THE LONNIE B. HARRELL 2018 POETRY EDITION
The Challenger’s 2nd Annual Lonnie B. Harrell Poetry Edition Celebrates the Life and Works of Buffalo’s Own Lucille Clifton Lucille Clifton (June 27, 1936 – February 13, 2010), grew up to become one of the most important African American writers of the 20th century.
A distinguished poet, writer, and educator, from 1979 to 1985 she was Poet Laureate of Maryland. Clifton was nominated twice for the 1988 Pulitzer Prize for poetry (she became the first author to have two books of poetry named finalists for one year’s Pulitzer Prize). Her book, “Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir” was a finalist for that Pulitzer. Her work captures the essence of the intricacies of Black life.
Born Thelma Lucille Sayles, in Depew, New York, she grew up in Buffalo on Purdy Street on the East side, the daughter of Samuel, a steelworker and Thelma, who worked in a laundry. She graduated from Fosdick-Masten Park High School in 1953. She attended Howard University with a scholarship from 1953 to 1955, leaving to study at the State University of New York at Fredonia (near Buffalo). In 1958, Lucille Sayles married Fred James Clifton, a professor of philosophy at the University of Buffalo, and a sculptor whose carvings depicted African faces. Lucille and her husband had six children together, which included four daughters and two sons. Writer Ishmael Reed (who also went on to become nationally renowned) introduced Lucille to Clifton while he was organizing the Buffalo Community Drama Workshop.
Lucille Clifton wrote poetry of her own for twenty years before she was actually published. But with her first collections of poems, she quickly gained recognition that just kept growing over time. In 1966, Reed took some of Clifton’s poems to Langston Hughes, who included them in his anthology The Poetry of the Negro. In 1967, the Cliftons moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Her first poetry collection, Good Times, was published in 1969, and listed by The New York Times as one of the year’s ten best books. From 1971 to 1974, Clifton was poet-in-residence at Coppin State College in Baltimore, a Historically Black College. From 1979 to 1985, she was Poet Laureate of the state of Maryland.
From 1982 to 1983, she was visiting writer at the Columbia University School of the Arts and at George Washington University. In 1984, her husband died of cancer. Lucille Clifton traced her family’s roots to the West African Kingdom of Dahomey, now the Republic of Benin. Growing up she was told by her mother, “Be proud, you’re from Dahomey women!” She cites as one of her ancestors the first black woman to be “legally hanged” for manslaughter in the state of Kentucky during the time of Slavery in the United States. Girls in her family are born with an extra finger on each hand, a genetic trait known as polydactyly. Lucille’s two extra fingers were amputated surgically when she was a small child, a common practice at that time for reasons of superstition and social stigma. Her “two ghost fingers” and their activities became a theme in her poetry and other writings.
Her mother, who had not been educated past grade school, was also an accomplished poet, writing in private until the day she was offered the chance to collect her work in a book. Samuel, Lucille’s father forbade it – an incident that must have provided Lucille with the determination to succeed herself. In addition to her Pulitzer Prize nominations, she was the recipient of numerous prestigious awards honors including a National Book Award in 2000 for “Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems, 1988-2000”.
In 2007, she became the first African-American woman to win the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, a $100,000 award that is one of American poetry’s signal honors. She received the Robert Frost Medal for lifetime achievement posthumously, from the Poetry Society of America. She produced a dozen volumes of poetry, as well as writing many well-received books of prose and verse for children that centered on the African-American experience.
Her series of children’s books about a young black boy began with 1970’s Some of the Days of Everett Anderson. Everett Anderson, a recurring character in many of her books, spoke in authentic African-American dialect and dealt with real life social problems.
Speaking to Michael S. Glaser during an interview for the Antioch Review, Clifton reflected that she continues to write, because “writing is a way of continuing to hope … perhaps for me it is a way of remembering I am not alone.” How would Clifton like to be remembered? “I would like to be seen as a woman whose roots go back to Africa, who tried to honor being human. My inclination is to try to help.”
Buffalo’s own Lucille Clifton, one of the most distinguished, decorated, and beloved poets of her time, was living in Columbia, Maryland when she passed at the age of 73.
Midnight
Moonlight Dreamer
(My Husband and Friend)
You are living in my dreams
Longing in absence of you
Strolling aimlessly alone
Dreaming underneath the midnight moon
I still love you. I can hear your love song
I feel compassion. Your sweet soothing words,
Soft tender touches.
I know you are holding me but not with arms
Feeling me but not with hands,
Walking beside me, though your footsteps are not there.
Even at night in my unconscious state
You sit beside me until I awake
With a husband like you
I am never alone.
When I feel lost it’s you I call.
I lost all hope and was in awe
of a scar so long so deep and raw
But slowly my scar begins to heal
I am so blessed, for one day I may reach happiness
In my dreams I will walk with you,
In your absence I close my eyes
and you are there always.
Love, Willa Dean-Harrell
This Day
By Sharon R. Amos
I sing of you
My friend
Mississippi’s loss
Was New York’s gain
This world was your muse
Lyrical messages from the existential realms
Dispensed with soul-stirring
life embracing melodies
From your hands
Creations of antiquities
That graced your community’s spirits
With study you showed yourself
A worthy student of the ages and the universe
Each night
I search the skies
for your celestial body.
A Brother Of Love
For Us All
By Elaine Barthel
Our brother of love, compassion, artistry
and peace
Will live in our hearts forever.
With song, beauty of words and inspiration
He lifted our spirits when we were down.
Who could imagine he was preparing to
leave us
A quiet transition to meet his Lord.
But oh! Such a powerful force he was
A brother of love for us all! With this being
the first anniversary of his transition
We continue to love and miss him
But his joy and wisdom and love
Will be in our hearts forever!
Let us spread his love to his beautiful
family
And all we know!
God Bless you, Lonnie. We love you.
My Friend
(In Memory of Lonnie B. Harrell)
I do believe that “God” has angels on earth.
He sent me one in a friend
when I was troubled, needed help and hurt.
