"selma" poems
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
he was standing there on the sidewalk
down on selma avenue.
legs wide apart
in a proud pose.
i didn't notice, until i got closer,
the dark wet spot blooming from his crotch
running down his left leg.
wow,
how i admired him.
his shameless demeanor,
this ability to let go.
i have tried for days now
to *** myself
with no success.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
"Justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream"
Martin Luther King, Jr.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brothers and sisters
Arm in arm
In grace
With faith
And agape love
Marched towards hate
And the steel of repression
No door to heaven is easily opened
Sometimes the only choice is to die
Not quickly
But slowly and painfully
The arc of justice bends under the weight of human sacrifice
They thought
"This is it for me"
Yes this was it
But it was time
Time for the signs to come down
The signs that said
"You here"
"You there"
"Not for you"
"Sit in the back"
Separate but equal
A lie of monstrous proportion
There is no equality
When all is not shared
There is no equality
When a night stick crushes inalienable rights
There is no equality
When a child is called a ______
There is no equality
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some people
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some hearts
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for grace on earth
Let me take a moment
To cry
To feel the shame
Let us take a moment
And understand why some among us remember Selma
A memory of pride and pain
A memory of the willingness to die
For what is right
To give up their life
To give up their complaints
To give up their selfishness
To give up what we take for granted
So that they might die
For someone else
Because it was time
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
I was of the South
Born in my ways I could not control
My path of rocks and stickerbriars
Led no where , I had no where to go
"I'm going back to Selma !. . . Selma !
And I had no reason just before
I'm going to Selma ! . . . Selma !
And I just don't know what for"
Do I really have the courage ?
Maybe love is a broken window
With cold air blowing in
Maybe salvation is just a desire
And it will be there at the end
Do I really know ?
Losing love is just the other part
And how do I depart
In Selma what is there to find ?
I'm sure it can't be kind
Take U S 80 , between I -20 and I -65
If I leave now I can be sure
To be there to see the sunrise
From the Edmund Pettus Bridge
****** Sunday , March 7 , 1965
Beaten trying to cross the bridge
God's rights marching upon trampled sights
Home to take back from the giver
Easy to forget Selma 1965
All to easy to forget the hate
Leading to Memphis April 4 , 1968
And to more than a simple mistake
Will the shooting ever end ?
January 20 , 2013 Jackson , Mississippi
Blackman shot , MLK celebration parade
The blood flows from Birmingham , to Selma
To Memphis and Mississippi's charade
Still I'm going to Selma .
"I'm going back to Selma ! . . . Selma !
But I have no reason why
I'm going back to Selma ! . . . Selma !
I think it will be just to cry"
written January 20 , 2013
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:33 PM UTC
They'll use Martin Luther King day to sell anything from mattresses to cars.
Even he has been ripped up and replanted,
capitalized, like Christmas or Easter,
by the people who give us images of a white Jesus,
but you bet they don't pay everyone equal.
We have boulevards, schools, and libraries named after King,
but streets over, we have Confederate soldiers carved into a mountain,
we call 'em heroes, that's what I was taught,
the ones who fought, the ones who ate lead,
But, they aren't talking about who really put a bullet in Dr. King's head.
What the **** is wrong with us?
America will go see Selma in millions,
this weekend, go back home to their all white neighborhoods,
thinking about how it was bad then, but now, it's all good.
Who are we really trying to fool?
Stand up for the pledge in school
Put your hand over your heart and forget
all this country denies you
telling you that there isn't a heart of a human beating inside you
because you're gay, you're black, you're not like that,
She was a flirt, she wore a short skirt,
Every day you try to heal the hurt
Justice for all? Like are you kidding me?
There ain't such a thing here as liberty
Do you know where you stand
was Native American land?
Ripped from their bleeding hands
And don't even get me started on Iraq and Iran.
You know that mountaintop?
The one I was talking about,
Did they tell you it was a KKK meeting spot?
Bet not.
I wonder, is the clay here red from all the blood?
