I didn’t watch it
show movie about a boy killed while carrying some candy & a drink
In a town down South
By a brown man exercising his
right to carry…
stood his ground…
and measured life
on a stick
metered by white supremacy.
I couldn’t bear to watch
the story play out
A Black Mother’s Cry
As I recount going to a mall in Philly & chiding the store manager,
a young SUN
for what I thought was irresponsible posturing of hoodies as FLY merch!
In any color–red, blue, heather, black–it would be read blue whether gray or white on BLACK
boys and men
were are valued only as in sport
in the wild…
Rest in power
It is interesting…
It is painful…
It is curious….
Live and Love
With and Without
What was the lesson?
Only one letter apart: LIVE and LOVE; its the OUT that makes the WITH so hard.
I miss you
but I am learning…
time heals wounds and fills gaps…soon all will be well and grief will be no more. Loneliness will be liberty and freedom will feel free…
To my Beloved Grandmother…
She knew the sun would release its light to reveal the brilliance of the Son…
She knew that YELLOW would sit between Florida ORANGES and the GREENER pastures of this life like the colors of the spectrum that define all that is radiant..energy
She had heard it somewhere in that segregated school where ROY G BIV meant something in science or space or time, new dimensional and yet the same…
She took those lessons condemning that which was Black and turned into White light that leads toward salvation
She took her last breath as night became day on the East Coast and as day became night on the West
Yellow was her favorite so today I will wear yellow rather than my red, not blue but full of joy.
Move in power…
Rest in peace…
Sunrise: December 5
Sunset: June 9
A standard of beauty
That sparkles in the sun
That hints at the love of Africa, Asia and New Amerikah
A mother’s love
Sitting in the pews on the side
Next to the prince
Birthing a duchess
Guiding her choices with grace and steady love for everything she is you are the standard
Doria Ragland. What a beautiful name.
To the Camilles, Phylicias, and Beyonces of the world…
From the daughters (and sons) who have wrongfully judged…
You are the Queen
Grand, great and regular…
There is so much that you have
Struggles from within and without
The love and provision
Support and guidance
of the men that you have loved.
Victimized as you meet the needs of them and us, your children and your loves
You have been the “ride or die” type but questions from your daughter–regular, grand and great…
How did you survive the abuse from inside (within) and outside (without)
The love and provision
Support and guidance
of the men (and the children) that you have loved?
Reflections on the Stand Against Racism (April 2018)
As poetry month comes to an end, I find it rather poetic that like many other calendar memorials, I choose to color outside of the lines presented. In forming allies within and without the community where I serve, I am challenged to be precise in my use of language…knowing the difference between contact and context. Tangentially related, treated as synonymous (on occasion) but so, vastly, different.
High contact reflects close proximity, the thought makes me claustrophobic. There is no need for words (context–verbal cuing) when somehow the chemistry of closeness helps you discern exactly what is meant by your nearest neighbor, friend or relative. I reflect on row homes and projects where the fragrance of sin and satisfaction permeate corridors and building frames…for years. I know what you did, last night, last month, last year. I know your habits because, well, I can hear it, smell it and even taste it in the air.
High context reflects the need to absolutely use the standards and conventions of language to convey an idea. The manipulative way that you say “I am so confused” or “I don’t understand” govern the discourse…always. If it is not stated explicitly, it might as well not be said.
What many don’t know is that I was born in a small laboratory on the campus of Spelman College. Not the student but the teacher…
An assistant like a birthing coach, bringing life forward from a womb prepared for the journey.
Fertile like the crescent, I Am EGO Tripping like Nikki, turning myself into myself I have become joy.
“Sistah, what does this mean?”
The first question on the first day forced me to turn soil, uncover diamonds in the rough, mine precious metals–tough from tumble–pump oil and uranium as energetic as the sun.
Every symbol, every note, singing with the strength of that circle.
Like a miner’s tool carving answers to the brokenness that comes from failure, until the next day when water reveals the jewels, the treasure.
Like gold only better.
Flow and hustle…one and the same.