My friend listened when I needed ears to hear
and was that supportive shoulder
when I felt the weight of no more pain I could bear.
My friend was the voice of reason
when I would have just walked away
showing and teaching from the Bible
making my faith grow stronger each and every day.
They say you are truly blessed
if you have one friend indeed.
My friend has always been there for me
no matter how great or small the need.
I could go on and on
about how wonderful you were to the end.
But most importantly
I’m glad you were my friend.
“Love Irma “The House of
Randolph”
July 20th
By Courtney Stokes
She stands before you
completely alone and taught to
think before she speaks.
She already has looked into her
past
to learn from her mistakes
but her identity was erased
her intellect deleted without a trace
she can’t even taste the fabrication of a personality
that comes out when she speaks
cuz she was raised to bite her tongue til it bleeds.
Her body, a false reality’s copy.
Society courses through her
veins, slits her wrist and it becomes colored with
judgment
as it touches the air,
air she no longer has the desire
to breath.
She’s been drowning on her own tears
becoming her own fears
trapped in a box nihilistic and numb
her own personal paradox
she feels nothing yet everything!
She began to find comfort
in the sound track to the horror film in her mind,
hits rewind just to find the monster
that burdens her psychologically
trapped in her mind
and instead of hearing the racket
of old memories she outta see,
she’s ripping straight jackets off
her thoughts that are soon to be,
while her friends sip Hennessy
she’s drunk of disorders two shots depression
and a whole bottle of anxiety.
Her chest is tightening her ears are ringing
cold chills running down her spin
like her demons are fleeing the scene of their crime.
Dizzy.
Can’t think can’t breathe don’t try to touch her
or she’ll scream “get off of me!”
as her head bangs with the cacophony
her guardian angel doesn’t even see
doesn’t know what she needs neither does she
doesn’t know why she’s not sure
she wants her heart to continue beating.
What happened?
Why’d she walk to the river,
stand on the bridge
What happened?
Why’d she send her goodbyes,
pop those pills so she’ll die?
WHAT HAPPENED?
What happened?!
They’ll all look to the sky
What happened?
As the ambulance arrives
What happened?
She’ll hear them all cry
WHAT HAPPENED !?
She crumpled.
on July 20, 2017 being alive
was just too much for her.
pearl of friendship
By Gey
like the joy
the fisherman feels
when he discovers a
precious pearl
such is the
happiness that is mine
upon finding a treasure of
true friendship
within u.
(thank u, my friend)
Lessons Learned #1
By Annette Daniels Taylor
Lessons learned as
bodies mend
Junkies never
remember their promises
we need to cop
Junkies will walk four and 3/4
miles
carrying a used door
so, we can sell it
To cop
We always need a quarter
We always need money for
the bus
We need to cop
We’re always going to quit
tomorrow
Lessons learned as bodies ache
All junkies have mama’s
Some junkies had a nanny
Some junkies still do
Sugar and alcohol
Feeling good
Feeling nothing
Feeling too much
Feeling mad
Wonder lightning
Questions thunder
Answer rains
Revolutions hurricanes
Standing in a doorway
Swollen fingers bad skin
Driving from a suburb
Copping in a hood
“One thing poetry teaches us, if anything, is that everything is connected. There is so much history that we have not validated.” -Lucille Clifton
Stop Signs
By Kat Massey
Old woman surveys her world
in a Hefty bag.
She shrugs
and steps into traffic.
The Struggle Is Real
By Evan Locke
You have a special assignment
my teacher said
It’s to write a poem straight
from your head
The topic can be anything that
you choose
Like family, tv or what’s on the
news.
I was biting my nails thinking
about what to write
While eating my dinner and
drinking a Sprite
Why was I having such a hard
time
It shouldn’t be this hard to
make words rhyme.
I need to hurry and get this out
of the way
So I can go beat my brother in
a game of NBA 2K
I’m losing my mind and I just
can’t deal
All I know is the struggle is
real.
That’s it I’m going to bed
I’m sad but I won’t show it
Oh wait…
I am a poet!
(Evan, a 7th Grader, is the grandson of Lonnie B. Harrell)
BLACK LIFE …
A Block Party in Willert Park
By Priscilla Y. Hill
Mortimer between William and Peckham Streets
50’s Buffalo on Saturday afternoons in July
A celebration…not the Emancipation Proclamation
Or Juneteenth either, just a celebration of colored folk
coming from all over to this east side street.
Mothers bringing their own food, setting up tables
with Kool-Aid and iced tea
Daddies playing cards or dominos sipping
Old Grand Dad or Wild Irish Rose
A lively local band playing all the oldies and goodies
some jazz for the old folks and the blues for the rest of us
DoDo Green impressing everyone with her husky
sexy voice and blond hair
Count Rabbit, a legend already, did part two
whipping out the blues, sweating and crying
Ooh the old ladies loving his music, bumping
and grinding and smiling and swaying
Others dancing the swing, twirling their partners around
Little boys and old men peeking a look
under their skirts, snickering and sweating
Teens like me trying to sneak a slow drag sometimes
escaping the stern gaze of our community mothers
aunts and grandmothers
Young boys playing handball on the Willert Park wall
Children running around chasing each other, playing tag
giggling at the older folk trying to get their groove on
Then the sun starts to rest its glorious head behind
the project buildings
And us too, gathering up our stuff that memories
were made of
Our summer block parties came suddenly
but were gone too soon
when we played out the visible sculptures
on the A.D. Court walls, on Spring Street
depicting our past and present lives of
families together, working, children playing
jumping rope, reading and especially
the black slave fleeing with her child
or the Negro Union soldier returning home
the daily rituals carved on the apartment doorways
keeping our history alive
Stuff that memories were made of
But no one noticed…then
Reflection
They probably
Never heard of
Emmet Till
Or America’s bloody
Lynching years
So Black Lives
Don’t matter much
To them
Whether it’s a Black
Life taken
At the hands of racists
Or even their own.
How can you
Take a life
For sneakers and
A gold chain?