We hide our history,
sing promises of liberty,
say that racism ended with slavery,
and it's Stonewall Jackson, he's a hero, they say
but never speak of Stonewall Riots any day
and I'm afraid for our children and what they will learn,
in classrooms, will they be silenced?
Come here kids, let me tell you a story,
of Ferguson, New York, Hong Kong,
about how people will look back and see they were wrong,
But some never did, some died with hatred,
some died because of it,
Let me tell you about homeless LGBT youth
Let me tell you about all these issues
Let me tell you the truth
And there are different ways of seeing it,
but only one way to say it,
you and I both know,
You just have to listen for it.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never to be stilled
Abundance awaits you with courage
RW Dennen-
Came the Black voting rights march into Selma, Sunday
1965...
And being gathered in prayer before crossing, you soon felt smashing upon your body as blood seeped down your face
on a Sunday and the initial retreat too too much to remember:
About dogs and billy clubs; about fire hoses ready and that very bridge, later will carry hearts of conscience all in the great name
of the American ballot box
Today, I say hail for the slain and hurt of the historical past; I say hail to both black and white
brothers and sisters once endowed with bravery embued with inalienable rights
Hang strong my true people of the bridge
Hang strong for that greater bridge that bridges into dignity of today
Hang strong and hold dear to your hearts "The Sunday Selma legacy"
and "The spirit of the Edmund Pettus Bridge"
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
What are the odds of finding someone -
who can finish your sentences -
who will let you cut in line -
who knows not to just lend a hand, or an ear when you need them to give you their spine -
who will keep every secret, save every letter, tell you how you really look
who will remember every single one of your birthdays -
without checking Facebook?
What are the odds of finding someone who knows your poetry by heart ?
I will always see you for the alley-oop.
I will always save you a seat.
I will always pick you to be my partner even though you are terrible at handball.
When the fire takes all you have, my home will be your home.
When you are old and can no longer remember my face, I will meet you for the first time again and again.
When they make fun of your accent, I will take you swimming because we all sound the same underwater.
When Ellis Island tries to erase your past, I will call you by your real name.
When they call your number for the draft, I will enlist to fight beside you.
And I will march with you from Selma to Montgomery and back as many times as it takes.
We will stand together against the horses and the dogs -
They could tell you how rare this is.
But they could tell you how rare this always is.
The chances are slim.
The cards are always stacked against you, the odds are always low.
But I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.
I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save some for later.
I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rains fall hard.
Love-
I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself.
I want to be air in your lungs that reminds you to breathe easy.
When the walls come down -
when the thunder rumbles -
when nobody else is home, hold my hand -
and I promise -
I won't let go.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
DR MARTIN LUTHER KING trained us in workshops based on non-
Violence to resist the water hoses soaking us and knocking us down
On hate filled sidewalks or the sharp teeth police dogs set upon
Men women children biting our private parts and making meals of
flesh,the billy clubs sprayed tear gas on the EDMUND PETTUS
Bridge, but somehow as I walked saying inside that time will tell about
Me and I glimpsed ahead the resurrection of my soul and manhood
Rising from the dust of shame. We all locked arms together with our
Wounded bodies determined minds and hearts spirits soaring
From DR KING's I HAVE A DREAM words and marching right
On into history
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
“lets split this diner and have a beer”
four coffees in an hour made the world
too awake for him
we walked to the Pink Mule,
the first bar we saw
he knew all of the bars--all bars knew him
the bartender was Abraham
but looked like a Bob
he had a bourbon poured before
Charles made it to the stool
and looked at me like I was a fool
“a light beer”
Bukowski didn’t bother to laugh
though I am sure the word ***
was rolling around in his head
looking for a place to get out
he kept on about Selma,
sweet succulent Selma
how anybody that hot
could rule the world
dragging men around by their dongs
without lifting a finger
that is why the gods made wine, he said
not for some sacrament for the holy humbled
but for men hunched over like balless beggars,
he said, when Abraham Bob
filled his jigger a second, or fourth time
men made that way by all the Selmas
whose middle name had to be vexation
a whiff of her could get you to take
a **** job, where you spent the day
hunched over, hoping, she would be there
when you got home
even if she was, you wouldn’t remember
in the morning, when you would go back
to the grinless grind, hunched over, hoping
Selma would be your wine
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
One man
can really change the world,
even if it's just by dying.
