Monday, April 14, 2014

Beyonce in Cuba



Beyonce in Cuba
                        ~to have a little fun~
 
You
knew baby
in the daylight
The say light
Up on
a balcony
 Or
A dais
Fresh
Faced
 in the place—
Maybe
She
Came
 
From
 
Hair
braided
Into
Some thing
Like a homeland
What?
Where were you born?
Honeychild.
Some white man’s
Dungeon
Ghana
 or
Amerikkka
La Habana
Or
Ayiti?
 
Out
 
Onto
Nouveau
Orleans
Ran
 into
countryside
Where
You maroon
or
yellow
Niggers
Cut
down
cane
died.
 
 
 
Head
On
Poles
Then
Houston
any of us
could
Be a star
had we
gone
just gone
Texas
Or
Just as far west
As we…
alas
 
Now
You
To make
Josephine’s
Bananas
dance
Again
Again
 
 

Sing it
B
Scratch it
Your voice
itch
a Black girl
Song
Look away
Or
Make it
Shake it
Its yo pearl
Fuck em
Suck
an oyster down
Raw
Sweet
Sweet
Make it nasty
This
time
Show
the
World.



Monday, April 7, 2014

A Hard Day's Song





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  
Springtime in the Old South

                                                            ----a poem for the forgotten
 

Come see, Come see,
for just a small fee,
            us be, still as Southern trees.
            Sedentary in the noxious breeze,
strange, we are, these descendants
of those who did not flee.


 
           There is no magnolia perfume or
            gallant gents if what you're digging
            is that old pastoral scene.
See, we, remain, because spilled
            blood is kind of like a root, hardier
            than the flower or the leaves.


 
Here its boogeymen and cane
            not cotton that’s broken down
           quarterly. We spit rocks from
           under tongues, from behind teeth
           just waiting on time to rot. So
          here we be, 
        take your best shot.
     then leave.


No one will blame you for hunting,
 me—the spoils, the crop,
fruit ripe for plucking.

 
 
The rain has begun to gather. Leave
me, pretty with rage. Take, my first born
son as souvenir before you go. Home
to where the air is sweet and fresh.


tell those yet too come about magnolia trees
And how no one would believe the scent
is the smell of young, tender, burning flesh.

 
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++




 


Saturday, March 8, 2014

Eagle Street Right By the Store




Where Keith Magik Atkinson Was Murdered:
 
I wrote my enemy a poem last night
Not because I wanted to
Not being sorry or regretful
At our parting.
No wishing for skinfolk
In This (ex) sister/brother of mine.
I wrote my enemy a poem last night
Because grief makes one do macabre things
Like write a love poem for the one you hate
For a change.
There is a saying:
It is good to learn from a friend
Or an enemy.
Because the devil is a lie
And he exult this white thing
And he keep taking lives
        Too soon
And we realize really what they call
Justice, Objectivity, Freedom, Linear time
 is just them deciding
If we is living
Or if we is dying.
And now they say
Die
Die
Black children
Die
If not,
We will murder you
And then they is telling lies about lies about lies.
And I tell you,
No word of a lie.
Oh no, sister, no brother
On Saturday, on Sunday, on Monday
We was all crying.
But, you, you is no
 You is no
No wretchful kin of mine.
No wretchful kin of mine

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

On To Africa



Last night, I watched the President’s State of the Union Address with my resident, centuries-old, double-consciousness. However, alongside the Classic Negro(gress), sits the reign of the internet, Barack Obama’s election, twice, and the intrusion of Disaster Capitalism into my life in New Orleans. So you might say my consciousness is a more the quintuple sort. With that said, I still love love love to see the POTUS come out. Ha Ha. I always get a kick of out Boehner’s sour face. And I always reflect on the savvy, intellect, and genius housed in one individual, who maneuvered the political dance like no other. I know what it means that they have no choice, but to look him in the face, and call him, Mr. President.

I’m always here for the theatre of it; American politics is nationalistic, yet it casts a wide net. I tend to hit the snooze around the environment and innovation and paper thin material stronger than steel and all that jazz. My ears perk up around foreign-policy and war, you know that on the ground, that what they plan to do for real. Or have already been doing and are prepping us to accept as a new development.

I always admire the writing. How swiftly and how much geographic ground can be covered in a few lines.

“The fact is, that danger remains.  While we have put al Qaeda’s core leadership on a path to defeat, the threat has evolved, as al Qaeda affiliates and other extremists take root in different parts of the world. In Yemen, Somalia, Iraq, and Mali, we have to keep working with partners to disrupt and disable these networks.”

I stop and consider the map a statement like that makes. I can’t help but recall the past axis of evil . With whom (Iran), isn’t it silly we haven’t just tried to talk about it all this time? And I am reminded that the narrative of Imperialism never really changes. It just shifts, deletes, inserts new players/archetypes in their respective positions. The world has renewed the battle for Africa it seems. Hasn’t that what it has always been? I’m aware that we will applaud this thirty year old, ten times deployed, young man, as the case against perpetual war, while a new jumble of conflated borders has been identified. The case for drones that no one will be offended by… made? Or just stated…then on to other things. The following excerpt is a constellation of global concerns. It is elliptical, impressionist, yet pointedly clear map of the American universe.
 

“So, even as we aggressively pursue terrorist networks – through more targeted efforts and by building the capacity of our foreign partners – America must move off a permanent war footing.  That’s why I’ve imposed prudent limits on the use of drones – for we will not be safer if people abroad believe we strike within their countries without regard for the consequence.  That’s why, working with this Congress, I will reform our surveillance programs – because the vital work of our intelligence community depends on public confidence, here and abroad, that the privacy of ordinary people is not being violated.  And with the Afghan war ending, this needs to be the year Congress lifts the remaining restrictions on detainee transfers and we close the prison at Guantanamo Bay – because we counter terrorism not just through intelligence and military action, but by remaining true to our Constitutional ideals, and setting an example for the rest of the world.”

And of this example, we are to set…many at home sit on the outskirts of the star map outlined last night. Some of us are not married or single white women and men in America. We do not sit on land or resources that are valuable. If we did, we have been removed. The land we have has been or is actively being corrupted. We are not enfranchised. People do not speak for us or share our concerns. Our needs are practical and psychic. Our pain is real and it is deadly and daily. We exist outside of the project. Only we speak our names.

Sooner or later
mother
we all must choose a side
I want your mouth open
spill it,
whose child am I?
 
 
Love,
Gypsy
 
NO NATION INDEED...

 

 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013