Is the reflection
Of you
In the face of your
Victim/your brother
So full of pain
Is the hatred of self
So deep
That it has driven us
Insane?
Jasper Texas 1998
Lucille Clifton,
1936 – 2010 for j. byrd
i am a man’s head hunched in the road.
i was chosen to speak by the
members of my body.
the arm as it pulled away
pointed toward me, the hand
opened once and was gone.
why and why and why
should i call a white man brother?
who is the human in this place,
the thing that is dragged or the dragger?
what does my daughter say?
the sun is a blister overhead.
if i were alive i could not bear it.
the townsfolk sing we shall overcome
while hope bleeds slowly from my mouth
into the dirt that covers us all.
i am done with this dust.
i am done.
(James Byrd Jr. was an African-American man who was murdered by three white
supremacists, in Jasper, Texas, on June 7, 1998 . Byrd was chained at the ankles, tied to
the bumper of a truck, and dragged to his death outside of Jasper, near Houston.)
The Sidewalk
©2009 (verse 1)
by Edreys Wajed
Deals get made here, and
drunks piss on me,
Bottles get smashed and bodies
bleed on me.
I know all the kicks by the feel
of the grips,
I know the difference between
Air Force 1’s and Stan Smiths
or Timbs with the bubble-gum
soles and lose laces,
I can identify their bop, but I
can’t make out faces.
I’m the hardest thing in the
hood, the glue of the block,
I can’t speak but I can tell you
about the number of shots,
Because I preserve those hot
shells and hold a couple of
rounds, and get sprayed when
the fire trucks are hosing me down.
Hustlers are loyal to me
because they know I can’t snitch,
And they know I understand
about rocks and bricks,
Cracks and nicks, and barbecue
chips in brown bags,
Watching ashes blow away, as
they’re taking a drag.
See I’ve raised these youngins’
like they were my kids,
And most times this is where
life ends…on the SIDEWALK
*The Sidewalk verse 1 is part of a 3 vs poem that will be published in full for Edreys Wajed’s new book of poetry entitled “a capella “ released April 30 2018 can be found on on www.byedreys.com and also available for order on Amazon.com
My Poetry Is Deep…
By Mack Neal
My poetry is deep
(how deep is it?)
I mean deep like the debt that
America owes us
or deep like a grave or an
in-da-streets slave
or an industry slave/ or a new
aged digital slave
with computerized whips and chains
but us BLACK MEN still die
over whips and chains.
They say-gang violence is the problem
but you and me get shot down
when we speak unity
just ask our
‘’MARTIN LUTHER KINGS HAVE A DREAM ‘’
OR OUR MALCOM X’S
OR OUR 2 PAC’ S
WHO TOOK 9 SHOTS
and stopped speaking thug life
and tried to denounce blocks
while Elvis stole black songs
to make the jail house rock .
They ship kilos and metro
domes ( you know the army navy & cops )
to America’s households and we get knocked
and go to jail from slanging little rocks
meanwhile a catholic priest at confession
asks a little boy to touch his …..
and we shocked.
Dynamic dudes die from adversity
and IT WAS A TIME when
a BLACK MEN AND WOMEN
couldn’t even learn at a university.
It was a curse to be /ME
BLACK MAN.
NOWA-DAYS everybody wants to be that
but its more to being Black
than what’s on B.E.T & I bet
that you watch shows
to glamorize or demoralize
ARRESTING me
like the C.O.P.S & THE WIRE
but the cops be wildin’.
Who is going to put the wires on the cops
to infiltrate the bad seeds
before they proceed to do the devil’s deeds?
And no Mr. President I will not
fight for this racist nation
that gave us Nathan
and they still hate our faces.
DONT LET THEM ‘’WILLIE
LYNCH’’ YOU 1712!
MY POERTY IS DEEP!
(HOW DEEP IS IT? )
Mack Neal is also known as ‘’The Epileptic MC’’
IN THE SPIRIT …
Oh! Precious Spirit
By The Lit-Mus Study Club
Oh! Precious Spirit
I need thee with me.
As darkness threatens
My fears increase
And I search for
That guiding light,
That flicker of hope
To warm my soul.
Oh! Precious Spirit
Guide me along
The proceeding night.
Have mercy on me
To give me peace
And joy I pray.
Lead and show me
Through the coming day.
Oh! Precious Spirit
This far you have led me
Directed me on
Over the hills,
And down in the valleys.
So fresh and green
Such beauty
You have never seen.
Oh! Precious Spirit
In this hour of despair,
I need the Lord
To lead the way.
Then, I should follow
Only in you Lord
With your infinite mercy
Protecting and comforting me
And always being there.
Oh! Precious Spirit
My heart truly knows
You are only a prayer away.
On bended knees
As my spirit soars
I send my praises to thee.
Oh! Mighty God,
May your healing blessings
Be shown on me.
Oh! Precious Spirit
To impart that faith
Of that silent night,
I hope and pray
To reach my goal,
To use my God’s given gift
And blessings,
To witness and encourage
The healing of some poor lost soul,
Helping him find his way to you.
Amen.
©December, 2003
The Lit-Mus Club Study Club of Buffalo was one of the oldest African American lady’s music and literature study group in New York State. It was a part of the Empire State Federation of Women’s Club, Inc. in New York State. The poem ‘Oh! Precious Spirit,’ was dedicated to a club sister who passed away, Sister Mary Crosby Chappelle. The members felt this poem reflected her life serving the Lord. These are the names of the club sisters who are the authors and each contributed a portion to the writing of the poem: “Oh! Precious Spirit”: Sharon L. DuBard, Willah B. DuBard, Violet B. Hall, Carolyn B. Thomas, Freddie M. Thompson, Christine Lillard, Ingrid Jackson, Marilyn Foote-Kragbe’, Ruth L. Hollie, Amerion B. Carter, and Mary F. Kemp.
Sistah Prayer Warrior
By Patricia Navaroli
She prays with Zeal.
She prays with Zest.
She prays everyday with
Very little rest.
She prays because
She loves God the best.
She prays for her Husband.
She prays for her Daughters
She prays for her Sons.