One man
can really lead thousands
if he kneels down and prays hard enough.
One man
can influence his pale demons
to lay down their pitch forks,
and also to pick them up.
One man
is just a man
is just a father
just a husband
just a preacher
just a speaker
just a man.
And does he truly want to be that
one man
that can really change the world,
even if it's just by dying?
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
The trek of my deceased ancestors never seem so long
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Can I borrow your voice, because I’ve seem to have lost mine. In search of a purpose, that I’ve found in a line. About love that’s been found in a place without hope, that oppresses its people without shackles or ropes. In a place with a light that shines in the dark, that echoes of praise, music and baby shark. Where the youth of tomorrow step for what’s right, in the name of equality and justice with unwavering might. A place where we have all given so much, and received even more from the people we’ve touched. But our yesterdays have passed and out tomorrow is today, and I struggle for happiness as Selma drivers away. So I stare out the window with my mind in a daze, as this once alien scenery catches my gaze. And the trees pass in rhythm as I fall victim to sleep, with only one thought on my mind…the company I keep. For I have been blessed by the company I hold, the experiences we’ve had and the stories we’ve told. By the games we’ve played and the relationships we’ve formed, by the tears we have shed for weathering the racial storm. And as I stir from my sleep I wake without fear, because the people I’d bleed for are sitting so near. So with my voice fading fast I say to you all, if the road gets too hard, don’t be afraid to call. For your callous hands look exactly like mine, from the work that we’ve done to make Teppers shine. And if you need a wise word or a shoulder to cry, I can be there for your lows and even your highs. This trip has meant more to me then words can express, and its you with my heart that I choose to invest. So with these last and final words, I compassionately say to you. Keep you minds always open and your heart will stay true. Because our world is always changing no matter what we do, and it is you whom I love that will bridge the old and the new.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
I rode in the black back seat
at the age of three
From Wichita to Selma
in this land where nothing comes free
Across Texas , Arkansas , Mississippi
under stars I dreamed
While a heartbeat
was ever following me
Strange the things we choose
to remember and recall
Are the things maybe trivial
But are another brick in the wall
I lived in Panama City
until I was twelve
Swam with sharks and rays
Fell in love but on it I won't dwell
I ran with wild mustangs
in the wilds of Spokane
Climbed up the Rockies
Trekked the snows in a winter wonderland
I slept in the desert under
the most gorgeous stars
Ate mushrooms and peyote
trying to figure out who I are
But there's no place
No place , like the one
Where you were born
No place
on earth
Can lead you away that's far
There's no where
Like the dirt running
through your veins
There's no place
like the place where
you got your name
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
I am a tree, grown in the shade, and today I stretched my branches to tremble for a while in the daylight. I came here to tell you good-bye, my beloved, and it is my hope that our farewell will be as great and awful like our love. Let our farewell be like fire that bends the gold and makes it more resplendent.
Selma did not allow me to speak or protest, but she looked at me, her eyes glittering, her face retaining its dignity, seeming like an angel worthy of silence and respect. Then she flung herself upon me, something which she had never done before, and put her smooth arms around me and printed a long, deep, fiery kiss on my lips
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
An old and tattered Bible Is the crux of a dispute.
Bernice King has possession of what her brothers see as loot.
The book was dear to Doctor King thru trials and tribulations
And with him on the Selma march in the days that changed the nation.
To her; a priceless heirloom of King’s Dream to equalize.
To her brothers it’s an asset that they hope to monetize.
This book, signed by the President, is not a ****** prize
to be bought by some collector and hid from others eyes.
