teach
Linguistics,
even though that day was
on a school break
and Ali's heart
no longer have a beat.

But Madam Elly,
being the teacher that she is,
continued doing her duty
teaching kids,
no matter who it is,
alive or no longer breathe.
What do you think about this story?
This is based on a true event experienced by someone I know. Haunting and chilling.
Feel free to add a piece of your minds below!
Trisha Apr 2014
"THIS PICTURE WILL NOT CHANGE THE WORLD, BUT I STILL NEED FEMINISM AND I’M GOING TO REALLY, REALLY TELL YOU WHY":

-Because I got called a ***** for wearing a short plaid skirt when I was 10

-and because when Nujood Ali from Yemen was 10 she got divorced

-Because black girls’ names became my classmates’ favorite “joke” when I was 11

-and because when an 11-year-old girl in Texas was ***** by 18 men the New York Times wrote of how the girl “dressed older than her age”

-Because I started counting calories when I was 14

-and because when Malala Yousafzai was 14 she was shot in the head for trying to go to school

-Because I heard a boy greet a girl with “hey ****” today at age 16
-and because when a 16-year-old girl in Steubenville, Ohio was filmed being ***** by two boys at a party while unconscious the CNN reporters talked about how tragic it was because the rapists had such bright futures as athletes

-Because I will have to watch my drink at all bars and parties when I am 22

-and because when CeCe McDonald was 22 she was sentenced to 41 months in prison for defending herself against a man who screamed transphobic, racist insults at her and then slashed her face with a bottle

-Because no matter what age I am the biggest threat to men will still be heart disease, and the biggest threat to women will still be men.

-Because it is not just about me, because it is not just about anger, because it is not just a JOKE, because it is not just about “hating men,” because it is not just about girls with vaginas, because it is not just about ending “****”, because it is not just about white straight girls in Rookie magazine, because it is not just about writing on backs, because it is not just about the fact that gay men are “****” but lesbians are “hot,” because it is not just about pictures of thin white girls being the only google image results for the search phrase “beautiful women”, because it is not just about writing signs, because it is not just about what she was wearing or how many times she said yes before she changed her answer to no, because misogyny is not just about one thing and feminism is not just about one thing and it is not just “a trend” and it will not “happen” in just one way.

-And because yes. It is about equality for EVERYONE, but first and foremost it needs to be about equality for girls, because they are not treated equally to men, in every single sense, and you are not going to take feminism away from me and call me bossy/hostile/aggressive and make this about yourself or make it into a joke, because truth be told, I’m not joking and I’m tired of explaining. If you want to call yourself a feminist, you work hard to spread feminism, you do not turn this into a contest of whose struggle is greater and constantly demand to know what you can get out of feminism personally. Feminism is not just about you, or me, it is about everyone. If you’re male and you’re tired of men being stereotyped as hyper-masculine, soulless, sexist, inherent leader-tyrant creatures, then go out and prove the patriarchy wrong and fight for girls, like someone with a soul who believes in equality would. Then, yes, feminism will be about everyone.


- http://crystallized-teardrops.tumblr.com/post/81364478634/wearethefourthwave-this-picture-will-not -
Again it is not a poem. I found this on Tumblr and I felt like sharing because it is wonderfully written.
Paul Butters Feb 2015
Let’s make a point
And rock this joint.
What with Putin and ISIS,
We’re all in crisis.
I sound like Ali,
From here to Bali.
Let’s give Peace a chance,
Our world to enhance.
What happened to Love?
Where’s God up above?
Don’t need globalisation,
Just one Human Nation.

Time for a stanza:
Let’s have a bonanza.
But seriously folks,
This is no time for jokes.
We must have compassion,
It isn’t on ration.
So please hear my call
And Love one and all.

Paul Butters
For World Peace.
Estava encostado, ao muro da escada,
Que me levava junto à velha casa,
Meditava ao som de uma doce balada,
Passarinhos cantavam música em brasa!

Despertou em mim, que estava ali especado,
Tamanhos sonhos, que dei um grande grito,
No pensamento, sentia o coração alargado,
Abram-se as portas, sem haver qualquer conflito!

É essa a viagem, a mais esperada e que procurei,
Senti ali a direcção, a um mundo muito nobre,
A frontalidade e a esperança, é agora, e eu achei,
É o mundo onde a minha presença não é pobre!

Ali vale a coragem e a dificuldade dos que tentam,
Vale a alma e a presença da aparência, não é sorte,
Todos se sentem belos, porque se vive sem morte,
Aquela morte passaporte, que na vida é mais forte!

Vi o que desejava ali naquela escada, mas nem sonhava,
Naquela velha casa, meu pai e minha mãe nos preparava,
Enquanto vagueava, pensei que o que eu sonhei, não realizava,
Mas mesmo naquela casa, estava tudo com que ambicionava!

O caminho pra o enxergar foi longo e demorado,
Mas vivi tão perto e durante anos não a alcançava!
Não foi em vão a viagem ganhei vida avantajada,
Tirei do pensamento maravilhas maiores doutro mundo!


Autor: António Benigno
Código de autor: 2014.02.02.21.41.04.02
Scottie Green Jul 2012
I’ve always been the quiet type, never one to do the speaking, just listening and observing the lives of those around me.
If I can remember correctly, I began as a light blue, sheltering a newborn baby, Conner, I was covered in wallpaper lined by teddy bears with white silk bow ties like pin stripe pants.
Those few days before his birth in ’62 were filled with anxiety and anticipation, with his parents sneaking in to gaze upon my blue coat, tears in their eyes for the gift that they were days away from receiving. However, they would soon find that the young baby spent little time in my embrace other than evening naps, otherwise his cries became loud with the longing for his mum.

Six years later the teddy bears came down from the walls along with the crib, to be replaced by a bed, the baby blue coat replaced by a loud red.
Watching him grow, I saw his good days and his bad, he was built for math, fast cars, and jubilant laughter.
He had come to me in the midst of April when the flowers outside the windows bloomed, and left for a university after they flowered a mere twelve times.
Once again, his parents visited me, with tears in their eyes as if by being with me his presence would be restored.

His father had talked of a promotion he’d dreamed of, so with more money they were off to a more luxurious home, I was not sad, I was not lonely, I was happy.

I was alone for a while, while the wallpaper had been striped from me and I lay bear and exposed for quite some time, only briefly being introduced to new families by a smiling woman with high heels and big hair.
A group of four moved in, Tom, Adam, Lana, and Louisa. They painted my walls a bright yellow and carpeted my wooden floors, they added filing cabinets, desks, a white board, a telephone, and a book shelf that decorated my left side.
The boys were mechanics, around thirty years at the time, and worked strenuous hours. They bent over their desks re-drawing, re-scaling, and re-shaping until perfection.
Blue prints poured from their cabinets. The two girls owned a boutique down by the grocery store, I saw them less often, but they didn’t bring home their work, only their stories and their stress. It was a short acquaintance with the group, as their hearts were set on the big city and soon their paychecks were capable of supporting that lifestyle.

I was not sad, I was not lonely, I was happy for them.

The following year in ’88 a family of four moved in.
John, Ali and their twin girls converted me to a gym with barbells and some odd-looking mechanism called a “Bo Flex” used for hanging up dry cleaning and attracting the dust.
By then my vibrant yellow walls had faded to beige and my beige carpet had faded to yellow.

I don’t know much about those folks, as in-home gyms are more for decoration than utilization, I guess. The girls visited on days when the heat was unbearable in the Texas sun, running in with loud laughter as they let their weight thud into the ground. They sprawled themselves out on my floors making snow angels, in my warm, worn carpet. Oh, how I loved their attention!

They also left the windows open unlike Adam and Tom, so even when they weren’t around the sunshine kept me company. After fourteen years Bailey left shortly after Annie. I rarely saw anyone for a year or so after that.
The house became too big for John and Ali, and they decided to make the move to Florida that they’d always dreamed of.

The movers came and lifted the heavy weights from my creaking floors, but I was not sad, I was not lonely, I was happy.

The last person that came to live among my embrace was the eldest daughter of three girls. She and I became the closest of all prior inhabitants. Perhaps it was because of the frequent lack of happiness in her eyes, it was the only time I’d had an issue with my inability to intervene in a situation and speak as opposed to listening.
She left my walls there bare color, but adorned me with newspaper clippings and photographs. I was never lonely because her sisters looked up to her, never wanting to leave me, because they never wanted to leave her.
She was more imaginative than the young boy, and more precise than the mechanics.
The music she played was constant and expansive, from Sinatra and Coltrane to A Tribe Called Quest and the Rolling stones. It all correlated with her mood, causing me great joy when the tempo was fast, and depression in times when the dark music fell upon the room.
Her life appeared to be a struggle, as she often threw herself upon the carpet crying until late hours in the night. Only to wake up before the sun rose to write lengthy accounts of the inexplicable sadness she frequently experienced.

Soon she found the help that I was unable to provide with a therapist who visited her in the privacy of her own bedroom. The kind woman encouraged her to participate in activities beyond the confines of my four walls.
She had dreamed to be a psychologist, she wanted to help people, because she knew first hand how much some really needed it. And at age eighteen, that’s exactly what she set off to become.

She moved to Boulder the university she had written about and had wanted to attend for years past.
So I was not sad, I was not lonely, I was happy for her.

She doesn’t rest within my walls and doesn’t watch my flowers bloom, but the sisters, they often come back to visit and roll up the blinds to let the sun shine in, practice their own talents, and fall in love with their own dreams, I am not lonely, they don’t leave me. In fact, one of them is sprawled out upon my floor now, taking over her sister’s absence with a pen and paper of her own.
This is something I originally wrote a few years ago when my sister was leaving for school. I read it to her and allowed her to edit it. Since then I haven't been able to find the original version so she deserves proper credit for the part she did in touching it up as far as word choice, punctuation, and small additions and subtractions to my piece of work. I hope you enjoyed it!
Paul Morgana Jul 2014
Ali
We met in the SICU at BMC,
A wondrous Islander, its simple to see,

She nurses with ease and comforts the sick,
Skilled in medicine, I laughed at her shtick.

Needs glasses to see and thinks she's a nerd,
Cool is her look, I'd use no other word,

To describe to the world, this sparkling light,
She brightens a room and makes you feel right.

Short of stature, but strong as a tree,
Boosting my patients and helped me to see,

Where essentials for the job could easily be found,
Always a smile on her face, she never frowned.

I got to know her during our 12 hour shift,
She loves to read, so I shared my gift.

I red her a poem and she dug all my rhyme,
The shift was near over, flying was the time.

During my travels, many nurses I've met,
None quite like her, that's a sure bet.

My time at this hospital has come to an end,
Her name is Ali, Godspeed my new friend!

Visit poemsbypaul.com
Keith Wilson Jun 2016
Sad  to  hear  of  the  passing
of  Muhammad  ALI.

One  of  the  greatest  boxer's
of  our  time.

Henry  Cooper  knocked  him
down  once.
But  he  was  saved  by  the  bell.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

— The End —