spoken word
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My Soul is a Witness is LIVE
Good Day Freedom Readers! My Soul is a Witness is LIVE. Amazon Signed Paperback Goodreads About. My Soul is a Witness, a collection of poems that reminds us that there is still hope in our darkest moments. Nothing we go through is without a purpose. No pain we suffer, and no trial we experience happens… Continue reading
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Will There Be a Fire Next Time?
“I am very worried about the state of the civilization which produced that photograph of the white cop standing on that Negro woman’s neck in Birmingham in 1963.” – Lorraine Hansberry Fifty years from now, when you do not see protests on the news, sixty years from now, when George Floyd’s blood has dried up,… Continue reading
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The Black Plague
They treated them like The Black Plague. This walking pestilence ravaging the Earth. Walking all proud-like and powerful all royalty-like and purposeful infecting generations of people with its culture, music, dance, and cornrolls. This was a virus that needed to be controlled. They could not have this thing infecting people with all this hope. COVID-19… Continue reading
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#BookReview “I am Soul” by the Incomparable Yecheilyah Ysrayl
Originally posted on Forrest takes a Journey!: Book Review “I am Soul” by the imcomparable Yecheilyah Ysrayl #RRBC #RWISA FOREMOST, It has been a long time my friends but I hope you all have remained safe and healthy. This is a crazy time we are living in right now. I have fallen behind in reviewing… Continue reading
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SugarCoated and Springtime
They get tired of hearing it. Ain’t nobody got to say it, I know that they get tired. Tired of these distractions in brown-colored skin waking up from Valley’s with muscles and tendons all conscious-like. Uncovering the blood in the American Flag— Tired, tethered, and intoxicated with his story. Unraveling the color of bigotry on… Continue reading
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If My Books Shall Die
I read James Baldwin today and realized I was carrying his bones in the crooks of my arms, and that if my books shall die, then I have labored in vain. I have swam through centuries and ran years in someone else’s shoes, I have climbed mountains and crawled under valleys only to bleed death. I have wasted my time carving obsession into paper with invisible ink, Words fallen like stars on deaf ears. If my books shall die, then let me not be born. Take me back to the safety of my mother’s womb, the privacy of not yet existing if my works have been in vain. If my books shall die, then I do not exist. Not on the tops of your shelves, or faced down on kitchen counters, or underneath your children’s beds. Honor me in the palms of your hands and not standing next to Grandmother’s old picture in the living room— Grandmother is dead and I do not wish to die. Give me my flowers today and accept the life I offer you in the form of metaphors On silver platters, For I am feeding you with silver spoons and all you’ve got to do is eat… I… Continue reading
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