Black Boy Mothers Blues

Insensitive racist minds sabotage
The existence of humanity calling for insanity
In a time of black shrines in the hand of the Devine
Whose dreams were shattered hopes scattered
But to most people it never really mattered
Because in the midst of poverty there is no equality
Only eyes filled with tears knowing heartache is near
Because police brutality has become the reality
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?
I’m talking about the black boy mother’s blues
The black boy mother’s blues…

What are the odds that in this lifetime
You can walk the streets and count the shrines
Dedicated to those whose lives have ceased
Caught up in the war of these mean streets
A mother’s son shot dead by the police
Will she ever find relief from the beast in the streets? Nah!
Only through the hand of God above
Is her spirit and soul restored
From the devastating blow that you and I both know
Is a harsh reality to a violent mentality
R.I.P. may they rest in peace
To be raised in power in these darkest of hours

One man shot forty one times
A mural on the wall has become his shrine
What can we do for Amadu gunned down by the men in blue?
Why? Because he took out a wallet
And in their racist haste one more life has gone to waste…
As have so many others like Stanton Crew
Earl Faison maced in the face of
Racial profiling corruption and greed
All signs in a time when the police must be
Losing their minds while inflicting pain
It’s a wonder more black mothers haven’t gone insane…

It’s the black boy mother’s blues…

R.I.P. may they rest in peace…
Her son’s access to opportunity denied
Swallowed up in lies
And in retaliation to a racist nation
Drugs are now king in this ring
And minds are doomed to be tuned
Into self annihilation and obliteration
Her son trapped like a slave
In a way of existence
That requires little resistance
And where police brutality has become their reality
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?

Latinos, Arabs, Muslims, South Asians
Minorities are treated brutally by the police of this nation
Anthony Baez 1994
Died from a chokehold outside his door
Anthony Rosario shot in the back
It’s open season on minorities and blacks
Jerome Johnson sixteen died from mistaken identity
And it seems that many of the police
In spite of the tragedy of 9/11
Continue to brutalize minorities 24/7
What about Johnny Gammage killed
In the still of a Pittsburg night?

Voices from the dead seek release
No justice no peace…no justice no peace
Is the rallying cry to incite recognition
Of the plight of minority males and their condition
For in the scales of justice there is an imbalance
And consequently never an assurance
For those living in urban environments
Nicholas Heyward age thirteen gunned down
in 1993 in New York City
And in 1997 a young man named Patrick Bailey
murdered at the hands of one of the police gestapo
who later went on to gun down Amadu Diallo

Over 2000 lives have been lost
And in some cases reparation has been sought
Yet the attitudes of the police remain impenitent
And their approach to blacks and minorities quite combatant
Yet the invincible people with raised voices cry
No justice no peace…no justice no peace
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?
We can take up the cry against injustice
We can pray for a country embroiled in hypocrisy
That the Spirit of Truth will set us all free
From a violent mentality that is our reality!

R.I.P. may they rest in peace
Amadou Diallo…Earl Faison…Johnny Gammage
Stanton Crew…Anthony Baez…
Anthony Rosario…Jerome Johnson…
Gideon Busch…Nicholas Heyward…
Patrick Bailey…and the thousands of other men
and women who for lack of time cannot be named
Yet are victims to the reality of police brutality…
And a special prayer for Abner Louima and all the others
who lived to tell about the hell
at the hands of those police who bring shame to the name
of those who are dedicated to upholding justice and doing what’s right….

R.I.P. may they rest in peace
To be raised in power in these darkest of hours
It’s the black boy bother’s blues….
I’m talking about the black boy mother’s blues…

It's Kwanzaa Time!

Kwanzaa is here
In a time when so many people fear
Economic conditions
But the voice of Kwanzaa shouts out
Umoja-Unity
God is our security!

Kuchichagulia – Self Determination
Know who you are
keep on pursuing your aspirations
And your dreams no matter how hard it may seem
Ujima – collective work and Responsibility
Let’s join together to rebuild our communities

Ujamaa-Cooperative economics
Build legitmate businesses
Don’t be fooled by the tricks
And the illusions of society
Nia – Purpose
Set goals and it’s in God you must always trust

Kuumba – Creativity
Fill the world with joy… peace…and beauty
Imani – Faith
Believe! Never doubt
That God is awesome
And that God is great!