She prays with love
For Everyone.
She prays with
Amazing Grace
She prays hoping to finish
This race.
She won’t stop praying until
She sees His face.
There Will Come a Day
By Helen McDonald
There will come a day, you’ll realize you didn’t get away.
You tell your lies “You shot because you feared your life”
Killing in front of the children, and the wife.
You say you thought it was a gun,
but they put their hands up, got on the ground
After all no gun was found.
It’s not just the ones with a badge, its each one of you that shoots
a gun
Used a knife, or your poisonous tongue, that took a life.
You will be convicted, you cannot escape.
CONFESS-REPENT-CHANGE YOUR WAYS!
Believe me there will come a day.
You know what you did and your real motive why
You took lives when they didn’t have to die
Yes there will come a day.
God has given us life, you have no right to take one.
All lives matter to GOD! So know this, there will come a day
When you must kneel ·before Him, then what will you say?
I’m Standing
By Priscilla Green
I wake up every morning, I
kneel myself to pray
I ask the Lord to help me, to
make it through the day
I’m Standing.
I reach out for my Bible, to
gain a word of strength
It gives me reassurance, god is
with me to the end
I’m Standing.
I race out the door with
eagerness, no matter what the
weather may be
Rain, wind, snow or ail, I put
all my trust I Thee
I’m Standing.
As I run out through the
darkness, trying to stay right in
the light
I can hear my Heavenly Father,
say, keep running don’t lose
sight
I’m standing.
I’ll Lift Mine Eyes Unto The
Hills From Whence Cometh
All My Help
My Help Cometh From The
Lord, this confidence I’ve felt
I’m Standing.
As I face my peers and
fellowman, to make my honest
wage
I face so many obstacles, it
reminds me of old days
I’m Standing.
I thought that things have
changed a lot, but I see we
have a way to go
But hold on to the Word of
God, for this none thing I know
I’m Standing.
As I try to bear the weight of
days in doing what is right
Sometimes they try to set me
up but I hold back, I just listen,
don’t fight
I’m Standing.
‘Cause Weeping May Endure
for a Night, But Joy Comes in
the Morning Light
God knows just how much we
can bear, Vengeance is His.
Believe me He cares
We’re Standing.
And when I Lay Me Down to
Sleep, I thank the Lord My
Soul He Keeps
And If I Die Before I Wake, I
Know My Soul The Lord Will
Take
Because He’s Standing.
Because He’s Standing.
Because He’s Standing!
TIME
The pain I feel all the time
Thinking of you, you’re on my mind
Some days I wonder what if it
was me instead of you
Would you still be here?
Time, that’s what everyone says
Give it time
I am tired of time
It doesn’t fix my broken heart
It doesn’t heal my pain
Time doesn’t bring you back
Time is so precious because
you never know when its
Time to go
I don’t know how time works,
but you can
Lose a loved one in a blink of an eye.
You disappeared so fast I
couldn’t even say goodbye
Come back, I said, come back
I didn’t have enough Time
By Maariyah Mustafa, Age 13
In loving memory of Naseer
Alwakee
February 12, 2001 – October
27, 2017
Master
By Christopher L. Dyson
There is no sound
In the voice
that surrounds us all
Only the slithering movement
as he wraps one hand around his staff
and readies his whip
with the other
Nusquam Et Ubique
Always there
always watching
There is no sound
In the thickness
of the midnight air
There is no sound
or even ears
To tell it’s real
THE JOURNEY OF US/US BLACK WOMEN
By Shirley Sarmiento
This has been quite a journey
a long struggle
the quest for my own identity
buy no means
it has not been easy
matter of fact
one of the
hardest things US BLACK
WOMEN
have ever done
is to be
here now
in the presence
was not
an easy task
finding our places
locating our spaces
in search of our own true selves
has finally arrived
We are us
Black Women
is me and my sistergirls
don’t have to act
look or be white ness anymore
We have arrived and found us
easy it has not been
considering all the
thoughtlessness
US BLACK WOMEN have
endured throughout the passage
of time
It has been an
exhausting difficult journey
for US BLACK WOMEN
Steadfast and always fighting
the fight
keeping our
dreams alive
always in front of us
holding on
of course for dear life
the need to feel
the need to be
never letting go of our own existence.
PEACE
By Julio Jordan
To be positive and at peace,
Doesn’t mean the nonsense will cease,
It just means that through it all,
You’ve found a release,
A calm in your heart,
Mind and your soul,
A clearer way of thinking,
Allowing your blessings to unfold,
Turning a negative into a positive,
Looking at your cup half full,
Staying away from the drama,
Not letting it pull,
You into it,
Just go the other way,
Far from it all,
Controlling your emotions every day,
There’s a balance,
We need the good and the bad,
But the way we deal with it,
Like being happy when life makes you sad,
It’s all a choice,
You decide what to do,
For me it helps to move forward,
It helps me get through,
Wallowing in self pity,
Doesn’t help us none,
Stay focused on the outcome,
You are far from done,
Today might have been difficult,
Tomorrow we don’t know,
All we can do is have faith,
Hoping the winds of change blow,
In our favor,
Change course and direction,
But today this day,
We must take heed of the lessons,
Learn and prosper,
Each day alive we grow,
Remain optimistic,
Even when you’re at the lowest of the low,
Things will get better,
No way but up from there,
You’re a survivor,
Who will always persevere,
You’ve done it,
Again and again,
Your strength and courage,
Have been your best friend,
Never let you down,
Even when the world was against you,
Never let them see you frown,
Patience is a virtue,
Keep smiling,
Remain positive in your heart,
Set your mind free from negativity,
Don’t let it break you apart,
Your day is coming,
Hope you see it,
Believe it,
If you want it so bad,
Then go ahead and achieve it,
Rise above your problems,
Don’t remain beneath them,
Be fair to yourself,
Attitude reflects the outcome,
I believe in you,
As I believe in myself,
If you don’t believe in you,
There’s no way no one else,
Can free you,
From those mental shackles,
That negative energy,
Will seek and attack you,
You’ll run away from it,
But won’t get far,
Until you change your way of thinking,
I know at times it’s so hard,
I’ve been there before,
Nearly drowned in my tears,
But I weathered the storm,
By conquering all my fears,
Trust these words which I speak,
From my heart they are true,
Start seeing the good versus bad,
Think positively,
You’re long overdue!
