Preview #18, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Preview #18, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Guest Editor, Marvin X

Darlene Roy, East St. Louis IL

BAM Baptized

Considering the impact of the

Black Arts Movement (BAM)

Words filter’d through bluesy, jazzy and gospely

truths, flowed like lava from radical tongues

of born again scribes. Loosed from bowin’

heads or steppin’ back, BAM poets rose

as bold, black lights show-casing our

thangs and gains, blowin’ open doors to

let our real-nest come oozin’ out.

Darlene Roy

©February 12, 2010

DARLENE DUNCAN SWANSON ROY

Mother, retired social service administrator, East St. Louis native, Eugene B. Redmond Writers Club’s co-founder and President, Darlene Roy is an associate editor of Drumvoices Revue; and designer/ co-convener of literary programming. Her poetry having appeared in numerous publications, with two poems featured on Metro Link, she has authored one chapbook, Soon One Morning and other Poems. Roy has performed on radio, television, at universities and conferences throughout the United States.

BAM poet Nikki Giovanni will be in the Bay this Saturday, October 23 for the Marcus Books 50th Anniversary at the Black Repertory Group Theatre along with J. California Cooper. Reception at 5pm.

BAM Poets: The Last Poets and Marvin X, joined by Ayodele Nzingha

of the Lower Bottom Playaz in West Oakland

Pious Okoro, Chicago IL

I, TOO, AM A BROTHER

I plead to be heard

I too am a brother

The one, who was spared

The sea experience

But made it to the land

By air, not scared of heights

The brother oft interrupted

With the question

Where are you from?

Oft complimented by others

With words that are pregnant

I like your accent

And from the ones not schooled

Can you speak English?

I am the brother

Still holding on to his name

After everyone has dropped theirs

Sentenced to the same question

Over and again

How do you pronounce your name?

© Pious Okoro

I am a poet, art illustrator and an educator with the Chicago public school, whose works have been published in journals and newspapers in the USA, Europe and Nigeria. Also, I won the Gwendolyn Brooks poetry awards in 1998.

Anthony Spires, Oakland CA

THE COLDEST DOUBLE STANDARD

There’s a plague in the land,

And it’s killin’ like cancer,

I’ve searched high and low,

Haven’t found an answer,

After all we’ve been through,

I deserve an answer,

Why do we hold our own people to

The Coldest Double Standard?

How they make us “do” us?

What’s that-a lame excuse?

“How they make us “do” us?

It’s psychological abuse-

What’s the use?

Where’s the proof,

That we can’t stand up against it?

We fall for the okey-doke

Time and time again,

You laugh at their nigger jokes,

And still want to be their friend,

Where’s it end?

How can we win-goin’ out like that?

They treat us like rats without cages,

Don’t need no traps,

I’m a poet, but I wish I could rap,

Cause I’d probably save more people,

If I could, I’d holla’,

Make em’ open wide and swalla’

Make them pop their collas’ and dance,

But this is how I do it,

I’m takin this chance.

Big incentives for a brutha

To do business with the utha,

Not with his own folks,

Who put a hot one in hope’s head?

Drug him to a ditch,

And left him there for dead?

You heard what I said,

No use tryin’ to save him,

Cause bruthas’ been warned,

Like we were born foreign,

In the very place we call home-

Yo, leave me alone,

While I try to clear my head,

Meanwhile, hope is nearly dead,

From what they called “a misunderstanding,”

He refused to be misled.

While the children of light sleep,

They’re up plottin’ and plannin’,

Doin’ you rotten, chillin’ and tannin’

Mom’s a nervous wreck,

She knows what they’ll do,

To keep you in check,

To keep you in pocket,

Why you tryin’ that door?

I told you-they locked it,

Now you’re in the open,

It’ll take more than soap ‘n’

Water to make their hands clean,

Don’t jump in front of that car

Like a dope fiend,

You’re makin’ it too easy,

For them to finish you off,

You can scoff

At this game if you want to.

(But I wouldn’t if I were you)

See, I tried walking through the door,

But somebody locked it on me too,

How you gonna’ do me worse,

Than they do you?

Than you would treat an enemy,

You even charge higher interest,

When you lend to me,

Just like they do,

No, you do me worse,

A multi-generational curse,

Of underestimation,

But I thought it was us who built this nation?

We’re dying from cultural starvation,

Deadlier than his promises

or his invisible, poisonous chains,

But you know they lookout for their own-

I’m makin’ it as plain as I can-

You manage the bank

Won’t give me a loan,

Left me out here on my own,

If you can’t do me right-

Just leave me alone,

I’ll make it without you,

But I wish we’d collabo-

Let me holla at you, bro,

We’d go farther together,

Ever been on a team?

I have a scheme,

I want it to sound positive,

But I have nightmares-not dreams,

It’s been this way from jump,

But now it’s more diabolical,

I wasn’t put on this earth to get chumped

Down by those who would put me to sleep.

See, the deck’s been stacked against us,

From the first day they saw us,

Saw our Motherland,

Saw us kickin’ it in the tropical sands,

Our beaches, our Pyramids,

Our glorious African ports,

They came and built forts…

Where we shipped Civilization to all mankind,

Somebody said, “No Child gets left behind,”

Well, I’m grown,

So how about me?

What’s the plan to “give me free?”

We give them mad respect and more,

Assuming I work for him,

Not knowing the score,

Couldn’t he work for me?

I may not be free,

But I can sign a check,

And make sure that it’s good,

Just because I’m from the hood,

Don’t knock my hustle, pimpin’,

Don’t disrespect my gansta,

The dap we give him,

Let’s give to each other,

You know me,

I’m your brother,

But it don’t seem to matter,

We stayin’ lean,

They straight gettin’ fatter,

Cause we put them first,

Before our own,

I know I just told you to leave me alone,

I know I just told you, “ you Negro, I’m grown!”

But I still need my people,

I’d rather deal with my own,

I still need my blood-

Gotta stop draggin’ our family,

Through somebody else’s mud.

There’s a famine in the land,

And it’s killin’ like cancer,

I’ve searched high and low,

Haven’t found an answer,

After all we’ve been through,

I deserve an answer,

Why we hold our own people to

The Coldest Double Standard?

© Anthony D. Spires aka Phruishun 12/10/06

TONY SPIRES BIOGRAPHY

A graduate of San Francisco State University, Tony Spires is a filmmaker, longtime theatre artist, award-winning playwright, critically acclaimed director and co-writer of the NAACP Award nominated, “Ali: The Man, The Myth, The Peoples’ Champion. Tony’s feature films include: The Pan African Film Festival’s Best Feature nominated “Tears Of A Clown,” starring Don “D.C.” Curry and the gritty, urban crime drama “Two Degrees.” He’s the Founder/Executive Producer of The Bay Area Black Comedy Competition & Festival and Founder/creative force behind Oakland, CA-based youth performing arts organization, Full Vision Arts Foundation.. His poetry has been published nationally and has been performed in numerous professional stage plays and musical productions. He’s a self-taught musician and a long-time live event producer and personal manager to some of comedy’s brightest talents. He’s also the featured columnist for Humor Mill Magazine.