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Poetry


This section is Dedicated to

Paul Laurence Dunbar

(June 27, 1872 – February 9, 1906)

Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American to gain national eminence as a poet. Born in 1872 in Dayton, Ohio, he was the son of ex-slaves and classmate to Orville Wright of aviation fame.
 
Although he lived to be only 33 years old, Dunbar was prolific, writing short stories, novels, librettos, plays, songs and essays as well as the poetry for which he became well known. He was popular with black and white readers of his day, and his works are celebrated today by scholars and school children alike.

His style encompasses two distinct voices -- the standard English of the classical poet and the evocative dialect of the turn-of-the-century black community in America. He was gifted in poetry -- the way that Mark Twain was in prose -- in using dialect to convey character.
-The University of Dayton website for Paul Laurence Dunbar

Poetry: Modification Applies

By Thomas Beckwith





 

Modification Applies
Wired intricately
To inspire people,
To solve the difficulty
Of the true meaning
Of life.

By incisions,
As the ideas
Are examine closely,
To see where each and everyone
Fits together in life
Like the jigsaw
That was pieced together
At Granny’s house.


Little did we know,
We were trying
To place together
The true meaning
Of life.

We were engraving;
A path for the future,
Where the color of our
Skin would no longer matter.

Connecting together as one
Like the spirit, father, and son
As we implement change
To fix the destruction
Of the forbidden past.

 

The Fallacy of a Smile


The Fallacy of a Smile
By Community Change




On a breezy day in a café,
A man and woman sit passing pleasantries,
They talk, they smile, they nod,
Man departs, looking back…offering one last smile.


   
Her face changes the moment the door closes,
She’s sad, and more alone than just sitting alone,
She didn’t tell him that she's carrying his child,
Somewhere in between hello and several smiles,
….she decided to spare him the burden.
His expression changed the moment the door closed,
He looked back, but his tears blocked view of all reality,
He didn’t tell her that he has AIDS,
Somewhere in between pleasant glances and good-bye,
…..he decided to spare her the pain.
One breezy day at an uncovered grave,
A pregnant woman peers down at a motionless man,
They both have smiles on their faces,
Man has departed, he is looking forward…offering one last smile.

Running

 

Running
By Badilisho

 

I work late hours and avoid going home,

This is me running.
  
I sit for hours surfing sites and chatting up duds,

This is me running.

 

     
I hit the mall staring down potential conquests,

This is me running.

  
  I lay with no connection,

Running.

I avoid reading my bible,

I ignore your calls,

I ignore my conscious,

I run.

I beat myself up for loving you,

I argue with my thoughts of togetherness,

I dash away from silent rooms,

I crowd my mind with noises and things to do,

This is me running, away from you.

  
     

Listening

 

Listening
Poetry by Badilisho

 

I sit next to my air vent,

Listening to him strum his bass,

I have never seen his face,

But I know the interpreter is masculine,

Full of compassion,

Intent.

Each Sunday evening he entertains me with his interpretations,

Slowly and continually I fall in love with a stranger,

How could he know what chords to play,

When to strum the lowly,

When to pop hi-tones,

When to wait on silence.


I sit next to my forced breeze,

Enjoying his expression like sugar on the palate,

Never enough,

I press my ear to the cold steel,

Hoping that he would start again,

He doesn't and I wait.

 

  

So tired of hurting

 

So tired of hurting






   
  You held out your hand to get to know me.

To love me...

To do nothing but make a fool of me...

You lead me down your dark alley only to abandon me.

You threw me away like I was yesterday's news.

Was I not current enough?

Not fresh enough?

Or was I just another beautiful conquest?

I'm sorry. I did my best.

Clearly I still let you down.

You taught me so much in such a short time.

Thanks for showing me who you are.

And with that, I chose to place my heart back in its vault.

-locked

 

 

 

Me

 

ME





  I want love, I want happiness, I want to be a better man.

Even behind the most beautiful paintings, flaws still lie.

None of us are perfect.

None of us are bland

I want love, I want happiness, I want to be a better man.

Rousheaun "Rudy" Reed

I Am A Navy Corpsman

I Am A Navy Corpsman
by Mark A. Wright, HMC(SS) USN 




 

I am a navy corpsman. I possess the stamina and enthusiasm of youth and the wisdom and experience of an old man.

I am 3 parts doctor, 1 part nurse, 2 parts marine, 1 part yeoman and 3 parts mom, yet I am 100% sailor.

I am unemployable to the civilian world in my given profession yet have been the very life line for countless marines, soldiers and sailors since 1778.

I have carried marines from the battle field ... and have ben carried reverently myself by marines who mourned my passing like that of a brother or sister.

 

I am young. I am old. brave, scared and scarred. my title has changed over the years: loblolly boy, surgeons stewart, pharmacist mate, hospital corpsman, IDC, yet with all the changes I am still simply know as "doc".

I have celebrated peace; yet felt the sting of war on the seas, in jungles, in foreign cities, in Washington D.C. and on beaches of every shade of sand... white, tan, coral and black.

I have raised hell on liberty; hope in the midst of battle .... and Old Glory on Iwo Jima.

I have removed appendixes on submarines and limbs in the midst of battle and many other procedures far above and beyond what I am expected to do by the normal practice of medicine because it had to be done in order to save the life of a marine or sailor in battle or under the ice, far from a doctors care.

I have ignored my own wounds to the point of death in order to stay at my station treating the wounded of my nations navy, marine corp, army and air force.

I have the highest number of medal of honors of any corp in the Navy .....most of them presented to my wife, child or mother because I was already in heaven at the time.

I am proud to know in my heart that every marine who has ever fought and every sailor who has gone to sea on ships owe their very lives to those they simply, yet respectfully know as "doc"

 

 

A preview from the upcoming collection: "Son of Buddy and Pauline"

 Four poems by Adarro Minton. author of Gay, Black, Crippled, Fat!




Dad I'm gay…(period)

Instead of swinging his coarse blue-collar fists at me in antipathy and tossing my creased Lee jeans and red Pro-Keds into the ragged alley behind our fertile home; on Saturdays he drove me passed the pugilistic football fields in his masculine Cadillac car, to the tittering ballet studio where I learned to tuck my d**k and point my toes, and sat amongst the proud parents of girl-children watching me signify and finger snap.


Please continue to Full Story

"Waiting On You"


"Waiting on You"
by
Jerome Whitehead





You are not going to like what I have to say.
Knowing you like I do, you won't even have a remote desire to take the slightest whiff
From the banquet of my words.
But this isn't about you - or it isn't JUST about you.
This is about me…us…the we, we should've been.
The seemingly unbreakable bond between father and son.

I look in the mirror and sometimes catch a distant reflection of you, and just for a second…
I drift back to a happier time when you were there - bigger than life…
And I stood in awe of you…
…in fear of you
…had respect for you
…but mostly, I just loved you.

And in the haze of cigarette smoke and stale rum fumes…
…me, my boys and the woman that gave me life vanished in the night…and for years I waited.


Please continue to Full Story

New Poetry Release Soul-Full by Leo Shelton

The sopmore release, a follow-up to RHYTHMS - Poetry and Muse, SOUL-FULL is a love affair of two poets, through spritual connections...a love affair of words, deep, articulate and intense. An emotionally charged dialogue, that resonates both deep and true through the movements of words.

More details at Tugson Press
Click Here To Visit