Essence of Black
By Antoinette Hall
The essence of Black,
is the deepest force of life, that
has been given to this world.
The essence of Black,
is the shadow of the past, of a
proud people, and nation.
The essence of Black,
has never given in to the
system, or society of the world
domination.
The essence of Black,
is the foundation of strength of
a people, who has been chosen
to lead a lost world. With an
unmistakable character to love
all people without malice of
forethought.
The essence of Black, represents
a race of people, who has lived
on the earth, and ate of the
fruit of the vine That God has
provided for all to be healthy.
The essence of Black,
is the essence of a surviving
people, who has inner
beauty to share kindness,
encouraging words, and spiritual
enlightenment.
The essence of Black,
is the generation who has fought
to gain equal treatment in this
system. Yet all those who stood
up for our rights, has been
systematically eliminated from
this life, to keep a strong people
down!
The essence of Black,
will always endure life’s trials,
and pressure.
We will continue to strive to
reach our goals, dreams, and
aspirations.
We will never give up the good
fight! Nor the struggle to be
reconized as a free spirit.
To rise to success in this life,
until God calls us home to be by his side !
BIRTH
By Dr. Anthony Neal
This is how the story should
be told.
Australopiticus wakes and
strolls
Through the Garden of Eden.
Teleological fruit is sweet but
remains uneaten
While building testaments to
time and never receding.
Then She gave birth to the
Queen of Sheba.
Then She gave birth to
Imhotep.
Then She gave birth to Chaka
Zulu.
Chased from the Garden of
Eden,
She was forced to walk among
a den of thieves
And adorn herself from the
earth below:
Twigs, branches, and leaves.
But she still gave birth to
Nelson Mandela.
But she still gave birth to
Kwame Nkrumah.
But she still gave birth to
Jomo Kenyatta.
Kidnapped from her home; on
the seas condemned to roam.
Broken with the lash and
tarnished with the whip …
Experiencing an eternity of
sadness ship after ship.
And yet she gave birth to
Frederick Douglass.
And yet she gave birth to
Ida B. Wells.
And yet she gave birth to
Marcus Garvey.
And yet she gave birth to
W.E.B. DuBois.
Some of her sons were shown
lying in the streets and hanging
from trees.
Some of her daughters were
ridiculed and beaten to their
knees.
Some of her songs are sad but
sound like caged birds singing!
Some of her bells are muffled
but somehow they keep on
ringing.
And somehow she gave birth to
Martin Luther King, Jr.
And somehow she gave birth to
Fannie Lou Hamer.
And somehow she gave birth to
Malcolm X.
And somehow she gave birth to
Rosa Parks.
And somehow she gave birth to
Thurgood Marshall.
And somehow she gave birth to
Shirley Chisholm.
Please perpetuate Her glory by
telling Her story.
Let the world know that each
and every line is true
Because we know her story by
heart; she endured it all
And she gave birth to me; and
she gave birth to you.
(“Birth” isf rom from Dr. Neal’s latest book of poetry, “Love Agnostic: The Eternal
Protest: From 9/11 to Charleston” )
Airplane Mentality
By Flexx Godd
It Flew 7 miles above your
head
Surrounded by a new View on
old sights
The words I said to you
Said nothing about you
But please look up
See past the greens and browns
Reaching into the whiteout
smeared across
the blue canvas
Look up
Let your eyebrows raise in
suspicion of this
new perspective
Look up
Past your insecurities
Past your transgressions
Past your failures
Past your past
extend your wings and fly
Let your imagination soar to
new levels
New beginnings
New success
Look up & Envision life
From a new perspective
Find peace in the pieces of
your shattered dreams
Find love in what can never be
found again
Seek past the sky
Find hope in what isn’t
And clarity in knowing
It doesn’t have to be what it is
It…You
can be sooo much more
Look up
Look up
Look up
BLACK BUFFALO
By Abiodun Oyewale
Amidst the snow and cold climate
There is a warmth here
There is a love
That only black people can bask in
There is a coming together
Of kindred spirits
To make the sun shine
Even on a snowy grey day
Call it Kwanzaa
Call it the Maafa
Call it Sankofa
Call it Juneteenth
Black folks in Buffalo
Are in Africa all year round
Marcus and Harriet still live there
And celebrate their love for freedom
Here in Buffalo
There is space to breathe Black
And a reason to know
That we are royal
No matter where we go
Like Imhotep said
We still wear the crown
In spite of what others might say
We will find a way to master the day.
No Opportunity Wasted (N.O.W.)
By Eric
Living in the NOW
(No Opportunity Wasted)
Helps me to smile.
I learned to slow down/look
around
Enjoy things in the air
And on the ground.
No pushing, no fast paced life
No Opportunity Wasted
Means living in the here and
NOW.
It gives me a reason to smile.
NOW I stop and pause
Because there is a cause
To enjoy every moment
of the 7/24/365
That we alive.
JOY PAIN SUNSHINE RAIN ….
