POETRY THAT SINGS
VOLUME ONE Featuring THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT
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ANOTHER DREAMERThe sixties was a very terrible time in America history, if you were born black, and living in Mississippi, especially Alligator, Ms.I was born July 5, 1960 to a mother who was only thirteen and a father that was evey bit of eighteen. That's explain why I was passed from one family member to another. somewhere between the age of one and three years old, I sustained third degree burns on my back and buttock from boiling hot water that slipped out of the hands of my niece. Sometime later, I got an ear infection that made my right ear run continuously. It was not until a couple years later when I moved (what to be the last time, out of many) with my Grandmother (Hattie) that I was taken to a doctor in Shelby, Ms. Dr. Holloway removed a dead blue blowfly and a large maggot that was very much alive out of my right ear. This also explain why I talk different from the rest of my brothers and sisters. Growing up in my Grandmother house was not a bed of roses either. For starter she had some reservation buried deep in her subconscious concerning the darker complexion of our race. Me being the darkest, brought nothing but pain, shame and the feeling of indifferent. In her mind (may God bless her soul), boys should not bath no more than once a month. Two pairs of trousers were sufficient for a full school term. Stories about the outhouse. the wood burning stoves, days without soap or toothpaste and the many days of going to school with lard on my face and in my hair could fill volumes. Nevertheless, for now digest some words of poetry and if somewhere, a line or two touches your soul, then I have done my job. BETTY As in the inflating of a balloon, my pulse continually to rise. Blinded by infatuations, I lost my foothold, for I was captivated by her style. Her lips were juicy and her tongue begging mine to come inside. My lips parted themselves as I watch her with my eyes. THE ART OF MASTURBATION As the reflection of the moonlight creep across my face, for the things I do while lying in bed; I could easily be charged with a rape case. I'm engaged in this crazy act of love making and I can't seen to stop because it involve giving as well as taking. ROCK MAN From dust to dawn, between sun bright and moonlights, I take familiar steps to and out of date tune. Whether sweeping the hall or painting the jailhouse wall, day after day I'm reminded of how I took my fall. TO MY MOTHER, NOBODY CARE would say I'm sorry but with one foot in hell it too l late. Damn you mother and all others that I hate. I will go to hell rather than sit with you and eat off a silver plate. Now my upper body is cold. Oh, mother! Oh, mother! darkness is everywhere. I'm sorry, I'm crying, I'm dying and nobody care.
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POETRY ABOUT REAL LIFE THAT TOUCH YOUR HEART AS WELL AS YOUR SOUL
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ANOTHER DREAMER The sixties was a very terrible time in America history, if you were born black, and living in Mississippi, especially Alligator, Ms. I was born July 5, 1960 to a mother who was only thirteen and a father that was evey bit of eighteen. That's explain why I was passed from one family member to another. somewhere between the age of one and three years old, I sustained third degree burns on my back and buttock from boiling hot water that slipped out of the hands of my niece. Sometime later, I got an ear infection that made my right ear run continuously. It was not until a couple years later when I moved (what to be the last time, out of many) with my Grandmother (Hattie) that I was taken to a doctor in Shelby, Ms. Dr. Holloway removed a dead blue blowfly and a large maggot that was very much alive out of my right ear. This also explain why I talk different from the rest of my brothers and sisters. Growing up in my Grandmother house was not a bed of roses either. For starter she had some reservation buried deep in her subconscious concerning the darker complexion of our race. Me being the darkest, brought nothing but pain, shame and the feeling of indifferent. In her mind (may God bless her soul), boys should not bath no more than once a month. Two pairs of trousers were sufficient for a full school term. Stories about the outhouse. the wood burning stoves, days without soap or toothpaste and the many days of going to school with lard on my face and in my hair could fill volumes. Nevertheless, for now digest some words of poetry and if somewhere, a line or two touches your soul, then I have done my job.