So now there is a lawsuit and I hope the judge is wise
Wise as a modern Solomon in how he will decide.
This Bible is a legacy, inspired word and proof
Of what one man can accomplish when addicted to the Truth.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Dr. King, Dr. King,
Because of you we sing,
And celebrate your special day,
In a special way
Dr. King, Dr. King
We recognize your dream,
And what you tried to do
That's why it's only fitting,
That today we honor you
Dr. King, Dr. King,
Because of you we sing,
And celebrate your special day,
In a special way
Dr. King, Dr. King
You made it to the mountain top,
And saw the promised land,
You said you might not get there with us,
But our freedom was at hand
Dr. King, Dr. King,
Because of you we sing,
And celebrate your special day,
In a special way
And things are so much better now
Than they were back then
But we still have a way to go,
Before we reach the end
Dr. King, Dr. King,
Because of you we sing,
And celebrate your special day,
In a special way
From Selma to Montgomery
And places in between
Your civil rights summary
Is anything but lean
What would we have done
If you weren’t on the scene
Dr. King, Dr. King,
Because of you we sing,
And celebrate your special day,
In a special way
Dr. King, Dr. King
We recognize your dream,
And what you tried to do
That's why it's only fitting,
That today we honor you
011715cm
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
The days are long and hard to go,
Walkin' down my side of the road.
Up ahead I see Emmylou comin' ,
known her since we was 2 or 3.
Yet, she crosses over from,
My side of the road,
Making like she don’t see me.
Up ahead comes old Nat Black,
Shuffling along and limping some,
He marched with Mister King,
Over in Selma in ‘63,
That’s how he got that limp you see.
But still he keeps to his side of the road,
On the opposite side from me.
Further ahead comes Jake Sutton’s kid,
Strutting along at a pretty brisk clip,
A stout club in one hand,
and a white sheet tucked under his arm.
Off I bet, to burn a cross somewheres.
Him and his rowdy friends cluttering up,
both sides of this road I tread.
Sleepy little ‘Bama town,
With so much trouble all around,
I just keep on trudging down,
My side of the road.
Hoping someday, it will lead us all,
Someplace better and fair,
Then this divided road we all share.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
a targetable
liar lured
her church
with cunning
that it
mixed fashion
as salsa
as she
danced while
her culprit
was hers
and swayed
in the
belfry but
a mare
of thorn
in reality
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
Live blog: Romney and Stanton vie for Iowa win.
Dead heat in the dead of winter
What do the Iowa results really mean?
That Romney's less of a robot than he seems?
Oh, by the way: replacing a bulb, can save you 50 dollars or more!
But it'll cost you ten times as much, at your hardware store.
Starbuck's hikes prices despite the lull,
People stupidly betting on Powerball,
Selma Hayek's trending, y'all!
(We don't know why).
But what's all that compared to shootings?
Soldiers flying and not being sniffed,
Suspects nabbed in Utah killings,
And GOP runners had another tiff.
Personally, I'm more fascinated,
In the Aussie hybrid sharks!
This might mean global warming's overrated,
Or that animals are way smart.
Mideast peace-talks stalled, I read.
Have I not read this before?
Oh, yeah, back in 1972.
When psychos killed athletic Jews,
Who might win
And Olympic village was off view,
While the Israelis dragged people in.
That year, Nixon was re-elected
And we thought we'd never see worse,
Yet now the nation is infected
With a yellow-haired, inhuman curse.
Blog goes to sleep...
Begun long ago and finished in 2018
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
The feeling that I give you is one of long hailed and expected love. That word, L-O-V-E, it's possibly the one emotion that can't be suppressed, I came from Selma, a slim that;s mildly better than the ghettos and projects of Chicago. But you know that, you're of the same background, and yet we still find an above classiness inside ourselves.
This is real, more real than Farrakhan, and hated and tampered with just as much. No dream can be as straight-forward, a poet is a poet, but when word cun meets form sway, electricity is formed.