I Am A Woman
By: Kia Marlene
I am a woman
I am the prize
Heaven in between my thighs
Galaxies in my eyes
Known to give the toughest
man butterflies
The strongest force there is,
couldn’t be tore down
if other energies tried
I am a woman
Whose womb is sacred just like
the blood that flows from it
Powerful
A living library
Occupied by the souls of my
ancestors and predecessors
Seraphic frequency
A celestial being that operates
out of love
without thinking nothing of it
I am a woman
Who can nurture the souls of
broken men
Who can heal my own temple,
Connect with the energy of the
Mother Goddess
and access knowledge just by
using my intent
I am a woman
Who has the strength of a million
males
The softest touch like chinchilla
tails
I am the original so my soul is
filled with many tales
I am a woman
A protector and provider
Can still stand or be a rider
Be a lover or a fighter
Transform dark into lighter
I am a woman
Who operates more from the
right brain than the left
Who can create joy when nothing
is left
Who was able to make myself
whole again
when that man left
I am a woman
Who overflows with emotions
Yes I cry oceans
But I can alchemize my tears to
give me vitality
and turn them into the most
magical potion
I am a woman
Whose heart is the sun
radiating enough warmth to
heat up nations
and keep things in tune
Whose soul can fill rooms
Whose energy cause things to
bloom
Whose womb is connected to
the moon
And with every new cycle is a
transformation
and the chance for me to
become anew
I am a woman
The divine
The source
The feminine
Magnetism
Earth
The vessel that gives birth to
Gods
I can create universes and
destroy illusions
The universe dwells within me
as I am it
I am a woman and I am proud
to be that
Bitter Black Woman
By Cassandra Gilmore-Austin
Bitter Black Woman don’t be
so mean
Bitter Black Woman try to
observe the scene
Wondering why the world is so unfair
Trying to fit in where there is not a care
Only to find out that there are
bitter tears
Finding things out that brought
on anger and pout
Trying to maintain your least doubt
Bitter Black Woman you ask
yourself why?
Only to find out that you only tried
Tried to be the good black
woman that deserves to be loved
But only to encounter the pain
and turmoil of a dead dove
Becoming numb
Not to let go and only becoming one
Keeping all the love you have
bottled up within
To safe guide your heart from
all the ridiculous sin
Wondering when it will all end
So that you are able to breathe again
Exhaling your deepest thoughts
and letting go the devils torch
Praying to God to watch over
you and hoping that someday
you won’t be so blue
Bitter Black Woman don’t be afraid
Try to keep the spirt that God has made
Try to maintain positive thoughts
Empower yourself to safe
guide your heart
Never settle for less, settle only for the best
Bitter Black Woman be happy now
Forgive those who are untrue and unclear
For you will be blessed no matter what you fear!
Dresses
By CaTyra Polland
She wants to leave but is afraid
she tastes her blood often
blood mixed with tears mixed
with more blood
her self esteem is valley low,
so she stays
she’s used to I’m sorry
she knows it will happen again
she remembers the angles of
each room
at times she lay on the floor or
was slammed against a wall
blood stains throughout the
house identified as spilled wine
medical bills in boxes
underneath the bed
she never wore makeup, now
she has no choice
hidden bruises
mountainous lies
she know pain well
like the ocean knows waves
like the sky knows clouds
However, there are brief moments
of joy, moments without pain
Her dresses bring her joy
She has loved dresses since her childhood
She has 2 closets full of dresses
She color coordinated her
dresses like the rainbow
When she is alone she admires
her collection
She actually remembers when
she received each dress
In fact it’s embedded in her memory
Her dresses bring her joy but
also immense sadness
The dates she received the
dresses are etched in her mind
the dates document hospital
visits prompted by her lover
he would come to her bedside
with a brand new dress each time
She loves her dresses like her
lover-with hesitation
they are beautiful but
dangerous
appealing but damaging
To accept the dress is to
surrender
The dresses are a constant
reminder
she knows pain well
like the ocean knows waves
like the sky knows clouds
She knows pain well
Like a well knows water
Like a desert knows heat
Daggers in heart
Needles in spine
She knows pain well…
Know Your Self-Worth
By Shannon Spruill
There is no one
that will love you
better than you.
Your love for yourself
will never fail
Intimate knowledge of self,
helps you push through
Trust your reflection of beauty
and self-worth
Ban those negative thoughts
about yourself
And experience a wonderful
rebirth.
Perfection should not be
your end result
Reinforced self-worth should
be your destiny
Positive thoughts
and an internal consult
Grow and know your true
identity.
Rephrase your internal script
about yourself
When thinking negatively
about who you are
Return and ban those thoughts
to an empty shelf
And remember that you are a
shinning star!
Black Woman
By Allie Freeman
I believe in you black Woman
The power you exude, the level of your truth
In measure you are a power though you may stand aloof
I believe there is still work to do
Can we sit a while and just breath?
Many of us are under siege
Look around, who do you see?
A few in corporate America,
bursting through that ceiling graciously, intelligently
Representation, giving pride to you and me
Education, a high priority, Lawyers, M.D.’s,
PhD’s, Masters, and BA degrees
Effecting influence day by day.
There is also a scenario unpleasant to see
Black Woman struggling with minimal wage
trying to raise families, difficult indeed
That drug addicted sister, that suicidal, depressed forgotten one
Needing our attention, advocacy, doing it alone
That mother who is burying her child
killed, jailed, gun, domestic violence
While praying for strength all the while.
Yet some of us are mean, evil, repeaters of gossip,
unsisterly acts, back stabbers to be exact.
How can we expect to win this war,
this attack on our souls, our families, our intellect?
It is much better to unite.
The group is mightier than an individual plight.
The challenge is to be kind, considerate, be there,
advocate for rights.
Make this day, a new beginning
let the motto be, I will support my sisters, I will be free
to fight the system, to make a better community.
Practice a spiritual connection.
Let it be !
CELEBRATION FOR AN AFRIKAN KING” On Tuesday, May 8 the family of the late Lonnie B. Harrell and the Community Health Center of Buffalo, Inc. held a poetic celebration of life honoring Brother Harrell. About 40 people gathered at the Centers’ 34 Benwood location and shared spoken word poetry and stories about the entrepreneur, artist and poet often referred to as “The Love Doctor.” Lonnie’s smooth romantic lyrics and his beautiful old school singing made his performances always an unforgettable experience. His wife Willie Dean opened the program with a moving poem dedicated to her husband of over 50 yrs. His daughters also gave touching remembrances of a father they cherished and held in high esteem. It was a wonderful program for a much deserved and truly missed member of this community!
Emotion
By Karla Thomas
I am an emotion…
Wandering, searching, looking
for a place To reside
Caught up in the endless confusion
And organized chaos of mental
homelessness
I am an idea
Burning bright with originality
Laying tracks to a new destination
I am a demographic
While I am photographic
I am Not geographic, I’m telepathic
I am an idea
To find my way
I must call on my
Inheritance, my instincts
Which makes much better decisions
Than my intellect; my instincts
Are that inner voice that is quiet
Because it is only talking to me!
Instincts guide my restoration
from the inside out
And wisely tell me that
When I am betrayed, I have the
unfinished
Business of loving them any way
I am an emotion
Wandering, searching, looking
for a place
To reside
Caught up in the endless
confusion
Of organized chaos called
mental homelessness
Seeking a castle that proffers
safety, and inclusion, and embraces
Non-judgmental, undeniable, genuine,
Unwavering, ride and die,
Wakanda love!
I, am an emotion….
I SEE YOU
By Latise Hairston
I see you. You black man.
Dark and lovely. Full of life
I see you child born of a
woman wrapped in pain,
I see you. Though the world
sees you not.
Invisible, devoid of humanitya
figment of someone’s dark vision of you.
But I see you.
I see the soul that lives. The
joy that breeds. The heart that pounds.
The feet that run to your
destiny with purpose.
Laughter & joy. No more guilt and shame.
I see you.
Black & beautiful
White & dewy
Brown & Bronze
Red & rich
Yellow & Mellow
I see you. I love you.
Bright & Diverse
Fierce & Faithful
Mothers, Daughters, Fathers, Sons
Rise up!
Own the call to live, to love, to freedom.
To exist wholly and boldly in your purpose.
Feet walking, toes tapping, voice roaring.
I seeee YOUUUUU!
July 20th
By Courtney Stokes
She stands before you
completely alone and taught to
think before she speaks.
She already has looked into
her past
to learn from her mistakes
but her identity was erased
her intellect deleted without a
trace
she can’t even taste the
fabrication of a personality
that comes out when she speaks
cuz she was raised to bite her
tongue til it bleeds.
Her body, a false reality’s copy.
Society courses through her
veins slits her wrist
and it becomes colored with
judgment
as it touches the air,
air she no longer has the desire
to breath.
She’s been drowning on her
own tears
becoming her own fears
trapped in a box nihilistic and
numb
her own personal paradox
she feels nothing yet
everything!
She began to find comfort
in the sound track to the horror
film in her mind,
hits rewind just to find the
monster
that burdens her
psychologically
trapped in her mind
and instead of hearing the
racket of old memories she
outta see,
she’s ripping straight jackets
off her thoughts that are soon
to be,
while her friends sip Hennessy
she’s drunk of disorders two
shots depression
and a whole bottle of anxiety.
Her chest is tightening her ears
are ringing
cold chills running down her
spin
like her demons are fleeing the
scene of their crime.
Dizzy.
Can’t think can’t breathe don’t
try to touch her
or she’ll scream “get off of
me!”
as her head bangs with the
cacophony
her guardian angel doesn’t
even see
doesn’t know what she needs
neither does she
doesn’t know why she’s not
sure
she wants her heart to continue
beating.
What happened?
Why’d she walk to the river,
stand on the bridge
What happened?
Why’d she send her goodbyes,
pop those pills so she’ll die?
WHAT HAPPENED?
What happened?!
They’ll all look to the sky
What happen?
As the ambulance arrives
What happened?
She’ll hear them all cry WHAT
HAPPENED !?
She crumpled.
on July 20, 2017 being alive
was just too much for her.
Sophisticated Lady
by Royal St. Clair
Softly as a summer morning
sunrise
Your face reflects the warm
rays of RA.
Smiling eyes
Warm my inner being
Arousing beautiful memories
Of The WAY in Afrika.
Dimples that smile
Like the length of the fertile Nile,
A regal neck with rings of beauty
Sounding the arrival of a worldly-wise
woman
Afrikan body so feminine
Queenly wrapped in a royal Kente gown
As you nonchalantly stroll
Leaving footprints of
diamonds,
Rubies and sapphires
on Holy ground.
I feel-Hear poly-rhythms
Vibrating from the strings of
your heart
Calling me to the WAY
On your birthday.
Dear Racist… (take a walk in my shoes)
Laura Jackson Jr.
Dear racist…
I need for you to know
That I hate that you exist
And as I express my feelings toward you
understand, this isn’t a death wish
While I appreciate your transparency
and that you choose to speak your mind
I can’t comprehend why you believe
That your race is superior to mine
Although I’ve come to accept
that we weren’t raised the same
despite your visible ignorance,
My values will remain.
You can call me what you want
& hate the color of my skin.
But you can’t suppress my pride
or the love I have within
So far, I’m sure I’ve said some things
that you may not comprehend
and it’s not my intention to be
condescending or to purposely offend
I’ll always show respect to those who respect me.
It doesn’t matter more or less
if they’re white, black, blue or green
I’m curious to know if it ever crossed your mind
what you would do or how you’d feel
if your race was left behind?
What if because the color of my skin
I believed I had more authority?
What if you were forced to follow my lead?
What if you were the minority?
What if there were no such thing as
“white privilege”
Instead there was “black immunity”
Would this cause a feeling of rage
or separation in your community?
What if only people of color were
chosen to receive blessings?
Would this incite a big debate
Of why you don’t deserve to be given less?
What if February was the only month
That you could celebrate your beliefs?
Do you think you’d feel somewhat cheated?
Or, be overcome with grief?
What if your children were only taught
the history of my culture?
Would you allow this to be all they learn?
Or, try to educate them further?
What if one day you awoke to a world
composed of black everything?
How would this effect your life?
What would your quality of life even be?
See, I often daydream.
I close my eyes and I see
Black sand on black beach
in a black park with black swings.
Black birds flying high in the sky
with black wings.
Black Queens holding hands with
Black Kings who are proud.
Black businesses, with signs hanging
that read “every race allowed!”
Black schools that teaches the importance
of black financial growth
With black teachers, teaching black history
that every child should know.
There was black rain, black wind,
black hail and black snow.
With two financial brackets,
black rich & black poor
There were two levels of success
Black less and black more.
and the only place everyone shopped
were black owned businesses & stores.
There were two directions
in which we could go,
black lefts and black rights.
There were black hours, black minutes
and black seconds with black days
and black nights.
There was an abundance of black love
which of course brought about
black families, & fights.
But here, we lived in a black America,
with a black congress, in a black house
with black rights.
Although this was just a dream, one day
It may become reality.
Where we’ll all be able to live together,
with peace, love and unity.
These are my thoughts
each time I encounter you
And it’s not to cause further divide
but to imagine you in my shoes
“When you change the way you look at things,
the things you look at will change.”
We’re all created equal a
nd we all should be treated the same.
If one day you could open your eyes
Perhaps you’ll be able to see
that one day we could rise to the top
and live the true meaning of our creed
See, like Martin Luther king,
I too have a dream.
That one day we’ll be able to live
with equality & unity!
The Revolution
By Cynthia Chinn-Harbin
The revolution is here
but our young African Kings
lie in Babylons’ cold streets
The revolution is here
but our young mothers’ lives
are wasted on vanities of the
flesh
The revolution is here
but folks from distant lands
benefit
from the rights and privileges
our ancestors died for
Can we feel the tide?
Can we hear the bell that tolls?
Can we face another day
of scuffling and grinding
to make the lives of others
better than our own?
We used to chant,
“When the revolution comes”*
“When the revolution comes”
When the revolution comes?
The Revolution is here.
(revised 2018)
*When the Revolution Comes,
The Last Poets
The Struggle Is Real
By Evan Locke
You have a special assignment
my teacher said
It’s to write a poem straight
from your head
The topic can be anything that
you choose
Like family, tv or what’s on the
news.
I was biting my nails thinking
about what to write
While eating my dinner and
drinking a Sprite
Why was I having such a hard
time
It shouldn’t be this hard to
make words rhyme.
I need to hurry and get this out
of the way
So I can go beat my brother in
a game of NBA 2K
I’m losing my mind and I just
can’t deal
All I know is the struggle is
real.
That’s it I’m going to bed
I’m sad but I won’t show it
Oh wait…
I am a poet!
(Evan, a 7th Grader, is the
grandson of Lonnie B. Harrell)
Circles
By Emci Kyng
Get a job and get an education
Circles.
Don’t become another statistic
In this nation.
Circles.
Work Hard For less than what you’re
Worth and you will see elevation.
Circles.
Life as a black male has you going
in circles
No matter how much you progress
Or how clean that you dress
You still End up at the same damn point.
It seems pointless,
How they pretend like they help
but instead point you around the diameter
Knowing that it’s pointless
Like those broken number 2 pencils.
Knowing that when you are pointless
you are useless
Like your old number 2 pencil.
Knowing that when you are useless
You stay in the box
Like a cracked number 2 pencil
Knowing that they guide your life
Like a pen in a stencil.
Try to hold your future
Like a witch holds a crystal.
I think the Truth is crystal clear,
Because we see year upon year
That speeches are given
Saying that change is near.
They raise your wage
You grin from ear to ear.
Mission accomplished
False hope is in the atmosphere.
We are running from something
towards some nothing
Got us going in spheres
Or circles.
They made up something called a l
iving wage
But there’s no price on life,
So if they give you more money
They plan on upping the price.
The system raises your wage a dollar
Then raises the gas price two
We aren’t designed to win
Can you see what capital do?
Circles
They tell go to school,
And get a degree,
But its a trap because if you pay
10,000 For tuition
You’ll come out owing that times three.
Circles.
You want to own you a home?
U got to get you a loan
If you ain’t got credit
The bank says you on your own.
But I’m pushing past principles
That were placed upon my plate.
Using my words to welcome wisdom
that’ll make you great.
Combing through the lies,
Flat ironing the truth
Exposing this system’s scalp
And molding minds of the youth.
I’m over this hocus pocus
Our people we need focus
The government’s getting richer
From burdens placed on our shoulders
Really we are worth more
because WE did the work
WE moved the boulders.
So now I’m going to
Rip the head off this beast,
Tear the neck off his shoulders
Stab its heart while it sleeps
Throw its body to vultures
Send sniper shots towards this creep.
I’m not trying to sound vulgar.
Because we are stuck in these circles
The struggle is universal
Everyone deserves a chance
to spread their wings,
Because we are all
from this earth bro
The Man I Used To Know
Micaela Apellaniz
I want my papi and i’m not
talking about
The man I know today.
I’m talking about the man i
knew
when i was innocent.
When i didnt know what
adultry meant.
The man who i could lay on
and he never let go
…my superman. I try so hard to
find him.
It’s like he vanished like a
bathbomb.
He didn’t leave in silence. He
left with a sizzle.
Maybe when the water drains
some him will still remain.
And i can try and build another
one.
A better one ,and this time ill
make sure
he’s taught how to love.
My papi, sperm donor. Proper
term.
He who helped bring me here.
The man who my mother
let put a ring on her finger,
the promise of for better or for
worse,
you left in the worst way.
Once upon a time i was his
princess.
i lived in a big castle built in
his heart
just for me.
It seems like as time came i
was evicted.
Only i didn’t get the notice.
Didn’t see the sign on the entry
door
saying love don’ t live here
anymore.
When You Thought I Wasn’t Looking…
By Sanaa Jones (Age 12)
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You cleaned up
after my brother and I
And I felt loved.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You did my laundry and
Organized my clothes
And I felt very special.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You put clothes on our backs
And shoes on our feet
And I was very grateful.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You put food on the table
no matter what
And I felt very thankful.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You put money in my savings
And I felt lucky.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You listened
to what I had to say
And I felt important.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You comforted me
when I was feeling sad
And I felt loved
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
You always kept it “real”
and told me the truth
And I felt very trusted.
When you thought
I wasn’t looking
I looked
And I wanted to say
thanks mom
And ‘gamma’
for all those things you did
for my brother and I
When you thought
I wasn’t looking…