Count it All Joy

On Tuesday night at the House of Love Soup Kitchen we fed 111 people. The numbers are running high in these difficult economic times. There are over 100 people being served each week and of these numbers 30-40 are children.
According to:
http://feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/hunger-facts/child-hunger-facts.aspx

“The problem of childhood hunger is not simply a moral issue. Child hunger hampers a young person's ability to learn and becomes more likely to suffer from poverty as an adult. Scientific evidence suggests that hungry children are less likely to become productive citizens.”
• In 2010, 16.4 million or approximately 22 percent of children in the U.S. lived in poverty.

Winter is settling in around parts of the country yet the occupy movement in many places is still standing strong. There are those who are of the opinion that these young people are wrong in the way they are going about bringing attention to the financial inequities in this country but their efforts are keeping a song of freedom alive in the hearts of many. There’s a scripture in the bible St. Matthew 23:4 “For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.” This describes congress, the banking industry, insurance companies, and all the financially fat cats that control 97% of the wealth in this country and don’t care that they are laying hardships on the backs of the poor, the working poor, and the middle class. Who’s going to help us? The hungry children…the homeless millions…struggling workers…I say power to these young people who are keeping the struggle alive and a fire burning in the hearts of the people who are being sacrificed each day for the love of money.

Trauma walks through the door seeking solace from a world filled with turmoil. Lost my job…getting evicted…program ending…just got out of prison…haven’t eaten in a few days…alcohol blows in from the street falling over feet oblivious to hardship…drugs nod out lids heavy shutting out pain and shame…words of hope infuse the atmosphere…count it all joy to draw closer to the source of life proclaiming victory over adversity and power to fill hours stretching into eternity with wisdom of understanding…laughter floats on waves of camaraderie creating a sense of solidarity with random voices accentuating momentary unity which blends with the aroma of food announcing dinner is ready.

New Africa

New Africa is the place in our minds
That floats free through wide open spaces
Then runs along the river Nile
Stops and plays awhile with lions and kings
And then sits at feet of Shaka Zulu learning all about who we are
Never straying far from the love of our people

New Africa is the motherland of our past
Invaded by ships with masts and sails billowing in the wind
With pale men on board
That came disguised as friends
Yet in the end steal our past
Our present
And our future

New Africa is the blues 7th
Riding the slave waves to America
Then sold
Beaten
Knocked down
Kicked around in the cotton fields
To produce a new blue sound

New Africa is the field holler
The blues
Spiritual
Looking afar to the North Star
On the slim hopes of reaching the Promised Land

New Africa is jazz standing on a mountain top
Improvising on dreams of freedom through out a land
Where black music reigns supreme
Soothing the souls of the inhabitants

A New Dawn

Bullets fly
People die
The death angel sweeps the streets
Screams for shattered dreams
Reverberate through the air
Piercing hearts filled with despair
Feet run jumping fences
Landing in trenches
Filled with the stench of decaying life
Trapped in the muck and mire of existence
Insistent on pursuing illusive riches
The death angel sweeps the streets
Rivers of blood flow freely
Coloring the ground red
Reflecting the dread of
Dead souls rising in search of
The re-creation of the imagination
Wavering in the light of a new dawn…

Raining Leaves

Leaves rain
Coloring the atmosphere in triumph and glory
Radiating red, orange, gold, yellow…mellow
Whispering as they float

Falling
Falling
Falling

To the street
In search of the beat
In search of the beat
In search of the beat

The beat of abundance over fleeting finance
The beat of food security over scarcity
The beat of jubilation over desolation
The beat of victory over tragedy

Leaves…leaves…leaves
Red, orange, gold, yellow…mellow

Falling
Falling
Falling

To the street
In search of the beat
In search of the beat
In search of the beat

The beat of hope over drugs and dope
The beat of a positive alliance over daily violence
The beat of expression over depression
The beat of peace over wars that refuse to cease

Leaves rain
Coloring the atmosphere in triumph and glory

The Light

Procrastination
The lack of motivation
Life walks right on by

Woe is great anger
Filling our hearts with sadness
And desolation

Tears press their way down
Cheeks scarred by years of hardship
Forming pools of stone

Death awaits us all
Neatly we prepare our clothes
To dress our remains

Depression is near
Anger and isolation
Give in to despair

Yet Jesus is there...

Jesus is the light
Standing near...close to our hearts
Waiting to show love