What people mean is to sneak away and snipe us from afar, gunning what we have down so that the movement fails permanently. They don't know, they can't know, and so they walk around un-enlightened and dreams lose their appeal to them.
I had also forgotten love, being tossed around in usage and riddled with untold guilts, but you spared my soul, you chilled my heat and made me the perfect temperature. You are my regulator.
I gave all when I gave my heart, but you substantially replaced it with your energy. It wasn't enough to you? It was to me, and that's all that really counts now.
They wonder what reason you have to smile, tell them that you're awake. Tell them that you've finally jumped down the rabbit-hole, and it's not as deep and scary as they've claimed
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
I hear there is fear in your mind
The deep-seated preprogrammed kind
The kind that has soften slightly over time
From the cursing and calling negros mongrels
To the stereotypical fox news type portrayal
But it is a betrayal of our human nature
The denial of the better evolved brain
It is the maiming of our society
When we regress to the repressive ways
That we sought to overcome in our younger days
Some say things will never change
But the blood to brain-dead barrier can break
The rational can take hold with old and new love
With new scientific studies of all of us
We forgot that the legions are us
The whale beneath the boat
The behemoth that works and votes
The labor force that runs this country
The union of humans striving for a better world
That is us, in every tint, gender, ****** identity
Under each layer of skin there is a piece of me
And behind every strange shadow or reflection of myself
Is someone else different but in all the ways that matter
The same
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
She watched the curtains burn red.
She looks and sounds like Patty and Selma.
A pitbulls bark for a swoon
That rises like the tide
At any who dare
To swing words like swords.
No smooth edges on Aunt Hazel
A dash of whisky might
Bring out the tiger within the lion.
A lion with oddly questionable views on hot-button topics,
spoken with irrational confidence.
A beautifully real caricature of an east coast mother.
So deeply entwined in the comfort of small town fallacy
And big time conspiracy theory.
Although, those two might go hand in hand.
But
She makes gowns for a living.
Her skin withered like an old catchers mitt.
Strong is the storm that knocks on the glass
But every crack in the wall always ends up filled by her hands.
The silent whales of watching your oldest boy
Thank you for everything
While he rips the tendons off his belly
That connected two forces from ever being apart
And wondering how she could bear it again
And again.
I envy the ease of such loving hate.
To wield venom
And dedicate your life
To helping love.
My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
You'd think she didn't know what love was.
And that if it were real
It must be at the end of a cigarette.
My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
She watched the curtains burn red
And smoked the pack through.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
She's been walking with a limp since before
Selma.. Jim Crow's ****** spit hangs
off of scorched buses.
The glutton oinkers hide behind badges.
Her beige babushka stained with fresh tar and tears.
She notices a nearby soul case
Posed unto the asphalt as a stiff staple of humanity
Or lack thereof.
16th street stands veiled under a dark,
Heavy mantle.
A blackened institution consumed in conflagration at the hands of
A pointy white hood.
But Addie Mae Collins will live forever
With McNair, Robertson, and Wesley.
So take a look at my body conveniently
Cut up for you.
Reach inside and fish around for character or
Soul.
Kiss my organs and be honestly amused.
When enough is enough, and the coat comes back...
~ will you hate me then of the contra between us two? ~
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
I dream of a giant green grasshopper
clinging to tall weeds in Selma
Where huge fields of red clover
grew in the hot summer heat
I dream of Texas
where I made my first memories
And lived in a vastness for someone
of three seemed like eternity
I dream of the oceans of Florida
where waves made love to the sand
As I gazed across the horizon
life is forever in this land
I climbed the mountains of Washington
to the top of the snow covered peaks
I thrilled to the sight of the sunset
And felt the hand of God touch me
I dream of the tall grass prairies
I walked through in Kansas
Like a sea of grass rolling
in the winds of the Plains
My temporal eternity
lives on in my dreams
As I get older there is less life
And the more I do dream
For my last dreams
I dream of the future
May it be be as beautiful
as the eternity I leave
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC