Posted in Poetry

give him a hand

My poem–give him a hand 

Edgy                                                       no sugar coating                             this man’s reality                             no escaping life                           wipes him out                                   the heat of the city                    Exotic Harlem                             smells rise from momma’s   kitchen, sweet freedom.

this girl
overlooks a black poet
could I understand
seems i’m blind to fate.
Daddy killing two birds with one stone
don’t cast your lot
before the man is cold.
“bad manners”, momma said.
Daddy’s gone done wrong.

His poem–  He Sees Through Stone

He sees through stone
he has the secret eyes
this old black one
who under prison skies
sits pressed by the sun
against the western wall
his pipe between purple gums

the years fall
like overripe plums
bursting red flesh
on the dark earth

his time is not my time
but I have known him
in a time gone

he led me trembling cold
into the dark forest
taught me the secret rites
to make it with a  woman
to be true to my brothers
to make my spear drink
the blood of my enemies

now black cats circle him
flash white teeth
snarl at the air
mashing green grass beneath
shining muscles
ears peeling his words
he smiles
he knows
the hunt   the enemy
he has the secret eyes
he sees through stone

 I stumbled upon Mr. Etheridge Knight out of necessity. I will return out of want. 


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