Situations 8 by Alliance for Positive Change

SITUATIONS ASC’s Creative Writing Workshop provides a forum for creative expression, healing, and hope for people affected by HIV/AIDS. For more information, visit ASC’s website, www.ascnyc.org, or call 212-645-0875.

helping many, one by one AIDS Service Center NYC 41 East 11th Street, New York, NY 10003

(212) 645-0875

fax: 645-0705

www.ascnyc.org

EIGHT Writings from the AIDS Service Center NYC Creative Writing Workshop Issue No. 8 September 2005

CONTENTS Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Poems by Luther Jarman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Poems by Sindy Scott-Jenkins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Poems by Theresa Ilardi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Poems by Iris Elizabeth Sankey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Poems by Lorenzo Murphy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Poems by Michael L. Snead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Poems by Diane Dawson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Poems by Ruth Bryant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Poems by Bobby Weekfall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Poems by Shurland H. Aird . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Poems by Ivey Cherry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Poem by Kent Jackson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Poems by Sherry P. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Poems by Gene A. Barclay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Poems by Elaston R. Washington . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Poems by Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Poems by John Benknockee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Poems by Eric D. Miller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Poem by Eric D. Miller and Sean Evans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Poems by Matteo N. Delgrosso . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Poems by David DeSilva . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Poems by Dawn McKnight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 Poems by Clyde C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Poems by monté . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Poems by Chardelle Imani Lassiter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Poem by Wamiq ‘Ali Abdus Sabur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60

SITUATIONS Issue #8 Writings from the AIDS Service Center NYC Creative Writing Workshop September 2005

inside front cover blank

Situations is a literary magazine containing the writings of participants in the Creative Writing Workshop at AIDS Service Center NYC. Copyright © 2005 by AIDS Service Center NYC, 41 East 11th Street, New York City, N.Y. 10003. All rights revert to authors upon publication. The ASC Creative Writing Workshop is funded by a grant from the Ryan White C.A.R.E. Act, Title I, HIV CARE Services, a project of the Medical and Health Research Association of New York City; and by the New York State Department of Health AIDS Institute. The printing of Situations was made possible by the generous support of the NYSDOH AIDS Institute, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Housing Opportunities for People With AIDS, and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. ASC extends its thanks to each of these funding sources for demonstrating the vision and commitment to support creative programming for people living with and affected by HIV/AIDS. Founded in 1990, ASC is a multiservice community organization delivering state-of-the-art peer education and training, harm reduction, specialized women’s services, holistic care, case management, support groups, recreational activities, and other programs that help New York City’s most vulnerable individuals and families to survive and thrive in the face of HIV/AIDS. ASC’s motto, “Helping many, one by one,” embodies our mission of building community, connection and stability for the thousands of New Yorkers we serve. ASC services are English/Spanish bilingual, with case management services also available in French/Haitian Creole. All ASC services are confidential.

Workshop Leader & Situations Editor/Photographer: Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Publication Design: Joseph Cavalieri ASC Program Liaison: Ramona Cummings Workshop Support Team: Shurland H. Aird, Ruth Bryant, Diane Dawson, monté, Sherry P., and Iris Elizabeth Sankey.

POETRY, THE QUEEN OF ARTS

INTRODUCTION In this, the eighth issue of ASC’s literary magazine, Situations, you’ll find wit, candor, triumph, pain, determination, philosophy, introspection, and imagination—just some of the ingredients that make ASC’s weekly Creative Writing Workshop such a transformative experience.

Poetry, Queen of Arts! Long ago you stole my heart. Poetry, you’re so good to me.

Every Thursday for more than five years, ASC has offered this workshop as a kind of oasis—a place to put feelings, experiences, and perceptions into written form; a place to make meaning and gain insight; a place to explore and to create. This issue of Situations includes more contributors than ever before—evidence of the workshop’s importance to men and women living with, at risk for, and affected by HIV/AIDS. The twenty-six poets represented here include individuals who have been with the workshop for years as well as new participants. For many, this publication marks the very first time they will see their words in print.

It’s like heaven being with you. I love the sweet and beautiful things you do. I’m working like a busy bee trying to win your love for me. Poetry, you’re like fire burning in my bones. You’re my queen on the throne. I love you more than I love drugs. You’re medicine for my soul.

This has been a year of growth for the workshop. For one thing, the group is larger and more popular then ever. In addition, an exciting new dimension was added this spring with the launching of the Zwickler Memorial Poetry Leadership Program. Funded by the Phil Zwickler Memorial Foundation, this program provided training to five longstanding, highly committed workshop members, teaching them the skills to guest-lead the workshop on their own. This summer, the Poetry Leaders successfully facilitated workshops that were greatly enjoyed by the participants. This

To win your love is my greatest goal. Poetry, Queen of Arts, long ago you stole my heart.

Luther Jarman

unique program gives the workshop members a chance to experience different people’s styles in running the group and has created a cadre of leaders who can be role models for the others while advancing their own personal development goals. In connection with this grant, ASC recently launched the Phil Zwickler Memorial Poetry Page on its website (www.ascnyc.org). The page spotlights a poem by a different Creative Writing Workshop member every other month, and includes commentary by the author. We encourage you to visit ASC’s Phil Zwickler Memorial Poetry Page to learn more about some of the poets whose work you’ll read in these pages. We’re proud of these exciting achievements, just as we are proud to bring you this latest offering of poems to inspire, challenge, and touch your soul.

BROKEN MAN I lived to get high. I didn’t care if I lived or died. A fool on a mission of death, constantly destroying myself. I got “busted” and went to the “pen.”

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Workshop Leader

That’s where poetry became my friend. Poetry saved my life. Poetry became my mistress and my wife. Poetry helps me to fight the war raging within. This broken man made poetry his friend.

Luther Jarman

Situations

POETRY, THE QUEEN OF ARTS

Poetry, Queen of Arts! Long ago you stole my heart. Poetry, you’re so good to me.

To win your love is my greatest goal. Poetry, Queen of Arts, long ago you stole my heart.

Luther Jarman

BROKEN MAN I lived to get high. I didn’t care if I lived or died. A fool on a mission of death, constantly destroying myself. I got “busted” and went to the “pen.”

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Workshop Leader

That’s where poetry became my friend. Poetry saved my life. Poetry became my mistress and my wife. Poetry helps me to fight the war raging within. This broken man made poetry his friend.

Luther Jarman

Situations

MINOR MIRACLE

THE BEST TIME OF THE DAY

I was in the workhouse in Cincinnati for running a red light with my caddy. I had a warrant so I had to go to jail.

Cool country southern summer nights,

I was waiting for my mother to get me out on bail.

the coal stove burning,

The police was beating up this Hillbilly—

cooking fresh cornbread and collard greens.

they was beating him something silly.

A beautiful melody playing in my head

They told me they hated a nigger, but

as I go out in the field picking beans.

they couldn’t stand poor white trash.

All day long I’m thinking of you.

That’s what saved my ass. Early in the morning the smell of fresh jowl bacon

Luther Jarman

from a hog just killed. Eggs from a chicken coop just built.

UNCONQUERABLE SOUL

O, my God! How I love killing a hog! To survive, to reach your goal

ODE TO UNAPPRECIATED THINGS

These cool country southern summer nights,

You got to have an unconquerable soul.

how I love making country love to you. After a long day’s work

You got to be strong and bold.

I’m glad I have energy to.

You got to have an unconquerable soul.

Luther Jarman

Some people live in ivory towers playing with their toys and flowers.

To take a shower and have clean clothes to put on. To be able to go home. To sleep in a bed with clean sheets.

But when life knocks them on their ass they can’t last because they don’t have bounce-back power.

And to never have to run the streets. To be greeted with kisses and hugs.

When you fall, you must rise.

To be free from alcohol and drugs.

Keep your eyes on the prize.

To be able to live without fear. And know that hope is always near.

You may get tired and old

To know why you are here.

but in order to reach your goal

It’s never too late to give thanks and appreciate.

Luther Jarman

Situations

you got to have an unconquerable soul.

Luther Jarman

Situations

MINOR MIRACLE

THE BEST TIME OF THE DAY

I was in the workhouse in Cincinnati for running a red light with my caddy. I had a warrant so I had to go to jail.

Cool country southern summer nights,

I was waiting for my mother to get me out on bail.

the coal stove burning,

The police was beating up this Hillbilly—

cooking fresh cornbread and collard greens.

they was beating him something silly.

A beautiful melody playing in my head

They told me they hated a nigger, but

as I go out in the field picking beans.

they couldn’t stand poor white trash.

All day long I’m thinking of you.

That’s what saved my ass. Early in the morning the smell of fresh jowl bacon

Luther Jarman

from a hog just killed. Eggs from a chicken coop just built.

UNCONQUERABLE SOUL

O, my God! How I love killing a hog! To survive, to reach your goal

ODE TO UNAPPRECIATED THINGS

These cool country southern summer nights,

You got to have an unconquerable soul.

how I love making country love to you. After a long day’s work

You got to be strong and bold.

I’m glad I have energy to.

You got to have an unconquerable soul.

Luther Jarman

Some people live in ivory towers playing with their toys and flowers.

To take a shower and have clean clothes to put on. To be able to go home. To sleep in a bed with clean sheets.

But when life knocks them on their ass they can’t last because they don’t have bounce-back power.

And to never have to run the streets. To be greeted with kisses and hugs.

When you fall, you must rise.

To be free from alcohol and drugs.

Keep your eyes on the prize.

To be able to live without fear. And know that hope is always near.

You may get tired and old

To know why you are here.

but in order to reach your goal

It’s never too late to give thanks and appreciate.

Luther Jarman

Situations

you got to have an unconquerable soul.

Luther Jarman

Situations

HOW? How do you give someone what they see in you without instructions? How do you allow others to see your sincerity without losing some of yourself and becoming undone? How do you learn from your mistakes and move on if you’re constantly reminded of them? How do you let 15 years of marriage go

WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHY, & HOW?

without resentment, anger, and grief?

HATS

How do you start a new relationship

Who

without bringing the past ones in?

Who decides how much pain motivates a person?

How do you forgive someone who uses Ex-felon.

the very things that traumatized you to hurt you?

What

Ex-convict.

And how do you let them back in

What right do people have to tell you that your love

Recovering addict, mental health client.

without fear, doubt, and confusion?

isn’t good enough? Maybe it’s all you’ve got to work with.

Ex-streetworker, incest survivor.

How do you tell all eight of your children

Ex-ward of the state on a PINS petition.

that they’ve been adopted because

Where

Ex-foster child, rape victim.

you chose to use drugs and run from your responsibilities?

Where does it state that I am incapable of success

HASA client.

And how do you tell them

because of my past or my ethnic background?

Welfare recipient.

that you don’t know who their fathers are,

Mother of 8.

except for the last two?

Why

Wife.

How do you pretend with the world

Why does the mind store past failures and pain,

High school graduate.

and not believe some of the roles you play?

the eyes play magic tricks, when only half

Music lover (instrumental and vocal).

And finally, how do you tell the very ones who believe in you

of what you see is real?

Singer.

that you can’t handle anything,

And why it is that the heart continues to long

Valedictorian.

that you’re not invincible,

for the inconceivable, the unachievable?

Patient.

and that you can’t handle even this? How

Overachiever.

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Published poet.

How can you give the world what you never had?

A chameleon: Shamiqua, Candida, Zoraya, Dusty—

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

these were the names I went by on the street. Positive since 1985, a long-term survivor. An all-round winner.

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Situations

WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHY, & HOW?

without resentment, anger, and grief?

HATS

How do you start a new relationship

Who

without bringing the past ones in?

Who decides how much pain motivates a person?

How do you forgive someone who uses Ex-felon.

the very things that traumatized you to hurt you?

What

Ex-convict.

And how do you let them back in

What right do people have to tell you that your love

Recovering addict, mental health client.

without fear, doubt, and confusion?

isn’t good enough? Maybe it’s all you’ve got to work with.

Ex-streetworker, incest survivor.

How do you tell all eight of your children

Ex-ward of the state on a PINS petition.

that they’ve been adopted because

Where

Ex-foster child, rape victim.

you chose to use drugs and run from your responsibilities?

Where does it state that I am incapable of success

HASA client.

And how do you tell them

because of my past or my ethnic background?

Welfare recipient.

that you don’t know who their fathers are,

Mother of 8.

except for the last two?

Why

Wife.

How do you pretend with the world

Why does the mind store past failures and pain,

High school graduate.

and not believe some of the roles you play?

the eyes play magic tricks, when only half

Music lover (instrumental and vocal).

And finally, how do you tell the very ones who believe in you

of what you see is real?

Singer.

that you can’t handle anything,

And why it is that the heart continues to long

Valedictorian.

that you’re not invincible,

for the inconceivable, the unachievable?

Patient.

and that you can’t handle even this? How

Overachiever.

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Published poet.

How can you give the world what you never had?

A chameleon: Shamiqua, Candida, Zoraya, Dusty—

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

these were the names I went by on the street. Positive since 1985, a long-term survivor. An all-round winner.

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Situations

WHAT YOU SEE IS NOT WHAT YOU GET What you see: They all wear brand new shoes. (Old shoes shining from the hi-gloss of Vaseline.) What you see: Brand name clothing. (Donated clothing sewn, washed, starched at home.)

WOMAN WITH THE BOTTLE I’m the woman with the bottle, sitting in the street with no place to go.

What you see:

That is what you see, if you even look that closely

Always healthy.

before quickly turning away.

(Chronic asthmatics.) What you see: Well fed.

I was my mother’s baby

He kept my belly filled,

in pretty lace dresses from her sewing machine,

three more hostages into a house

ribboned pigtails and shiny patent leather shoes.

filled with rage and alcohol.

Some say I was Daddy’s little girl,

Uh-oh! BCW is knocking on my door.

but hey, let’s not go there.

He can put it down for appearance’s sake.

(Chicken backs.) What you see: They’re always happy and cordial. (Practiced our behavior before coming out of the house.) What you see:

Me, I’m shaking like a leaf. Brought shame onto my family—

One day at a time, fuck that!

people shaking their heads,

Can’t you see I need a drink?!

babies having babies, they said.

All those kids must not have a TV.

I graduated Junior High, eight months full.

(We had a TV, but were only allowed to watch Sesame Street and Electric Company.) What you see: Their hair is kept so well groomed.

If nothing changes, nothing changes. My son’s mother: happy and young

I know who my true friends are:

making bottles, changing diapers,

José Cuervo, Bud the Wiser, King the Cobra

playing peek-a-boo after school.

and let’s not forget kind old Georgi.

Not everyone thought that was too cool.

(Well conditioned with eggs and mayo on the big check day, straightened with lard.)

Detoxes, rehabs, did them all.

So now you see me on the street, Became my husband’s wife:

the woman with the bottle.

black eyes and bruises overnight.

Dear God, perhaps it’s time to become—

Where are the lucky husband and wife?

Oh that? Just slipped down the stairs.

plain old me.

Dad died.

Yeah, and right into someone’s fist.

Mom lives in the Bronx. She’s still smiling.

Theresa Ilardi

Sindy Scott-Jenkins Situations

Situations

WOMAN WITH THE BOTTLE I’m the woman with the bottle, sitting in the street with no place to go.

What you see:

That is what you see, if you even look that closely

Always healthy.

before quickly turning away.

(Chronic asthmatics.) What you see: Well fed.

I was my mother’s baby

He kept my belly filled,

in pretty lace dresses from her sewing machine,

three more hostages into a house

ribboned pigtails and shiny patent leather shoes.

filled with rage and alcohol.

Some say I was Daddy’s little girl,

Uh-oh! BCW is knocking on my door.

but hey, let’s not go there.

He can put it down for appearance’s sake.

(Chicken backs.) What you see: They’re always happy and cordial. (Practiced our behavior before coming out of the house.) What you see:

Me, I’m shaking like a leaf. Brought shame onto my family—

One day at a time, fuck that!

people shaking their heads,

Can’t you see I need a drink?!

babies having babies, they said.

All those kids must not have a TV.

I graduated Junior High, eight months full.

(We had a TV, but were only allowed to watch Sesame Street and Electric Company.) What you see: Their hair is kept so well groomed.

If nothing changes, nothing changes. My son’s mother: happy and young

I know who my true friends are:

making bottles, changing diapers,

José Cuervo, Bud the Wiser, King the Cobra

playing peek-a-boo after school.

and let’s not forget kind old Georgi.

Not everyone thought that was too cool.

(Well conditioned with eggs and mayo on the big check day, straightened with lard.)

Detoxes, rehabs, did them all.

So now you see me on the street, Became my husband’s wife:

the woman with the bottle.

black eyes and bruises overnight.

Dear God, perhaps it’s time to become—

Where are the lucky husband and wife?

Oh that? Just slipped down the stairs.

plain old me.

Dad died.

Yeah, and right into someone’s fist.

Mom lives in the Bronx. She’s still smiling.

Theresa Ilardi

Sindy Scott-Jenkins Situations

Situations

BALANCE

THE MORNING LIGHT

Jimmy Kilos was gone and had left his girl, Cassie with the

The next time Cassie awoke, she was in a dark room lay-

smoking gun, so to speak. Everyone from two-bit dealers

ing down, strapped to a bed in a four-point restraint with

to wise guys in Brooklyn and local cops to the FBI had

her wrists bandaged. A replay of the events flashed

questions.

through her mind and she moaned softly, “My baby.”

And there were so many questions: Where did Jimmy

“Your baby’s fine, no thanks to you!”

bury his bodies? Where did he keep his stash of drugs? And most importantly, where was all of Jimmy’s money?

Cassie lifted her head and could see Caruso sitting in a

What none of them knew was that Jimmy had left some-

folding chair next to her bed.

The morning light shines through my window.

thing very important behind—his seed. Cassie was two

I am alone,

months pregnant.

“I didn’t lose it, then?”

Cassie stood in the mirror watching the tears roll down

“No,” he answered, “But it came mighty close for the both

How did I get here?

her face. She couldn’t handle things anymore—she felt all

of you. You would really throw it all away for a piece of shit

What the fuck happened?

alone in the world. Her parents were dead, he brother had

like Jimmy Kilos?”

And has the shit really been going on for four damned years?

disappeared, and now Jimmy had abandoned her. Fuck

None of it is really clear.

it. If the morphine and the alcohol didn’t kill her, she’d

“What’s it to you?” she snapped. Then, seeing his wed-

bleed to death from her slashed wrists. Nothing mattered

ding ring, she asked him, “Don’t you have a wife to go

no more.

home to instead of getting into my business?”

I am alive, by some miracle of God;

The phone rang. It was Caruso, that narc who had never

“My wife?” Caruso laughed harshly. Then his eyes got

it sure wasn’t my doing.

let up on Jimmy. He was worried for her safety and tried

very sad.

surrounded by one-hundred-and-twenty-nine other homeless souls.

No time to be on my bed and dwell. I’ve cried myself dry; no more tears are left.

to talk her into giving up everything she knew and going I am alive, becoming vibrant.

into the Witness Protection Program. Cassie had some

“I’ll tell you about my wife. She died of cancer last year.

Oh the things I can do:

kind of incoherent conversation with him and hung up the

About three years ago, we decided to have a baby. The

visit my babies, make a meeting,

phone. By morning, any concern for her well-being would

only problem was, she couldn’t conceive. Before we

write a story, read a book, see a movie.

be moot. She passed out.

could work on that situation, a cancer began in her

or engage in a sweet kiss.

womb. It spread like fire throughout her whole body. For Cassie awoke to flashing lights, cold night air, and being

My eyes are opened now,

strapped to a gurney. Hysterical, she began to fight back.

with a different view.

How dare they stop her!? She was almost there. They

“You lay here, young and healthy and with the gift of life

No longer a prisoner of fear, grief, and hate,

restrained her and she passed out again.

inside. What makes you so free to try and throw away

I am opening up brand new gates.

Theresa Ilardi

Situations

two years, she fought like a tiger, but it finally took her.

these gifts God has bestowed on you?”

Theresa Ilardi

Situations

BALANCE

THE MORNING LIGHT

Jimmy Kilos was gone and had left his girl, Cassie with the

The next time Cassie awoke, she was in a dark room lay-

smoking gun, so to speak. Everyone from two-bit dealers

ing down, strapped to a bed in a four-point restraint with

to wise guys in Brooklyn and local cops to the FBI had

her wrists bandaged. A replay of the events flashed

questions.

through her mind and she moaned softly, “My baby.”

And there were so many questions: Where did Jimmy

“Your baby’s fine, no thanks to you!”

bury his bodies? Where did he keep his stash of drugs? And most importantly, where was all of Jimmy’s money?

Cassie lifted her head and could see Caruso sitting in a

What none of them knew was that Jimmy had left some-

folding chair next to her bed.

The morning light shines through my window.

thing very important behind—his seed. Cassie was two

I am alone,

months pregnant.

“I didn’t lose it, then?”

Cassie stood in the mirror watching the tears roll down

“No,” he answered, “But it came mighty close for the both

How did I get here?

her face. She couldn’t handle things anymore—she felt all

of you. You would really throw it all away for a piece of shit

What the fuck happened?

alone in the world. Her parents were dead, he brother had

like Jimmy Kilos?”

And has the shit really been going on for four damned years?

disappeared, and now Jimmy had abandoned her. Fuck

None of it is really clear.

it. If the morphine and the alcohol didn’t kill her, she’d

“What’s it to you?” she snapped. Then, seeing his wed-

bleed to death from her slashed wrists. Nothing mattered

ding ring, she asked him, “Don’t you have a wife to go

no more.

home to instead of getting into my business?”

I am alive, by some miracle of God;

The phone rang. It was Caruso, that narc who had never

“My wife?” Caruso laughed harshly. Then his eyes got

it sure wasn’t my doing.

let up on Jimmy. He was worried for her safety and tried

very sad.

surrounded by one-hundred-and-twenty-nine other homeless souls.

No time to be on my bed and dwell. I’ve cried myself dry; no more tears are left.

to talk her into giving up everything she knew and going I am alive, becoming vibrant.

into the Witness Protection Program. Cassie had some

“I’ll tell you about my wife. She died of cancer last year.

Oh the things I can do:

kind of incoherent conversation with him and hung up the

About three years ago, we decided to have a baby. The

visit my babies, make a meeting,

phone. By morning, any concern for her well-being would

only problem was, she couldn’t conceive. Before we

write a story, read a book, see a movie.

be moot. She passed out.

could work on that situation, a cancer began in her

or engage in a sweet kiss.

womb. It spread like fire throughout her whole body. For Cassie awoke to flashing lights, cold night air, and being

My eyes are opened now,

strapped to a gurney. Hysterical, she began to fight back.

with a different view.

How dare they stop her!? She was almost there. They

“You lay here, young and healthy and with the gift of life

No longer a prisoner of fear, grief, and hate,

restrained her and she passed out again.

inside. What makes you so free to try and throw away

I am opening up brand new gates.

Theresa Ilardi

Situations

two years, she fought like a tiger, but it finally took her.

these gifts God has bestowed on you?”

Theresa Ilardi

Situations

WRITING AS THERAPY

ELIZABETH There was no foreshadowing— only a power against life.

There’s therapy which may turn into money.

It captured her,

For now I’m climbing my ladder for clarity of self—

spiraled her thoughts to nowhere

of people, places, and things

like gray smoke trapped

To enjoy every good, writing therapy brings.

inside her mind, where the devil, a dancer in disguise,

PUSHERS

There’s therapy which cost money.

danced across her threshold,

Should I purchase what’s freely given?

waving a glass pipe.

My therapy lets me be me.

Where dreams melted into smoke.

Writing is my friend—provocatively real.

She died that night, leaving behind her studious life.

HIV/AIDS As with chemical warfare, AIDS is a thing, a social happening.

There’s therapy alleviating no pain. I may rant and rave, and rain myself a storm,

Behind the scenes,

An array of Pushers who dare…

but with no regret, I sail anew.

her somnolent spirit was kept on high.

Complex yet real,

To the valley of shadows I was pushed

Venting in writing is positively therapeutic too.

Every fragment of the devil’s heart she knew.

it is surely a big deal.

Was caught awfully hooked

He was everywhere in colors,

Is sex alone the cause of it?

Until I dreamt a stairway to heaven

There’s therapy which is one-dimensional.

enticing more the living dead.

Ever since human advances

In mine, I see sounds, hear colors, fly—

Wild Irish Rose red,

we became subject to it.

but my sanity is down-to-earth and naturally alive.

rock white hemlock chipped to crumb—

I carve, reshape, forgive—make right my own pie.

he defiled anybody.

Now we criticize ourselves

Those were the days before she turned to bone.

because of our own will.

Pushers, Pushers everywhere

Renewing my life unbroken. Pushers, Pushers everywhere Another sort I do declare

Who’s immune from it?

Could tamper with my sanity

There’s therapy which can make us suffer.

Where would I be with conformity?

My therapy, like family relations, transcends my will—

But she was seen taken upon the mound,

there may be inner complications.

as though divinely given.

straightforward into “Armes Acres.”

There are chemicals, cocktails—

Even through tears, my therapy enlivens.

Like a broken vessel before a potter’s mighty hand,

callous recommendations.

she was powerless as clay

Let’s start a new foundation.

Another sense I feel Psychiatrist pushes rotten deal. Pushers, Pushers everywhere

Iris E. Sankey

Even with the strong,

waiting to be molded by nature’s command.

One listening ear would’ve been fair

It was a power greater than any other—

As a rule, zoom in on your immune—

Not hard pills to swallow

carving her a gift, inflated with life.

its life is in your hand, like a mighty tool.

Holding on to my tomorrows Weaning I dare not forget I’ll embrace Holistic measures yet.

Iris E. Sankey

Situations

The things you crave,

Iris E. Sankey

the things you touch— ask yourselves, “Is my body in need of such?”

Iris E. Sankey

Situations

WRITING AS THERAPY

ELIZABETH There was no foreshadowing— only a power against life.

There’s therapy which may turn into money.

It captured her,

For now I’m climbing my ladder for clarity of self—

spiraled her thoughts to nowhere

of people, places, and things

like gray smoke trapped

To enjoy every good, writing therapy brings.

inside her mind, where the devil, a dancer in disguise,

PUSHERS

There’s therapy which cost money.

danced across her threshold,

Should I purchase what’s freely given?

waving a glass pipe.

My therapy lets me be me.

Where dreams melted into smoke.

Writing is my friend—provocatively real.

She died that night, leaving behind her studious life.

HIV/AIDS As with chemical warfare, AIDS is a thing, a social happening.

There’s therapy alleviating no pain. I may rant and rave, and rain myself a storm,

Behind the scenes,

An array of Pushers who dare…

but with no regret, I sail anew.

her somnolent spirit was kept on high.

Complex yet real,

To the valley of shadows I was pushed

Venting in writing is positively therapeutic too.

Every fragment of the devil’s heart she knew.

it is surely a big deal.

Was caught awfully hooked

He was everywhere in colors,

Is sex alone the cause of it?

Until I dreamt a stairway to heaven

There’s therapy which is one-dimensional.

enticing more the living dead.

Ever since human advances

In mine, I see sounds, hear colors, fly—

Wild Irish Rose red,

we became subject to it.

but my sanity is down-to-earth and naturally alive.

rock white hemlock chipped to crumb—

I carve, reshape, forgive—make right my own pie.

he defiled anybody.

Now we criticize ourselves

Those were the days before she turned to bone.

because of our own will.

Pushers, Pushers everywhere

Renewing my life unbroken. Pushers, Pushers everywhere Another sort I do declare

Who’s immune from it?

Could tamper with my sanity

There’s therapy which can make us suffer.

Where would I be with conformity?

My therapy, like family relations, transcends my will—

But she was seen taken upon the mound,

there may be inner complications.

as though divinely given.

straightforward into “Armes Acres.”

There are chemicals, cocktails—

Even through tears, my therapy enlivens.

Like a broken vessel before a potter’s mighty hand,

callous recommendations.

she was powerless as clay

Let’s start a new foundation.

Another sense I feel Psychiatrist pushes rotten deal. Pushers, Pushers everywhere

Iris E. Sankey

Even with the strong,

waiting to be molded by nature’s command.

One listening ear would’ve been fair

It was a power greater than any other—

As a rule, zoom in on your immune—

Not hard pills to swallow

carving her a gift, inflated with life.

its life is in your hand, like a mighty tool.

Holding on to my tomorrows Weaning I dare not forget I’ll embrace Holistic measures yet.

Iris E. Sankey

Situations

The things you crave,

Iris E. Sankey

the things you touch— ask yourselves, “Is my body in need of such?”

Iris E. Sankey

Situations

DIANE VALENTINE

THESE STRANGE DAYS

Aunt Diane I call the “Pioneer of our Family.” She was unafraid, boldly carving her own reality— didn’t come into this world to settle for less and wasn’t going to stay poverty’s guest.

These Strange Days— “…Let’s not say goodbye,” she told her Mother.

Is life really hard to deal with,

She knew her tears would soon turn to laughter.

or is it the person in you that can’t deal?

To the finish…her plans were moving— she’d entered the States, her faith undying.

These Strange Days— Is the way of thinking of things so complex,

She was keeper of White Houses, but held on to her good wishes, kept her pride while reaching for gold.

Or is it the person in you who’s confused?

SORRY

One mean Sponsor, and she had to be bold.

These Strange Days— Is a sinner really damned in life

If you are the wrong color,

for the sins they commit,

Her family, church, and school…center of her life.

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

or is the mind continually playing tricks

Life in America would cause her no strife.

If you are too young,

into thinking that way?

When she became a full-fledged Nurse,

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

more money was stored in Grandmother’s purse.

If you are with the wrong person,

These Strange Days—

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

Is it really harder to love

When she’d visited home following “Hattie Hurricane,”

If you have sex with the same sex, it’s OK—

Than not to have loved at all,

never again was our household the same.

but, sorry that’s the way life has to be.

Or is it the lack of affection one has

The smell of the States and happiness reigned supreme. Then she flew Big Sis, my Auntie, my Father, to where she’d been. She was unafraid, boldly carving her own reality.

towards another? You know, life really doesn’t have

These Strange Days

to be that way.

are not as different as we make

She’s come this far with the help of the Almighty.

them, but how we make them strange

“A Missionary Volunteer” in Caracas, Venezuela she is—for the Lord.

If you’re happy inside and out,

within us and live the best way we can,

With the Adventist Church, she’s a “Missionary Volunteer” for God.

just be you and only you.

for we are living in these

Because at the end of it all,

Strange Days.

Iris E. Sankey

you have to answer to what you’ve done in your life,

Inspired by Eloise Greenfield’s poem, “Harriet Tubman” (Harriet Tubman, March 10, 1820—March 10, 1913)

Lorenzo Murphy

and your life alone.

Lorenzo Murphy

Situations

DIANE VALENTINE

THESE STRANGE DAYS

Aunt Diane I call the “Pioneer of our Family.” She was unafraid, boldly carving her own reality— didn’t come into this world to settle for less and wasn’t going to stay poverty’s guest.

These Strange Days— “…Let’s not say goodbye,” she told her Mother.

Is life really hard to deal with,

She knew her tears would soon turn to laughter.

or is it the person in you that can’t deal?

To the finish…her plans were moving— she’d entered the States, her faith undying.

These Strange Days— Is the way of thinking of things so complex,

She was keeper of White Houses, but held on to her good wishes, kept her pride while reaching for gold.

Or is it the person in you who’s confused?

SORRY

One mean Sponsor, and she had to be bold.

These Strange Days— Is a sinner really damned in life

If you are the wrong color,

for the sins they commit,

Her family, church, and school…center of her life.

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

or is the mind continually playing tricks

Life in America would cause her no strife.

If you are too young,

into thinking that way?

When she became a full-fledged Nurse,

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

more money was stored in Grandmother’s purse.

If you are with the wrong person,

These Strange Days—

sorry, that’s the way life has to be.

Is it really harder to love

When she’d visited home following “Hattie Hurricane,”

If you have sex with the same sex, it’s OK—

Than not to have loved at all,

never again was our household the same.

but, sorry that’s the way life has to be.

Or is it the lack of affection one has

The smell of the States and happiness reigned supreme. Then she flew Big Sis, my Auntie, my Father, to where she’d been. She was unafraid, boldly carving her own reality.

towards another? You know, life really doesn’t have

These Strange Days

to be that way.

are not as different as we make

She’s come this far with the help of the Almighty.

them, but how we make them strange

“A Missionary Volunteer” in Caracas, Venezuela she is—for the Lord.

If you’re happy inside and out,

within us and live the best way we can,

With the Adventist Church, she’s a “Missionary Volunteer” for God.

just be you and only you.

for we are living in these

Because at the end of it all,

Strange Days.

Iris E. Sankey

you have to answer to what you’ve done in your life,

Inspired by Eloise Greenfield’s poem, “Harriet Tubman” (Harriet Tubman, March 10, 1820—March 10, 1913)

Lorenzo Murphy

and your life alone.

Lorenzo Murphy

Situations

NO NAKED FEELINGS, PART II

THE RAIN Drop Drop Drop

Forgotten like an unused

That’s what I hear on the window’s ledge.

Newspaper that was never

The wind blows in, smelling damp and feeling

seen or touched

moist as if I’ve just come out of the shower!

by anyone—

ME, MYSELF & I Me, Myself, and I

or like a sandwich that was made to order but never was bought…. To society there is no gain or pain, no naked feelings—it’s all the same. Can such a creature

SEEING OUTSIDE A WINDOW

live amongst us?

It’s a gray and hazy day, u know the type

Or shall I just say

that makes the bed comfortable with the remote

I, myself, and me

in one hand and the telephone in the other.

Without these three The person you see Wouldn’t be me!

Drop, Drop, Drop Drop, Drop, Drop

Me, Myself and I

Drop, Drop, Drop

Breathing the same air

Nature works everyday.

or sharing the same

So do birds.

Sitting back and relaxing I hear the steadiness.

There’s always something

train

Seeing outside a window

It’s making me weary. I’m feeling sleepy. Before I

In the way that keeps

bus

birds flying back and forth.

doze off, a grilled cheese sandwich and some hot

Me from having a peaceful day!

taxi, etc.?

Flying here and there,

tomato soup sounds real tasty right about now.

I say yes,

picking up branches

society needs to lend a hand.

to make a home

I don’t mind the rain. I think of it as a type

Remember, an application

without a care….

of meditation. It could actually make u sit and

always says, “Equal Opportunity Employer.”

One by one, each bird

think about you, others, partners, trips, accidents,

If I try and find myself, that’s so hard 2 do

If it’s written

takes its turn to put branches

or maybe something pleasurable you did on another rainy day.

Trying to be me is not that easy you see

on millions and millions of applications,

together to make one

then why in the name of God

as they fly back and forth near

is it not written in us?

the railroad tracks, coming and going while watching

Lorenzo Murphy

As I walk through the streets, the air so sweet Why can’t life be easy? Stop stepping on my feet!

I’m feeling self-centered and sick if I can Now that the rain has ended, I need to come back to reality.

Michael L. Snead

Predict so just leave me Don’t really try and define

each other’s back.

Me, myself, and I or I, myself, and me

This is what I saw in a moment

I took a long glance in the mirror

in time,

Looking at the image staring back

seeing outside a window…

I know what I truly see!

Lorenzo Murphy

Situations

No matter how hard I try

Michael L. Snead

Situations

NO NAKED FEELINGS, PART II

THE RAIN Drop Drop Drop

Forgotten like an unused

That’s what I hear on the window’s ledge.

Newspaper that was never

The wind blows in, smelling damp and feeling

seen or touched

moist as if I’ve just come out of the shower!

by anyone—

ME, MYSELF & I Me, Myself, and I

or like a sandwich that was made to order but never was bought…. To society there is no gain or pain, no naked feelings—it’s all the same. Can such a creature

SEEING OUTSIDE A WINDOW

live amongst us?

It’s a gray and hazy day, u know the type

Or shall I just say

that makes the bed comfortable with the remote

I, myself, and me

in one hand and the telephone in the other.

Without these three The person you see Wouldn’t be me!

Drop, Drop, Drop Drop, Drop, Drop

Me, Myself and I

Drop, Drop, Drop

Breathing the same air

Nature works everyday.

or sharing the same

So do birds.

Sitting back and relaxing I hear the steadiness.

There’s always something

train

Seeing outside a window

It’s making me weary. I’m feeling sleepy. Before I

In the way that keeps

bus

birds flying back and forth.

doze off, a grilled cheese sandwich and some hot

Me from having a peaceful day!

taxi, etc.?

Flying here and there,

tomato soup sounds real tasty right about now.

I say yes,

picking up branches

society needs to lend a hand.

to make a home

I don’t mind the rain. I think of it as a type

Remember, an application

without a care….

of meditation. It could actually make u sit and

always says, “Equal Opportunity Employer.”

One by one, each bird

think about you, others, partners, trips, accidents,

If I try and find myself, that’s so hard 2 do

If it’s written

takes its turn to put branches

or maybe something pleasurable you did on another rainy day.

Trying to be me is not that easy you see

on millions and millions of applications,

together to make one

then why in the name of God

as they fly back and forth near

is it not written in us?

the railroad tracks, coming and going while watching

Lorenzo Murphy

As I walk through the streets, the air so sweet Why can’t life be easy? Stop stepping on my feet!

I’m feeling self-centered and sick if I can Now that the rain has ended, I need to come back to reality.

Michael L. Snead

Predict so just leave me Don’t really try and define

each other’s back.

Me, myself, and I or I, myself, and me

This is what I saw in a moment

I took a long glance in the mirror

in time,

Looking at the image staring back

seeing outside a window…

I know what I truly see!

Lorenzo Murphy

Situations

No matter how hard I try

Michael L. Snead

Situations

OH GOD, WHY?!

HURT ME

God, tell me what did I do?

I am afraid.

I know there has be a reason.

I am afraid.

I’m feeling like a prisoner who just committed treason. I am afraid of him. I wake up everyday with stress and pain

12 STEPS (DIRECTIONS) Damn, there’s a fork in the road— Eastbound, Westbound, Northbound, Southbound— In which direction do I move On these cracked and shaky grounds? Money in a billfold with change to spare— I can go anywhere, but end up nowhere. Can this life of mine get any better? Yeah! OK? If you say so. It’s like trying to predict the weather— Never sunny, just dark grey clouds— I rarely want anyone around. Turn me inside out so I can see the other side. This is something I will never hide. And as the light turns green, let the wind guide me. As the light turns green, Just let the wind blow and guide me. Only the strong survive and the weak will die. To have a drink actually stays out of my mind. Eastbound, Westbound, Northbound, Southbound.

I am afraid of her.

and it seems extra heavy—let it go away. I can’t think, eat, or sleep—just fatigued, tired, and weak! My life was like the sun—bright, shiny, and warm—it made a U-turn and everyday feels like a windy, nasty rainstorm.

He tells me he loves me. She tells me she hates me. He tells me it is for my own good. She doesn’t know how bad I want to choke her.

When it came to getting dressed you couldn’t touch me—

He took me to the hospital.

pressed shirt, tie, slacks, and shoes.

She wants me to put her in the hospital.

Now it’s just a T-shirt, baggy jeans, and boots. I’m dying inside—my life I just want to lose.

He told the doctor I fell down the stairs. She told the police I hit her for no reason.

I really don’t want to die. I’m just tired of this life. Marks and scars on my body and face—I rarely come outside

I went back to him.

because I’m very vain and I feel disgraced.

I went back to her.

My body has taken a toll that’s been very frightening. Lord, just strike me down, please, with a bolt of lightening.

He told me he would kill me the next time. She begged for me to hit her.

But as I wake up another day and I cry, I sit back and think and wipe my eyes. Is there a specific reason I live like this?

I pleaded for my life. I begged for her to stop pushing me.

I look up for an explanation and ask, Oh! God why? Just let me die!

I can’t breathe.

But to live another day, I will try and survive!

I wish she would stop breathing.

And I say again, Oh, God, why? Too late. I’ve lost my life.

Michael L. Snead

Too late. I’m doing life behind bars.

I always thank God I’m still around!

Diane Dawson Michael L. Snead

Situations

OH GOD, WHY?!

HURT ME

God, tell me what did I do?

I am afraid.

I know there has be a reason.

I am afraid.

I’m feeling like a prisoner who just committed treason. I am afraid of him. I wake up everyday with stress and pain

I am afraid of her.

He tells me he loves me. She tells me she hates me. He tells me it is for my own good. She doesn’t know how bad I want to choke her.

When it came to getting dressed you couldn’t touch me—

He took me to the hospital.

pressed shirt, tie, slacks, and shoes.

She wants me to put her in the hospital.

Now it’s just a T-shirt, baggy jeans, and boots. I’m dying inside—my life I just want to lose.

He told the doctor I fell down the stairs. She told the police I hit her for no reason.

I really don’t want to die. I’m just tired of this life. Marks and scars on my body and face—I rarely come outside

I went back to him.

because I’m very vain and I feel disgraced.

I went back to her.

My body has taken a toll that’s been very frightening. Lord, just strike me down, please, with a bolt of lightening.

He told me he would kill me the next time. She begged for me to hit her.

But as I wake up another day and I cry, I sit back and think and wipe my eyes. Is there a specific reason I live like this?

I pleaded for my life. I begged for her to stop pushing me.

I look up for an explanation and ask, Oh! God why? Just let me die!

I can’t breathe.

But to live another day, I will try and survive!

I wish she would stop breathing.

And I say again, Oh, God, why? Too late. I’ve lost my life.

Michael L. Snead

Too late. I’m doing life behind bars.

I always thank God I’m still around!

Diane Dawson Michael L. Snead

Situations

CIVIL WAR I was a slave for 30 years of my life. My master’s name was Cocaine. I was an innocent young woman when he took me into his big, strong, white arms. His embrace was warm and tight. He whispered to me that everything was gonna be alright. I served him and only him—he was my God. I was so confident and arrogant when he was with me— I was the best looking, the best dancer, the best lover you could ever have. I didn’t depend on him so much in the old days— he would usually show up on Friday nights. Then things started to get complicated. Every decision I made had to go through him. He made me think I wasn’t an addict when I really was. He made me spend almost every dollar I had on him— he was my pimp !! He became very hostile when I didn’t have enough money. He made me sell my body, he made me dance naked in front of complete strangers, he made me have unprotected sex because I could not make a decision if he wasn’t inside of me. When the HIV virus came along, he became enraged.

ODE TO DANA Wild child, running with the wind, never thinking she would run out of gas. She played the game like a true player, but the game played her in the end. She used to be a beauty queen, eyes looking like a China doll,

Lord, give me the strength to make it through this day

small and petite, with a mouth full of pearly white teeth.

and to get home safely.

She could read and write with the greatest of ease, but once she picked the pipe up, it was “negro, please.”

I pray to understand all the mysteries of life.

She was one of ASC’s most colorful characters,

How do trees know when to bloom

who used to work for that hot lunch and Metro,

or when to shed their leaves?

on pantry day, forget about it—she never missed a beat.

I yearn to understand why people

Looking at her was like looking at my future self

are so damn rude—or should I

if I didn’t stop smoking crack.

take a look at myself?

She always put a smile on my face

I would like to know where these words come from—

with her in-your-face humor.

is it you or is it me?

She sold everything she had for some crack,

I pray that I don’t hurt anybody today.

even her own soul—she lived and she died for it.

I pray for my inner child,

I wish I could have saved her,

for she will always live inside of me.

but she was having none of that.

I yearn to understand HIV/AIDS—

Dana was her name and crack was her game—

why it affects us all so differently.

she went out in a blaze of glory.

I pray for patience, I must learn to understand

I miss you, my dear friend, hope to see you again.

some of us are slower than others.

Rest in Peace. You deserve to rest after all the runs.

I choose not to pray for peace

“It’s all your fault,” he said. He made me give blowjobs in rat-infested alleys. I even put guns in people’s mouths to get everything they had. He made me not want to look in the mirror, he made me not want to live at all. Well, here I am 28 days later, my faith in the real God restored. Cocaine lost the war, and I got my freedom back. I’m making my way up north to start my life— in recovery.

MY PRAYER

until I find peace within myself.

Diane Dawson

I pray for those who want to hurt me, for they know not what they do. I pray for a sign, to know when my journey will end, so I can complete my life’s work. I pray for Planet Earth, for how much more damage can she take from the human race? I pray for tomorrow, hoping it will be there for me.

Diane Dawson Diane Dawson

Situations

Lord, give me the strength to make it through this day

small and petite, with a mouth full of pearly white teeth.

and to get home safely.

She could read and write with the greatest of ease, but once she picked the pipe up, it was “negro, please.”

I pray to understand all the mysteries of life.

She was one of ASC’s most colorful characters,

How do trees know when to bloom

who used to work for that hot lunch and Metro,

or when to shed their leaves?

on pantry day, forget about it—she never missed a beat.

I yearn to understand why people

Looking at her was like looking at my future self

are so damn rude—or should I

if I didn’t stop smoking crack.

take a look at myself?

She always put a smile on my face

I would like to know where these words come from—

with her in-your-face humor.

is it you or is it me?

She sold everything she had for some crack,

I pray that I don’t hurt anybody today.

even her own soul—she lived and she died for it.

I pray for my inner child,

I wish I could have saved her,

for she will always live inside of me.

but she was having none of that.

I yearn to understand HIV/AIDS—

Dana was her name and crack was her game—

why it affects us all so differently.

she went out in a blaze of glory.

I pray for patience, I must learn to understand

I miss you, my dear friend, hope to see you again.

some of us are slower than others.

Rest in Peace. You deserve to rest after all the runs.

I choose not to pray for peace

MY PRAYER

until I find peace within myself.

Diane Dawson

Diane Dawson Diane Dawson

Situations

MY SUBWAY RIDE

SOUL FOOD

I’m exhausted.

Some folks turn up their nose at the mention of

My clothing is dusty and splattered with blood.

certain ethnic foods or will say, “Pork—not me!”

My breathing is labored because of tremendous fear.

Dare to utter the words, “chitterlings, hog maw,

Am I hyperventilating?

chicken feet, pig ears,” etc.

Who’s there? Well, la di da!

The sand…so much sand.

Were you aware the aforementioned was once a What is happening here? My subway ride. I’m consumed with disgusting newspaper info on Iraq. It is now a morning ritual. I sometimes feel transported—is it empathy? It’s time to find a substitute. I will, I will. For now I’ll read only the passengers’ faces.

Ruth Bryant

delicacy for slaves?

RETALIATION: WHEN DOES IT END? Two wrongs do not make a right. Enough already! When does it end?

The so-called “Master” had the cook throw the “slop” away. Hence the slaves confiscated discards and experimented with various garden herbs.

REALITY

Oh course, after somehow sampling these dishes—

Hey yaller gal,

the rest became a part of history. They became

why so high an mighty?

items listed under “Southern Cuisine Dining.”

Yo color shows whut happen to yo mammy. She don lay wif de big boss man—

Ruth Bryant

he took her virginity.

How is it humans can be decapitated on video, blown to smithereens, set afire, shot, hanged,

Cuz she work in de big house wid his fambily,

and dragged thru the street with jubilant

washen, ironen, cooken, cleanen, en layen.

observers cheering?

Yo don lib dere cuz yo de Creole. Yo cain’t call his chillun yo sistahs or brothars.

OR Cum down offer yo high hoarse an see de lite, Violating others’ religious beliefs by forcing

chile—use is still black. Dat’s right, help us.

them to disrobe, sodomize each other, rape,

We is tied being slaves.

put a leash or belt around their necks and have them crawl as though they were animals.

Let us know wen dey go to de opera or big ball or wen de innertain an is too busy to no

We are regressing, not progressing.

whut we do—den we kin make our move.

When does it end? Tanks.

Ruth Bryant Ruth Bryant

Situations

MY SUBWAY RIDE

SOUL FOOD

I’m exhausted.

Some folks turn up their nose at the mention of

My clothing is dusty and splattered with blood.

certain ethnic foods or will say, “Pork—not me!”

My breathing is labored because of tremendous fear.

Dare to utter the words, “chitterlings, hog maw,

Am I hyperventilating?

chicken feet, pig ears,” etc.

Who’s there? Well, la di da!

The sand…so much sand.

Ruth Bryant

delicacy for slaves?

RETALIATION: WHEN DOES IT END? Two wrongs do not make a right. Enough already! When does it end?

The so-called “Master” had the cook throw the “slop” away. Hence the slaves confiscated discards and experimented with various garden herbs.

REALITY

Oh course, after somehow sampling these dishes—

Hey yaller gal,

the rest became a part of history. They became

why so high an mighty?

items listed under “Southern Cuisine Dining.”

Yo color shows whut happen to yo mammy. She don lay wif de big boss man—

Ruth Bryant

he took her virginity.

How is it humans can be decapitated on video, blown to smithereens, set afire, shot, hanged,

Cuz she work in de big house wid his fambily,

and dragged thru the street with jubilant

washen, ironen, cooken, cleanen, en layen.

observers cheering?

Yo don lib dere cuz yo de Creole. Yo cain’t call his chillun yo sistahs or brothars.

OR Cum down offer yo high hoarse an see de lite, Violating others’ religious beliefs by forcing

chile—use is still black. Dat’s right, help us.

them to disrobe, sodomize each other, rape,

We is tied being slaves.

put a leash or belt around their necks and have them crawl as though they were animals.

Let us know wen dey go to de opera or big ball or wen de innertain an is too busy to no

We are regressing, not progressing.

whut we do—den we kin make our move.

When does it end? Tanks.

Ruth Bryant Ruth Bryant

Situations

MEMORIES Quite possibly my subconscious as a child thought boys had the most exciting playtime. My motto then: “Anything they can do, I can do as well or better.” Imagine rearranging miniature furniture in my dollhouse. Pretending tea parties or dinner with toy dishes. Diapering “the baby” after hearing its wha-a-a-a. (I had to tilt the “Lil’ Darlin’” forward so the built-in mechanism would make the crying sounds.)

A TRIBUTE TO GORDON DAVIS The saying, “into each life some rain must fall” has again become a reality. March 31, 2005. The ceiling of ASC vaporized. The vapor became a tremendous deluge. The sudden impact of this was totally unexpected.

As opposed to….

It was as though I’d suddenly been doused with a fire hose. This was my initial feeling on hearing of Gordon’s demise.

Working up a sweat, skate-boarding, wrestling with boys, playing basketball, racing up and down the street or playing hideand-seek in a tree or under the house. Two other exciting things were climbing boxcars and houses.

His demeanor was always pleasant whenever I encountered him. Although jolly, he was never boisterous. He never failed to visit “Wonderful Wearables” to say hello. Ever present was his infectious smile.

The boxcars were interesting, especially when the circus came to town or when the freight cars brought fruits and vegetables. The circus paraphernalia and inhabitants arrived late at night. We were always there to welcome the animals and handlers.

Who was Gordon Davis? Oh, you know, the guy who was always eating or nibbling. Not a voracious appetite because apparently he did not crave large quantities of food. In spite of this,

It was amazing to see huge elephants, lions, and other animals

he maintained a slim physique.

obediently being led from the freight cars. Such expertise displayed by the handlers was greatly admired. Therefore, I’d seen my circus performance and saved my

Gordon was always a gentleman. His absence will leave a void.

parents the admission fee. The circus was then named Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey.

Ruth Bryant

Situations

Bon voyage.

Ruth Bryant

Situations

As opposed to….

It was as though I’d suddenly been doused with a fire hose. This was my initial feeling on hearing of Gordon’s demise.

Who was Gordon Davis? Oh, you know, the guy who was always eating or nibbling. Not a voracious appetite because apparently he did not crave large quantities of food. In spite of this,

It was amazing to see huge elephants, lions, and other animals

he maintained a slim physique.

obediently being led from the freight cars. Such expertise displayed by the handlers was greatly admired. Therefore, I’d seen my circus performance and saved my

Gordon was always a gentleman. His absence will leave a void.

parents the admission fee. The circus was then named Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey.

Ruth Bryant

Situations

Bon voyage.

Ruth Bryant

Situations

GORDON DAVIS, A FRIEND

TO BELIEVE IN YOUR BELIEFS

Gordon Davis was a good friend to me.

Before I became a man

He was my eyes.

my beliefs were those of a child.

He was like a father to me.

I believed in Santa

I didn’t see it coming.

but I never wrote him a letter.

Outside of my family,

I knew there was no Tooth Fairy

he was the closest person to me to leave.

but I still left my tooth under the pillow.

I didn’t want to accept the fact that he’s gone.

I believed my parents when they said I was special,

Why did you leave me?

but I got spanked anyway.

Unhand me, release me, set me free.

I guess I’ll accept the fact that he’s gone.

I believed I was a good boy,

Unwrap those chains that bind me.

He’s gone and I’ll accept the fact that he’s

but I also believed that I was bad

Untie my hands.

in a better place than me.

because I liked boys.

Loosen that rope around my neck.

As I became a man

My legs, my legs—they need to be free.

my beliefs were challenged.

Let me step out into the world.

I believed that all men were created equal.

Let me breathe fresh air into my lungs.

But equal to what?

Damn it!

New York is a beautiful city.

I believed I could go anywhere,

Open up my prison cell,

It is where cars are flying,

but I wasn’t the right color.

the cell that has been my whole world.

people are dying.

I believed I was intelligent,

Give me the keys to a life.

Robbing, stealing, drug dealing.

but I was not always smart.

A life without bars—

Sex, crack, a landmark for corruption.

I believed in my trust of people,

Like race.

Law enforcement killing kids

but many have disappointed me.

Like sexual orientation.

with no weapons and beating it in.

I believe I could say a lot more,

Like poverty.

It is not justice.

but not in an hour.

Like homelessness.

Be cool. You don’t have to suffer no more.

Bobby Weekfall

BIG APPLE KNOWLEDGE

Like AIDS.

It works because they have unity after they divided ours.

Shurland H. Aird

Like abuse in all its ugly forms.

Even the kids suffer because they have to pass

Like myself.

a third grade test in order to go to fourth grade.

Fire me from my job as a self-doubter.

I guess their way of thinking is,

Unhand me.

“We need the room. Get out!”

Release me.

Every culture is here.

Set me free,

But if you can’t pay, leave.

Damn it.

Bobby Weekfall

Situations

UNHAND ME

Shurland H. Aird

Situations

GORDON DAVIS, A FRIEND

TO BELIEVE IN YOUR BELIEFS

Gordon Davis was a good friend to me.

Before I became a man

He was my eyes.

my beliefs were those of a child.

He was like a father to me.

I believed in Santa

I didn’t see it coming.

but I never wrote him a letter.

Outside of my family,

I knew there was no Tooth Fairy

he was the closest person to me to leave.

but I still left my tooth under the pillow.

I didn’t want to accept the fact that he’s gone.

I believed my parents when they said I was special,

Why did you leave me?

but I got spanked anyway.

Unhand me, release me, set me free.

I guess I’ll accept the fact that he’s gone.

I believed I was a good boy,

Unwrap those chains that bind me.

He’s gone and I’ll accept the fact that he’s

but I also believed that I was bad

Untie my hands.

in a better place than me.

because I liked boys.

Loosen that rope around my neck.

As I became a man

My legs, my legs—they need to be free.

my beliefs were challenged.

Let me step out into the world.

I believed that all men were created equal.

Let me breathe fresh air into my lungs.

But equal to what?

Damn it!

New York is a beautiful city.

I believed I could go anywhere,

Open up my prison cell,

It is where cars are flying,

but I wasn’t the right color.

the cell that has been my whole world.

people are dying.

I believed I was intelligent,

Give me the keys to a life.

Robbing, stealing, drug dealing.

but I was not always smart.

A life without bars—

Sex, crack, a landmark for corruption.

I believed in my trust of people,

Like race.

Law enforcement killing kids

but many have disappointed me.

Like sexual orientation.

with no weapons and beating it in.

I believe I could say a lot more,

Like poverty.

It is not justice.

but not in an hour.

Like homelessness.

Be cool. You don’t have to suffer no more.

Bobby Weekfall

BIG APPLE KNOWLEDGE

Like AIDS.

It works because they have unity after they divided ours.

Shurland H. Aird

Like abuse in all its ugly forms.

Even the kids suffer because they have to pass

Like myself.

a third grade test in order to go to fourth grade.

Fire me from my job as a self-doubter.

I guess their way of thinking is,

Unhand me.

“We need the room. Get out!”

Release me.

Every culture is here.

Set me free,

But if you can’t pay, leave.

Damn it.

Bobby Weekfall

Situations

UNHAND ME

Shurland H. Aird

Situations

YOU, YOU ARE BLACK

TRAPPED

Yes, Black. Don’t you feel the vibes? No, I don’t mean the regular vibes.

I looked at the animals in their cages at the zoo—

These are vibes of the day.

trapped. Trapped and condemned to a life behind bars.

And they are vibes that you cannot feel until

No matter how big their cages are,

you get to know yourself

no matter how much grass and trees and ponds

and what you really want out of life.

they have to roam on, they are still trapped.

That’s right! We get to that familiar topic,

Confined for our pleasure.

but one that is not discussed at any real

So we can watch and study and probe them.

length or depth.

We say it is for their survival.

Don’t you think I know about life?

MONEY

Well, let me tell you a little about life:

We say it is for the betterment of mankind. We say a lot of things.

life is victorious and

I like money.

We convinced ourselves that we are right

life is disappointing—

I don’t worship it.

and that we are doing the right thing.

cruel, yes, but gentle at times,

I don’t crave it.

I feel trapped.

humorous, sometimes with an inner sadness.

But I like it.

Trapped in a world of HIV/AIDS.

Be alert. Life is alarming.

I spend it as fast as I get it.

Trapped in a world of hatred.

Life is soothing, with death on its shoulders.

I look forward to the day when I get it.

Trapped in a world of loneliness,

But then we stop and say, “But wait!”

I sometimes worry about it.

of bigotry, of thievery and skullduggery.

Life is Death and

I sometimes wish I had more of it.

Trapped in a world of my own making.

Death is Life,

I have inherited it.

Should we free the animals?

because we approach both

I have found it.

Should I free myself?

with the same expectations, the same

I have won it.

Why do I continue to imprison myself?

anticipation, and the same measure of wonder.

I have squandered it.

Why do I continue to deny myself visitors’ rights?

But don’t be sad.

I have lost it.

Why do I build bigger and bigger cages for myself?

That is not my purpose.

I have given it away.

Just think about it on occasion.

I have had a good time with it.

But don’t let it rule your life after all.

I have gotten fucked up on it.

Life is what it’s all about.

I have never, however, stolen it.

Shurland H. Aird

I have never lied for it.

Shurland H. Aird

And someday I will have no more use for it.

Shurland H. Aird

Situations

YOU, YOU ARE BLACK

TRAPPED

Yes, Black. Don’t you feel the vibes? No, I don’t mean the regular vibes.

I looked at the animals in their cages at the zoo—

These are vibes of the day.

trapped. Trapped and condemned to a life behind bars.

And they are vibes that you cannot feel until

No matter how big their cages are,

you get to know yourself

no matter how much grass and trees and ponds

and what you really want out of life.

they have to roam on, they are still trapped.

That’s right! We get to that familiar topic,

Confined for our pleasure.

but one that is not discussed at any real

So we can watch and study and probe them.

length or depth.

We say it is for their survival.

Don’t you think I know about life?

MONEY

Well, let me tell you a little about life:

We say it is for the betterment of mankind. We say a lot of things.

life is victorious and

I like money.

We convinced ourselves that we are right

life is disappointing—

I don’t worship it.

and that we are doing the right thing.

cruel, yes, but gentle at times,

I don’t crave it.

I feel trapped.

humorous, sometimes with an inner sadness.

But I like it.

Trapped in a world of HIV/AIDS.

Be alert. Life is alarming.

I spend it as fast as I get it.

Trapped in a world of hatred.

Life is soothing, with death on its shoulders.

I look forward to the day when I get it.

Trapped in a world of loneliness,

But then we stop and say, “But wait!”

I sometimes worry about it.

of bigotry, of thievery and skullduggery.

Life is Death and

I sometimes wish I had more of it.

Trapped in a world of my own making.

Death is Life,

I have inherited it.

Should we free the animals?

because we approach both

I have found it.

Should I free myself?

with the same expectations, the same

I have won it.

Why do I continue to imprison myself?

anticipation, and the same measure of wonder.

I have squandered it.

Why do I continue to deny myself visitors’ rights?

But don’t be sad.

I have lost it.

Why do I build bigger and bigger cages for myself?

That is not my purpose.

I have given it away.

Just think about it on occasion.

I have had a good time with it.

But don’t let it rule your life after all.

I have gotten fucked up on it.

Life is what it’s all about.

I have never, however, stolen it.

Shurland H. Aird

I have never lied for it.

Shurland H. Aird

And someday I will have no more use for it.

Shurland H. Aird

Situations

YESTERDAY Yesterday I became 56— To think about it was a scare To realize the life I lived

WHAT I BELIEVE: MY DESTINY AS AN ADDICT

was definitely a dare Yesterday as I think of it was a life of drugs and crime As I look back and think about it, it was all a waste of time

As I’m sitting here in Creative Writing, Today my life is different,

the strangest thought comes to me:

with the way that I live today

that eventually, my recovery will be my destiny!

I’m glad I turned my life around to get away from yesterday!

Ivey Cherry

For instance, I used to rob and steal.

ALL ABOUT ME! IN SPIRIT

Now I’m in recovery and eating a meal. My family was the last thing on my mind. But ’cause of my recovery, the time for them I’ll find.

Sitting there in group and pondering my intentions

I believe in my recovery.

it came to me as a sudden light, this sudden intervention.

Because now, it’s all about me.

Looking back and thinking, I can clearly see

Ivey Cherry

that by the time I’m finished with this, it’ll be all about me. This sudden taking of interest in the workshop, I hope it’s a liking that’ll never stop! Short and swift as you can plainly see, the thoughts in all honesty were all about me.

Ivey Cherry

Situations

YESTERDAY Yesterday I became 56— To think about it was a scare To realize the life I lived

WHAT I BELIEVE: MY DESTINY AS AN ADDICT

was definitely a dare Yesterday as I think of it was a life of drugs and crime As I look back and think about it, it was all a waste of time

As I’m sitting here in Creative Writing, Today my life is different,

the strangest thought comes to me:

with the way that I live today

that eventually, my recovery will be my destiny!

I’m glad I turned my life around to get away from yesterday!

Ivey Cherry

For instance, I used to rob and steal.

ALL ABOUT ME! IN SPIRIT

Now I’m in recovery and eating a meal. My family was the last thing on my mind. But ’cause of my recovery, the time for them I’ll find.

Sitting there in group and pondering my intentions

I believe in my recovery.

it came to me as a sudden light, this sudden intervention.

Because now, it’s all about me.

Looking back and thinking, I can clearly see

Ivey Cherry

Situations

LET FREEDOM RING! From every hidden place where countless senseless lynchings took place, let freedom ring.

NO MORE

Let freedom ring from every injustice, degradation, humiliation, castration in America’s nation and from the African slave ships

Hmmm…

where men, women, and children

They ask me,

were brought over in chains, shackled to the floors—

“How come you don’t come ‘round no more?”

Let freedom ring! in every hallowed hallway like the one Amadou was shot in—41 times!—

I say,

and killed for no crime…he never committed…

“I don’t have a need for that pain… no more!”

Let freedom ring where every faceless, nameless KKK made its way to massacre our people. Let freedom ring in the courts

At night,

where equal rights was for shit in the streets—

the committees aren’t in session… no more.

no retreats—let freedom ring for every black man, black woman, black child.

So much freedom

Let freedom ring for every white man, white woman, white child

comes from surrendering. No more

who engaged in equality. Let freedom ring for every child

fear of violence or deceit. Close your eyes. Sweet dreams.

born in dope addiction, methadone, crack, and alcoholism.

no more.

I planted seeds of destruction in my wayward way of life, I lived through confusion and much strife. I experienced roads of insanity through doing drugs, sweeping myself under the rug (literally). I did reap what I sowed. Madness was the only thing I knew, I blew so much tranquility

Let freedom ring with deafening rage.

Just remember in the morning to give thanks and say,

SEED

Sherry P.

until I decided I wanted to be free and pleaded to God, Save my soul! And make my spirit free! And his love (God’s) did indeed embrace me— so real, so beautiful, the seed grew abundantly

Kent Jackson

and I became a blossom of energy and today I spell and smell tranquility. The seed from God above is truly, truly love.

Sherry P.

Situations

LET FREEDOM RING! From every hidden place where countless senseless lynchings took place, let freedom ring.

NO MORE

Let freedom ring from every injustice, degradation, humiliation, castration in America’s nation and from the African slave ships

Hmmm…

where men, women, and children

They ask me,

were brought over in chains, shackled to the floors—

“How come you don’t come ‘round no more?”

Let freedom ring! in every hallowed hallway like the one Amadou was shot in—41 times!—

I say,

and killed for no crime…he never committed…

“I don’t have a need for that pain… no more!”

Let freedom ring where every faceless, nameless KKK made its way to massacre our people. Let freedom ring in the courts

At night,

where equal rights was for shit in the streets—

the committees aren’t in session… no more.

no retreats—let freedom ring for every black man, black woman, black child.

So much freedom

Let freedom ring for every white man, white woman, white child

comes from surrendering. No more

who engaged in equality. Let freedom ring for every child

fear of violence or deceit. Close your eyes. Sweet dreams.

born in dope addiction, methadone, crack, and alcoholism.

no more.

Let freedom ring with deafening rage.

Just remember in the morning to give thanks and say,

SEED

Sherry P.

until I decided I wanted to be free and pleaded to God, Save my soul! And make my spirit free! And his love (God’s) did indeed embrace me— so real, so beautiful, the seed grew abundantly

Kent Jackson

and I became a blossom of energy and today I spell and smell tranquility. The seed from God above is truly, truly love.

Sherry P.

Situations

BEFO’ I DIE! Befo’ I die, I want to have reached my pie in the awesome sky and have my cake

WHAT PART? I’m sick and tired of being left on the shelf, being somebody else— time to make a brand damn new start—

and eat it too!

what part? Befo’ I die, I want to have explored all life’s mysteries and come to really know

Ready to stand up and be counted,

who I am!

board the express of life, Befo’ I die, I want to have broken down all doors and barricades and built new frontiers

roundtrip, head start— what part?

to stand!

THE TIMES OF MY LIFE

Second best not in the script Befo’ I die, I want to have traveled all the regions of this vast earth! Befo’ I die, I want to have cried and known mirth encasing my rebirth! Befo’ I die, I want to say—no, shout— I have truly, truly lived and throughout life I have ascended to realms of heaven above. Befo’ I die, I want to have experienced the greatest love—I believe it’s God. Befo’ I die, I want to fly without any drugs

closed mouth tight lip

The times of my life were varieties galore.

no shit,

I bathed in rivers of grandeur.

I’m takin’ the reins

I slept on barren floors.

from the freakin’ start—

I laughed, I cried, I lived, I died.

what part?

All jokes aside, on roars of waves I did ride and ride!

No more interruptions

I came ashore,

via illegal drugs’ destruction.

I dove back in head-first,

I’m gung ho—all insanity

I nursed the hurt of being me

gots to go straight

like the roaring of the open sea

from the heart,

until I came upon a much desired tranquility.

either you’re all aboard

Peace and serenity became alive in me.

or close the door as you depart—

The times of my life today equals

what damn part?

sweet, sweet simplicity.

and know why God has made me, myself and I— Like a kaleidoscope of my inquiring heart,

and befo’ I die, I want to have truly, truly lived. Can ya dig?

Sherry P.

what damn part? Man, don’t you understand?

Sherry P.

What part?

Sherry P.

Situations

BEFO’ I DIE! Befo’ I die, I want to have reached my pie in the awesome sky and have my cake

WHAT PART? I’m sick and tired of being left on the shelf, being somebody else— time to make a brand damn new start—

and eat it too!

what part? Befo’ I die, I want to have explored all life’s mysteries and come to really know

Ready to stand up and be counted,

who I am!

board the express of life, Befo’ I die, I want to have broken down all doors and barricades and built new frontiers

roundtrip, head start— what part?

to stand!

THE TIMES OF MY LIFE

closed mouth tight lip

The times of my life were varieties galore.

no shit,

I bathed in rivers of grandeur.

I’m takin’ the reins

I slept on barren floors.

from the freakin’ start—

I laughed, I cried, I lived, I died.

what part?

All jokes aside, on roars of waves I did ride and ride!

No more interruptions

I came ashore,

via illegal drugs’ destruction.

I dove back in head-first,

I’m gung ho—all insanity

I nursed the hurt of being me

gots to go straight

like the roaring of the open sea

from the heart,

until I came upon a much desired tranquility.

either you’re all aboard

Peace and serenity became alive in me.

or close the door as you depart—

The times of my life today equals

what damn part?

sweet, sweet simplicity.

and know why God has made me, myself and I— Like a kaleidoscope of my inquiring heart,

and befo’ I die, I want to have truly, truly lived. Can ya dig?

Sherry P.

what damn part? Man, don’t you understand?

Sherry P.

What part?

Sherry P.

Situations

MY NAME IS GENE

THE HOOD

Poison running all through my veins,

I felt my temperature rise with bloodshot eyes

every shirt has a blood stain.

as I reached for my 9, I heard a baby cry.

Momma shaking her head, it’s a damn shame.

I saw its father die, tears in its mother’s eyes

I didn’t care—I had a habit to maintain.

before she could scream out, Why!?

I got tracks but I ain’t no train. Riding that horse like I was John Wayne. Hold up, here comes the drain— taste so sweet, like a sugarcane. OH! I felt my heart strain, like ice-cold water shot straight to the brain. Like a wild animal, I couldn’t be tamed. Scrape that bag—get every grain. Look in my eyes. Can’t you see the pain? Everything to lose. Nothing to gain. Slow down, get out of the fast lane. Brothers and sisters, it’s time for a change. As a matter of fact, this shit feels strange. My sobriety I must sustain. I need it like a flower needs rain. Look at the big picture—not at my frame. Hang my poems in the Hall of Fame so people everywhere will know my name.

Gene A. Barclay

Blood stains covered the cold concrete.

I NEVER NOTICED

My heart went out—I wanted to weep. Looking out at the many colored faces,

Murder and drugs on an all-time high,

ethnic backgrounds, and different races—

two more souls sailed through the sky.

thinking of all the lives that were wasted,

I searched my mind for a reason why.

remembering the time of segregation.

Then I remembered I heard that baby cry.

Fighting for everything we were taught,

Gunshots rang all through the night.

deals were made and souls were bought.

Tension and fear sharpened my sight.

Bloodshed, treachery, a deadly fight.

Somehow I gotta make it through this fight.

Many have died for our civil rights.

Stabbing, raping, robberies are the norm.

Martin, a man who had a dream.

I never noticed you meant so much.

There is no calm before the storm.

Boosted morals and self-esteem.

I never noticed how beautiful you are.

The stench of death so thick you can feel it in the air.

Ready to die for what he believed

I didn’t realize I was leaving a scar.

Who the hell said life was fair?

and wouldn’t back down until it was achieved.

I never noticed I was breaking your heart.

Bloodshed, and another brother dead.

Preaching the gospel and shedding tears,

I never noticed we were coming apart.

Sister-girl jumping bed to bed.

overcoming obstacles and fears.

I never noticed the kids wanted to play.

A child with nothing to eat eats lead instead.

On a mission from God—a mission of peace,

I never listened to a word you had to say.

An angry mob filled the street,

hoping and praying racism would cease.

I never noticed the tears in your eyes.

my chest thumped so hard you could see my heartbeat.

Another rose preaching from a different text.

I never noticed I was killing you inside.

Run toward the light—light is always good.

He called himself Malcolm X.

The door slammed—I’m trapped in the Hood.

He too was on a mission from God,

Gunshots started to ring—the heat hit my flesh.

but he gave it to you rough, raw, and hard.

I started to scream, then I heard the fat lady sing.

By any means necessary is what he would say.

I woke up, but it wasn’t a dream.

He still lives in our hearts and minds today.

I never noticed your pretty face. I never noticed your warm embrace. I never noticed your eyes were brown. I never noticed I was bringing you down. I never noticed you reached out your hand. I was too busy trying to be the man. I never noticed your gentle touch.

I never noticed we were coming to an end. I never noticed you packed your bags. I never noticed when you started to cry. I never even heard when you said goodbye. Then I noticed I wasn’t fair, being selfish, I didn’t share.

Can’t we stand side by side and unite?

Gene A. Barclay

The war is over. There’s no need to fight.

Lost in addiction, I didn’t care.

Put aside our differences and let’s begin

Then I noticed, you weren’t there!

to look at the heart, not the color of skin.

Gene A. Barclay

UNITE

But that don’t go with the code of the street.

I never noticed the softness of your skin.

Situations

Two dead bodies lie in the street.

Gene A. Barclay

Situations

MY NAME IS GENE

THE HOOD

Poison running all through my veins,

I felt my temperature rise with bloodshot eyes

every shirt has a blood stain.

as I reached for my 9, I heard a baby cry.

Momma shaking her head, it’s a damn shame.

I saw its father die, tears in its mother’s eyes

I didn’t care—I had a habit to maintain.

before she could scream out, Why!?

Gene A. Barclay

Blood stains covered the cold concrete.

I NEVER NOTICED

My heart went out—I wanted to weep. Looking out at the many colored faces,

Murder and drugs on an all-time high,

ethnic backgrounds, and different races—

two more souls sailed through the sky.

thinking of all the lives that were wasted,

I searched my mind for a reason why.

remembering the time of segregation.

Then I remembered I heard that baby cry.

Fighting for everything we were taught,

Gunshots rang all through the night.

deals were made and souls were bought.

Tension and fear sharpened my sight.

Bloodshed, treachery, a deadly fight.

Somehow I gotta make it through this fight.

Many have died for our civil rights.

Stabbing, raping, robberies are the norm.

Martin, a man who had a dream.

I never noticed you meant so much.

There is no calm before the storm.

Boosted morals and self-esteem.

I never noticed how beautiful you are.

The stench of death so thick you can feel it in the air.

Ready to die for what he believed

I didn’t realize I was leaving a scar.

Who the hell said life was fair?

and wouldn’t back down until it was achieved.

I never noticed I was breaking your heart.

Bloodshed, and another brother dead.

Preaching the gospel and shedding tears,

I never noticed we were coming apart.

Sister-girl jumping bed to bed.

overcoming obstacles and fears.

I never noticed the kids wanted to play.

A child with nothing to eat eats lead instead.

On a mission from God—a mission of peace,

I never listened to a word you had to say.

An angry mob filled the street,

hoping and praying racism would cease.

I never noticed the tears in your eyes.

my chest thumped so hard you could see my heartbeat.

Another rose preaching from a different text.

I never noticed I was killing you inside.

Run toward the light—light is always good.

He called himself Malcolm X.

The door slammed—I’m trapped in the Hood.

He too was on a mission from God,

Gunshots started to ring—the heat hit my flesh.

but he gave it to you rough, raw, and hard.

I started to scream, then I heard the fat lady sing.

By any means necessary is what he would say.

I woke up, but it wasn’t a dream.

He still lives in our hearts and minds today.

Can’t we stand side by side and unite?

Gene A. Barclay

The war is over. There’s no need to fight.

Lost in addiction, I didn’t care.

Put aside our differences and let’s begin

Then I noticed, you weren’t there!

to look at the heart, not the color of skin.

Gene A. Barclay

UNITE

But that don’t go with the code of the street.

I never noticed the softness of your skin.

Situations

Two dead bodies lie in the street.

Gene A. Barclay

Situations

MY VIEW I live in a world where things and concepts are changed every day. What I have difficulty with is the fact that we are a product of our own discrimination. We’ve set the tone and others put the lid on it. We keep ourselves down, through education, crime, and even language. What we fail to realize is that we have our own beauty, which we need to enhance. Let people know we’re just as smart as you, we just have a language of our own. Let the white man (and/or others) know that I’m not African American, but Black and that I’m standing in the crayon box right next to you. Let’s band together to support the cause…. Cause we belong here. Let’s keep other minorities involved— Asians, Africans, Filipinos, Russians— hell, I’ll go even further than that: gays, bisexuals, lesbians, drag queens, transgenders. We all make the world go ‘round and even you won’t stop us. So let’s stand for something

I AM WHO I AM I will live my life the way I see fit. I am who I am and no one can take that away from me. Don’t tell me I’m a product of the world. Don’t tell me I’m a creation of the universe. If you attack, I will counter-attack. I am who I am and no one can take that away from me. If you think I won’t defend my personality, you’re wrong. If you think I won’t walk past you and not speak, you’re right. If I touch you by mistake, I will apologize. Because I am who I am and no one can take that away from me. Some people say I am evil…but I’m not. Some say I’m a delight to be with. Some think I’m very sociable, others say I’m family-oriented, but I’m just me, trying to deal with life positively and on a day-to-day basis…. and you won’t take that away from me.

Elaston R. Washington

so we don’t fall for anything. Change with the change.

Elaston R. Washington

Situations

Elaston R. Washington

so we don’t fall for anything. Change with the change.

Elaston R. Washington

Situations

YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS

THE MANY SHADES OF SHE Coffee brown, midnight black, creamy, golden, hazelnut hues entrancing me daily are all the assorted colors in which you come.

I have been chastised and made fun of most of my life.

Is it the myriad of skin tones? The lips, the breasts? The eyes,

I have listened to others tell me how I should act and behave.

the hair? Yeah, the hair…be it wild and full of kinks,

I have been molded by force when I refused.

braided bliss, fingersnap short, cropped, flipped, wrapped up tight, pulled back plush, or pony-tailed proud.

And now, you can’t touch this. I will blind you with my charisma, give you the Evil Eye with a vengeance.

Maybe it’s the ass? The thighs?

MY WORLD

I will cast a spell on you like nobody’s fool

Or right back to the eyes, usually brown, all shades in fact— sometimes green and even grey. Let me marvel at your timeless beauty today.

and then anoint you with my spirituality.

I have been bombarded with harassment and aggravation.

Your resilience is the stuff of legend

You’ll think the saint came marching in.

Someone always wanting to talk to me and/or

and your courage is unmatched in the age-old story of womanhood.

That’s how good I am.

wanting something from me.

Balancing me at every turn, you are my anchor, my anger,

I’ll have you shaking in your knees

What they don’t know is,

my solstice, my solitude. You fortify me, continually loving me

so badly, you’ll drop quarters at my feet

I’m about to create a world where you need a key to get in.

in a world perpetually resenting me. Although you sometimes

so I don’t stare at you.

It’s called a zone.

take me for granted, me and my kind

I refuse to let my nerves be unhinged by others’ pompous airs.

do it to you and yours far more often.

Ahh! Beautiful quiet.

Why are we (my brothers and I) so blind to the fact

Sorry I had to kick you out,

that we’re learning to disrespect our mothers, sisters, daughters,

but the life I save will be my own.

and wives, learning how to be little boys—not men—

Don’t worry. One day I’ll invite you in,

in the video images rammed down our throats

but for now you’ll have to wait,

every hour of the day by the media

because I haven’t called your number yet—

and some of these so-called hip-hop heroes

and I’m still seeing Number One (me).

who we so eagerly run to spend our money on,

So if you get tired of waiting for me,

always trying to emulate the poison messages they send.

then I’ll give you the recipe on how to create your own world.

Still you love us, still you strive, ever pushing and challenging us

Just one thing: don’t copy mine.

to be better people, to be better men.

You can’t touch this. I wasn’t born this way, but brought up this way. People see me as happy-go-lucky, but don’t be fooled by my charm ‘cause I’ll have you saying your ABC’s while I’m saying, “I’ll take these.” You can’t touch this. Am I proud of this sometimes,

Never ceasing to make leaps and bounds for yourselves.

do I hate this behavior? Rarely. I might raise you and I might kill you,

Elaston R. Washington

Come my love, let us speak of wise things,

but I certainly won’t die for you.

let us go to new places and do new things

Right now, I am who I am.

in a manner the world has never seen. The joy, pain, sanctuary, peace, calamity, and love

You can’t touch this.

you’ve brought to my life is, and forever will be, priceless. Never doubt yourself or believe that there’s anything you can’t do.

Elaston R. Washington

For you, the Black Woman…are the Mother of Man.

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) Situations

Situations

YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS

THE MANY SHADES OF SHE Coffee brown, midnight black, creamy, golden, hazelnut hues entrancing me daily are all the assorted colors in which you come.

I have been chastised and made fun of most of my life.

Is it the myriad of skin tones? The lips, the breasts? The eyes,

I have listened to others tell me how I should act and behave.

the hair? Yeah, the hair…be it wild and full of kinks,

I have been molded by force when I refused.

braided bliss, fingersnap short, cropped, flipped, wrapped up tight, pulled back plush, or pony-tailed proud.

And now, you can’t touch this. I will blind you with my charisma, give you the Evil Eye with a vengeance.

Maybe it’s the ass? The thighs?

MY WORLD

I will cast a spell on you like nobody’s fool

Or right back to the eyes, usually brown, all shades in fact— sometimes green and even grey. Let me marvel at your timeless beauty today.

and then anoint you with my spirituality.

I have been bombarded with harassment and aggravation.

Your resilience is the stuff of legend

You’ll think the saint came marching in.

Someone always wanting to talk to me and/or

and your courage is unmatched in the age-old story of womanhood.

That’s how good I am.

wanting something from me.

Balancing me at every turn, you are my anchor, my anger,

I’ll have you shaking in your knees

What they don’t know is,

my solstice, my solitude. You fortify me, continually loving me

so badly, you’ll drop quarters at my feet

I’m about to create a world where you need a key to get in.

in a world perpetually resenting me. Although you sometimes

so I don’t stare at you.

It’s called a zone.

take me for granted, me and my kind

I refuse to let my nerves be unhinged by others’ pompous airs.

do it to you and yours far more often.

Ahh! Beautiful quiet.

Why are we (my brothers and I) so blind to the fact

Sorry I had to kick you out,

that we’re learning to disrespect our mothers, sisters, daughters,

but the life I save will be my own.

and wives, learning how to be little boys—not men—

Don’t worry. One day I’ll invite you in,

in the video images rammed down our throats

but for now you’ll have to wait,

every hour of the day by the media

because I haven’t called your number yet—

and some of these so-called hip-hop heroes

and I’m still seeing Number One (me).

who we so eagerly run to spend our money on,

So if you get tired of waiting for me,

always trying to emulate the poison messages they send.

then I’ll give you the recipe on how to create your own world.

Still you love us, still you strive, ever pushing and challenging us

Just one thing: don’t copy mine.

to be better people, to be better men.

Never ceasing to make leaps and bounds for yourselves.

do I hate this behavior? Rarely. I might raise you and I might kill you,

Elaston R. Washington

Come my love, let us speak of wise things,

but I certainly won’t die for you.

let us go to new places and do new things

Right now, I am who I am.

in a manner the world has never seen. The joy, pain, sanctuary, peace, calamity, and love

You can’t touch this.

you’ve brought to my life is, and forever will be, priceless. Never doubt yourself or believe that there’s anything you can’t do.

Elaston R. Washington

For you, the Black Woman…are the Mother of Man.

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) Situations

Situations

FALLING INTO YOU Falling…

DARKEST DAY Never was there a day more sad than the day…

Falling…

The Inexplicable Day…

Falling…

All the angels forgot how to fly and fell to Earth…

“You’re such an inspiration of all the ways I will never ever choose to be…”

The clouds ceased to roll across the sky like so many

When all of our memories were erased

children frolicking in the park…

and our dreams were reduced to nothing more than static

We all stopped THINKING!

Who knew that love was the rug being pulled from beneath my feet?

and white noise…

Or that kisses could be portals?

The oceans became still and the rising and subsiding tide

Sending me time and time again.

stayed not quite solid and not quite fluid for evermore…

The Day…

Falling further…

All the animals lost their innocence and learned how to hate,

People stopped aspiring, striving, desiring, thriving, giving,

maim, murder, and kill for sport—like us…

and just simply living…

The Day…

The stars thought they no longer needed to shine

Put your hands on me. Mold me like clay. Play me like an instrument. Entice me like your lips when wet,

and the sun didn’t care enough to show up…

engage my intelligence with your wit and thoughtfulness.

Everyone stopped caring about something, nobody believed

The caged bird lost its instinct to sing…

Deploy me, enjoy me.

in anything, and everybody just said, “Fuck it!!”

The free bird refused to soar…

Falling faster…

Everything tasted like ashes because our tongues had been

The Day…

burned Who knew that a cell could be a place of freedom? Or that 1 woman

with the taste due to the mindless wars we had waged.

could make all the difference? Your empathy, your sincerity,

I couldn’t come to our weekly creative, thought-provoking gathering…

your intensity, your severity…all the things of beauty and rage…

The planet we call home finally succumbed to our ceaseless

And still appreciated and ferociously desired.

bombardment of manmade toxins, poisons, and wretched

I’ve never wanted to be devoured…

pollutants

until now.

seasoned with disease after disease…

So until our circles are once again entwined,

The Day…

and another still…

The dark consumed the light…

That Sad, Sad Day…

The Day… I was forced to go another day without her, and another, and another, and yet another,

I’ll write an ocean of ink across the pages of your soul. Falling further and further still…

The wicked devoured the righteous… Evil arose triumphant—for all time—over good…

God decided to stop loving us all…

All the music went silent forever…

I shall fear not…

Never was there more sorrow than on this… For I know… The Darkest Day. I’m falling into you.

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse)

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) Situations

Situations

FALLING INTO YOU Falling…

DARKEST DAY Never was there a day more sad than the day…

Falling…

The Inexplicable Day…

Falling…

All the angels forgot how to fly and fell to Earth…

“You’re such an inspiration of all the ways I will never ever choose to be…”

The clouds ceased to roll across the sky like so many

When all of our memories were erased

children frolicking in the park…

and our dreams were reduced to nothing more than static

We all stopped THINKING!

Who knew that love was the rug being pulled from beneath my feet?

and white noise…

Or that kisses could be portals?

The oceans became still and the rising and subsiding tide

Sending me time and time again.

stayed not quite solid and not quite fluid for evermore…

The Day…

Falling further…

All the animals lost their innocence and learned how to hate,

People stopped aspiring, striving, desiring, thriving, giving,

maim, murder, and kill for sport—like us…

and just simply living…

The Day…

The stars thought they no longer needed to shine

Put your hands on me. Mold me like clay. Play me like an instrument. Entice me like your lips when wet,

and the sun didn’t care enough to show up…

engage my intelligence with your wit and thoughtfulness.

Everyone stopped caring about something, nobody believed

The caged bird lost its instinct to sing…

Deploy me, enjoy me.

in anything, and everybody just said, “Fuck it!!”

The free bird refused to soar…

Falling faster…

Everything tasted like ashes because our tongues had been

The Day…

burned Who knew that a cell could be a place of freedom? Or that 1 woman

with the taste due to the mindless wars we had waged.

could make all the difference? Your empathy, your sincerity,

I couldn’t come to our weekly creative, thought-provoking gathering…

your intensity, your severity…all the things of beauty and rage…

The planet we call home finally succumbed to our ceaseless

And still appreciated and ferociously desired.

bombardment of manmade toxins, poisons, and wretched

I’ve never wanted to be devoured…

pollutants

until now.

seasoned with disease after disease…

So until our circles are once again entwined,

The Day…

and another still…

The dark consumed the light…

That Sad, Sad Day…

The Day… I was forced to go another day without her, and another, and another, and yet another,

I’ll write an ocean of ink across the pages of your soul. Falling further and further still…

The wicked devoured the righteous… Evil arose triumphant—for all time—over good…

God decided to stop loving us all…

All the music went silent forever…

I shall fear not…

Never was there more sorrow than on this… For I know… The Darkest Day. I’m falling into you.

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse)

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) Situations

Situations

LOST IN ME Sick in the soul, I just don’t know how to behold the end of

Sensations, emotions, responsibilities—all fading away,

the world that I’ve known. Ailing of mind, in a desert waste-

while I sit back and watch my tortured life go by, day by

land called Life. I’m consumed by hostile winds cutting

day. Give me a few moments, a few moments are all I need

through my being.

to slip a cigar through my fingers and insert the green. So high, so high I can reach the sky. But each time I fly, a part

UNTITLED (1)

Dragging my carcass through a tortured existence—

of me dies—for getting high is a chemical lie. But where’s

spaced, alienated. Dwelling among lost and lifeless souls

my chance for a pleasurable piece of the American pie? It’s

that soothe my hopeless heart. My self-loathing intensified,

getting stronger, the feelings are staying longer, and I’m

hateful and distraught feelings are constant companions. I

blinking out of existence like a candle in early morning.

have lost grip on reality—twisted and pulled.

Laying under a grave, no longer wanting this life. But why is it so hard for me, why must I fight? When you say H.I.V.,

I am weak, the hunted, my very existence has been raped

what do that mean for me now, am I worth loving still or do

and polluted—show me death and I’ll salute it. My days are

I pass without a sound?

Then he said to me, them dreams will never come

He entices me, stimulating me mentally and giving me

counting down. Life drains from me as blood from a wound;

true—try these pleasures, this anger, this drug, this loot.

everything that I think should be mine, but shouldn’t I be

I’m dying but never too soon. So much pain there, nothing

Who cares for the down and out, who cares I say? Why

Bound to salute this demon within me, I’m shackled in

righteous sometime? Being so nice to me—can I trust

to retain. I can’t let go because I need my pain…to feel and

should anyone, isn’t that the American way? Who has the

thought—no reasons, no faults. Yearning for that next

him at all? I’m drugged with desire, like I’m overdosed

maintain, to see if I’m still alive. I need my anger by my side.

right to fuck my shit up but me, who can tell me who I was

high, that rush, looking always for what I can never sup-

on Tylenol. But I need him to get to that place. The Key

I’m growing numb. I’m seeing dark—the lights are lowering.

myself? Don’t dare say you got love for a brother, because

ply. I think I’m in trouble. I’m falling, then I’m saved; he

Master can always have his place—by my side, every

I am in a box. Is there any of me left? Or am I near death?

if I don’t love who I am, then I do not love anyone else!

always has my back—I can sin all day, and murder, and

night. Get me high. I want to fly. To the end—but

My thoughts are possessed by lust and sadness—doubt,

rob myself—my spirit, my mind—masking out with a

where’s that? I don’t care; I need smack. I’m in danger;

anger, and rage—I’m driven into madness. I’m a push-

I struggle internally to unlock the powers of joy, but the

I’ve lost to this demon. Now he’s the boss. I want to

button figure; I can’t regain control. The room is spinning;

harder I fight, the deeper my void. How do I recover from a

escape. I want to die. But do me a favor—get me high.

my despair is on patrol. I can’t move. My eyes are seeing

shattered state? Day by day, they say, but I can see no

red and my limbs are dead.

other way. In a dark place of utter fright I fight, while sur-

vengeance the moon, the day, the sun, the time. He had my mind intertwined with his wicked state of

ever meant to be? Who can hate me more than I hate

rounded by love and still unable to see the light. I’m all

crime—he’s my boy, my next-of-kin; he’ll be there to tell

There’s no saving you—you’re like me, I say. Deranged,

you there’s room for sin. High on destruction, high on

no doubt strange, with no power to maintain. You com-

pain, I don’t know where I am, not even my name. What

plete my life’s work—you, your people, even your man,

the right to take away my world; am I the only one or do he

about harm reduction—now what’s that? This isn’t a

Cain. Your mind, your soul will never remain, for your

put the moves on his baby girl? I can feel the beat of my

I can’t take it anymore; I’m about to scream—like in one of

game; now that’s insane! You need me to endure—you

brain will never accept anything but my pain. I aim to

heart viciously thumping through my body like a beacon in

those Hollywood dramatic movie scenes: when people are

need not stay pure. For within my kingdom, there’s no

destroy you mentally and remove you certainly from the

the dark. What am I going through? What’s happening to

getting ready to die and try to shout, fear gets the best of

such thing as a cure, or promise, or strength and ambi-

kingdom of bliss. I pour suffering and danger down on

my world? Whose life am I living? I am in a whirl.

them and brings the inevitable end about. Oh lord, where

tion. Give me one day and you’ll start wishing for pain,

you and you’ll assent. Are you stupid? Couldn’t you tell?

to die, to get high and comply with my demons for as

I’m that demon within you. Welcome to Hell.

long as you can stand. You need to wake up, because

John Benknockee

I’m the man!

When you say H.I.V., what do that mean? Do I just lie down

alone. The dead call out to me, the dying are pushing me;

and die, or does death stalk me like a fiend? Who gave him

my life is a blur, like my unforeseen destiny.

are you? Are you within sight? My soul needs touching, my Is there’s an answer out there—does anyone know? I say,

heart needs your might. I’ve held on; holding on for too

don’t hold back—let it flow! I’m in mental bondage, carry-

long. Searching for a true path with a spirit that is only half.

ing an endless pit of disappointment on my back and

Incomplete, false—help me lord, for I am lost.

instead of cutting my chains, I polish them with misguided pride and a fat sack of smack. How much easier things

John Benknockee

become, how light and heavenly I feel. With some of the most intense pleasure, is this for real, even worth my bill? With no worries, pains, suffering or regret, give me three fat blunts and my day is set.

Situations

LOST IN ME Sick in the soul, I just don’t know how to behold the end of

Sensations, emotions, responsibilities—all fading away,

the world that I’ve known. Ailing of mind, in a desert waste-

while I sit back and watch my tortured life go by, day by

land called Life. I’m consumed by hostile winds cutting

day. Give me a few moments, a few moments are all I need

through my being.

to slip a cigar through my fingers and insert the green. So high, so high I can reach the sky. But each time I fly, a part

UNTITLED (1)

Dragging my carcass through a tortured existence—

of me dies—for getting high is a chemical lie. But where’s

spaced, alienated. Dwelling among lost and lifeless souls

my chance for a pleasurable piece of the American pie? It’s

that soothe my hopeless heart. My self-loathing intensified,

getting stronger, the feelings are staying longer, and I’m

hateful and distraught feelings are constant companions. I

blinking out of existence like a candle in early morning.

have lost grip on reality—twisted and pulled.

Laying under a grave, no longer wanting this life. But why is it so hard for me, why must I fight? When you say H.I.V.,

I am weak, the hunted, my very existence has been raped

what do that mean for me now, am I worth loving still or do

and polluted—show me death and I’ll salute it. My days are

I pass without a sound?

Then he said to me, them dreams will never come

He entices me, stimulating me mentally and giving me

counting down. Life drains from me as blood from a wound;

true—try these pleasures, this anger, this drug, this loot.

everything that I think should be mine, but shouldn’t I be

I’m dying but never too soon. So much pain there, nothing

Who cares for the down and out, who cares I say? Why

Bound to salute this demon within me, I’m shackled in

righteous sometime? Being so nice to me—can I trust

to retain. I can’t let go because I need my pain…to feel and

should anyone, isn’t that the American way? Who has the

thought—no reasons, no faults. Yearning for that next

him at all? I’m drugged with desire, like I’m overdosed

maintain, to see if I’m still alive. I need my anger by my side.

right to fuck my shit up but me, who can tell me who I was

high, that rush, looking always for what I can never sup-

on Tylenol. But I need him to get to that place. The Key

I’m growing numb. I’m seeing dark—the lights are lowering.

myself? Don’t dare say you got love for a brother, because

ply. I think I’m in trouble. I’m falling, then I’m saved; he

Master can always have his place—by my side, every

I am in a box. Is there any of me left? Or am I near death?

if I don’t love who I am, then I do not love anyone else!

always has my back—I can sin all day, and murder, and

night. Get me high. I want to fly. To the end—but

My thoughts are possessed by lust and sadness—doubt,

rob myself—my spirit, my mind—masking out with a

where’s that? I don’t care; I need smack. I’m in danger;

anger, and rage—I’m driven into madness. I’m a push-

I struggle internally to unlock the powers of joy, but the

I’ve lost to this demon. Now he’s the boss. I want to

button figure; I can’t regain control. The room is spinning;

harder I fight, the deeper my void. How do I recover from a

escape. I want to die. But do me a favor—get me high.

my despair is on patrol. I can’t move. My eyes are seeing

shattered state? Day by day, they say, but I can see no

red and my limbs are dead.

other way. In a dark place of utter fright I fight, while sur-

vengeance the moon, the day, the sun, the time. He had my mind intertwined with his wicked state of

ever meant to be? Who can hate me more than I hate

rounded by love and still unable to see the light. I’m all

crime—he’s my boy, my next-of-kin; he’ll be there to tell

There’s no saving you—you’re like me, I say. Deranged,

you there’s room for sin. High on destruction, high on

no doubt strange, with no power to maintain. You com-

pain, I don’t know where I am, not even my name. What

plete my life’s work—you, your people, even your man,

the right to take away my world; am I the only one or do he

about harm reduction—now what’s that? This isn’t a

Cain. Your mind, your soul will never remain, for your

put the moves on his baby girl? I can feel the beat of my

I can’t take it anymore; I’m about to scream—like in one of

game; now that’s insane! You need me to endure—you

brain will never accept anything but my pain. I aim to

heart viciously thumping through my body like a beacon in

those Hollywood dramatic movie scenes: when people are

need not stay pure. For within my kingdom, there’s no

destroy you mentally and remove you certainly from the

the dark. What am I going through? What’s happening to

getting ready to die and try to shout, fear gets the best of

such thing as a cure, or promise, or strength and ambi-

kingdom of bliss. I pour suffering and danger down on

my world? Whose life am I living? I am in a whirl.

them and brings the inevitable end about. Oh lord, where

tion. Give me one day and you’ll start wishing for pain,

you and you’ll assent. Are you stupid? Couldn’t you tell?

to die, to get high and comply with my demons for as

I’m that demon within you. Welcome to Hell.

long as you can stand. You need to wake up, because

John Benknockee

I’m the man!

When you say H.I.V., what do that mean? Do I just lie down

alone. The dead call out to me, the dying are pushing me;

and die, or does death stalk me like a fiend? Who gave him

my life is a blur, like my unforeseen destiny.

are you? Are you within sight? My soul needs touching, my Is there’s an answer out there—does anyone know? I say,

heart needs your might. I’ve held on; holding on for too

don’t hold back—let it flow! I’m in mental bondage, carry-

long. Searching for a true path with a spirit that is only half.

ing an endless pit of disappointment on my back and

Incomplete, false—help me lord, for I am lost.

instead of cutting my chains, I polish them with misguided pride and a fat sack of smack. How much easier things

John Benknockee

Situations

LOOKS Everything that looks good may not be so good. Just because it looks good doesn’t mean that it is good. Just because it shines doesn’t mean it’s gold. He looks rich, but he’s homeless. She looks nice, but she’s a demon. Don’t be too quick to judge.

I LIVE MY LIFE IN STAGES My Mama always gave me what I wanted— ten thousand people watching. There was no responsibility. Sometimes I acted good and sometimes I acted the fool— ten thousand people watching. And then again, there was no responsibility. I went to school, always trying to be cool— ten thousand people watching. And still yet, there was no responsibility. Now, Lord, I’m in the streets— ten thousand people watching. Don’t know which way to turn— where are you at now, Mama? Still with no responsibility?

Look deep in yourself.

Eric D. Miller

I am a black man.

Eric:

I am a gay black man…

Eric and Sean: …who loves a gay black man. Sean:

I live in Brooklyn.

Eric:

I live in Brooklyn on Church Avenue.

Sean:

On Church Avenue—my beautiful furniture.

Sean:

My white refrigerator and white stove.

Eric:

On Church Avenue are many churches.

If I fuck up with my friends— being disrespectful—they’ll kick my ass with ten thousand people watching. Responsibility.

Sean:

And many churches are filled…

Eric:

…are filled with evil and judgmental people.

Sean:

A pastor calls me ‘botty boy.’

If I talk on the phone and don’t pay the bill, they cut the phone off— ten thousand people watching. Responsibility.

Eric:

A pastor—he’s a botty boy himself, uncoverly.

Sean:

I turn the key to my house, enter,

So now, Mama, I learned. Responsibility is the proper way—no sugar-coating. I live my life in stages. Ten thousand people watching. Responsibility, love, and respect. Ten thousand people watching. I live my life in stages.

Eric D. Miller 48

Sean:

I sit and talk on my white telephone.

Don’t pay your rent—they put you out. And you know—ten thousand people will be watching. Responsibility.

Situations

I am a man.

Eric:

Don’t be worrying about your problem because of the way it looks.

Eric:

So…I tell myself, Self, open your eyes! The streets taught you better than Mama… responsibility.

You’ll be walking around today and be gone tomorrow.

I AM A MAN

Eric’s peace I see. Eric:

Pastor walks in his house. It’s his wife he sees.

Sean:

Wishes she was a man.

Eric and Sean:

A young, black man.

Eric:

This is real on Church Avenue.

Sean:

An avenue with no true church.

Eric D. Miller and Sean Evans Situations

Look deep in yourself.

Eric D. Miller

I am a black man.

Eric:

I am a gay black man…

Eric and Sean: …who loves a gay black man. Sean:

I live in Brooklyn.

Eric:

I live in Brooklyn on Church Avenue.

Sean:

On Church Avenue—my beautiful furniture.

Sean:

My white refrigerator and white stove.

Eric:

On Church Avenue are many churches.

If I fuck up with my friends— being disrespectful—they’ll kick my ass with ten thousand people watching. Responsibility.

Sean:

And many churches are filled…

Eric:

…are filled with evil and judgmental people.

Sean:

A pastor calls me ‘botty boy.’

If I talk on the phone and don’t pay the bill, they cut the phone off— ten thousand people watching. Responsibility.

Eric:

A pastor—he’s a botty boy himself, uncoverly.

Sean:

I turn the key to my house, enter,

Eric D. Miller 48

Sean:

I sit and talk on my white telephone.

Don’t pay your rent—they put you out. And you know—ten thousand people will be watching. Responsibility.

Situations

I am a man.

Eric:

Don’t be worrying about your problem because of the way it looks.

Eric:

So…I tell myself, Self, open your eyes! The streets taught you better than Mama… responsibility.

You’ll be walking around today and be gone tomorrow.

I AM A MAN

Eric’s peace I see. Eric:

Pastor walks in his house. It’s his wife he sees.

Sean:

Wishes she was a man.

Eric and Sean:

A young, black man.

Eric:

This is real on Church Avenue.

Sean:

An avenue with no true church.

Eric D. Miller and Sean Evans Situations

“LOVE THE WORLD”

WWW.MATTEOINVENTORY.COM

What does it mean, “Love the world”?

The world today—his own environment—

Love men, nature, animals?

is more or less a victim of what is happening,

With this poem, I invite you to reflect

with all kinds of disease and very little happiness

on the ambiguity of the love

like good health, honesty, and so on.

man brings to his environment.

Let’s see me personally through this inventory: It has already been twelve years that I am no longer totally free.

Man declares his love only in words, but the reality is different.

Always busy with different appointments, different doctors, different tests— it has become a torturous routine.

You say: Love the world. But you destroy it.

Almost every day I have to face the unpleasant news, often I am angry, with a lot of frustration. Moral help is very rare. It’s very common, the saying, “Help yourself.”

You say: Love men.

The happiness of yesteryear is gone. But you don’t understand them.

In these real moments I am writing my memory. Something comes to mind—that one day

You say: Love the woods (forests). But you destroy them with a blow of the ax.

(I don’t remember when) I saw a magazine on a stand. I looked, I took, I started to read the first page and the last words at the end of the editorial

You say: Love the animals. But you enslave them.

totally changed my feelings—it encouraged me. Since that day, I have not been the same person. I became someone else with a different way of thinking.

If now you still say you love me, I am afraid.

Who am I today? The same person with a different perspective— more courageous, not afraid of anything,

Matteo N. Delgrosso

ready to give the best advice I can, better prepared to deal with society, to face up to my life. I am somebody, still living day to day. Today, I am alive. Who knows about tomorrow? And the words that changed my way of living are, “You are not alone.”

Matteo N. Delgrosso

Situations

“LOVE THE WORLD”

WWW.MATTEOINVENTORY.COM

What does it mean, “Love the world”?

The world today—his own environment—

Love men, nature, animals?

is more or less a victim of what is happening,

With this poem, I invite you to reflect

with all kinds of disease and very little happiness

on the ambiguity of the love

like good health, honesty, and so on.

man brings to his environment.

Let’s see me personally through this inventory: It has already been twelve years that I am no longer totally free.

Man declares his love only in words, but the reality is different.

Always busy with different appointments, different doctors, different tests— it has become a torturous routine.

You say: Love the world. But you destroy it.

Almost every day I have to face the unpleasant news, often I am angry, with a lot of frustration. Moral help is very rare. It’s very common, the saying, “Help yourself.”

You say: Love men.

The happiness of yesteryear is gone. But you don’t understand them.

In these real moments I am writing my memory. Something comes to mind—that one day

You say: Love the woods (forests). But you destroy them with a blow of the ax.

(I don’t remember when) I saw a magazine on a stand. I looked, I took, I started to read the first page and the last words at the end of the editorial

You say: Love the animals. But you enslave them.

totally changed my feelings—it encouraged me. Since that day, I have not been the same person. I became someone else with a different way of thinking.

If now you still say you love me, I am afraid.

Who am I today? The same person with a different perspective— more courageous, not afraid of anything,

Matteo N. Delgrosso

Situations

RESPECT IS MY ATTITUDE Please don’t litter.

CLOSE MY EYES Here I lay,

The city is like your home.

the ruins of what’s left of a day. Less than ordinary, not very exciting at all.

Please practice cell phone etiquette.

Yet so very exasperating.

Keep your private life private! I close my eyes, Please don’t cut off the cars,

resting them after a day of training them on the world,

block driveways, or cut in car lines.

battered, abused, and beaten by the Madison Avenue scene,

Relax…life is short…let’s be civilized. Please hold the door for the person behind you. No one likes a slammed door in their face.

the sparkle and strange chatter of a stranger. My feet lay limp and lifeless after hours of supporting my cigarette habit and blazing old trails. Tired from taking me from one adventure to another they can’t see.

Please give up your seat on public transportation— To the elderly, handicapped, and mothers with babies.

Wondering how they can walk a mile in another man’s shoes

THE DIRECTOR’S WORD

when they can barely stand to go a few more feet in what they’re in now. So this is what it feels like to be god.

Please don’t spit on our sidewalks and streets. You know it’s unhealthy…not to mention gross. Please do pick up after your dogs.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I summon my powers—the producers, writers,

Good dreams tonight I hope I reap.

camera men and actor. In no time, I’m creating

Dreams not of what might be but what might have been.

a universe. I carve the mountains in each

How the day might have gone had I only stayed in one place.

character’s path. The day and the night

When was the last time you enjoyed stepping in it?

come and go at my command. Had I let the world come and find me today,

Please don’t curse in public. Teach children well. The city is a home to everyone from everywhere

would old friends have stopped by? Would I have been killed?

I am the director almighty. My will be

Would I have been cast in a movie where I run naked

done. Thou shalt be no prima donna higher

through a desert speaking nonsensical French?

than me, for I am a vengeful and jealous director.

Or at the very least, not be so tired as I am now?

I giveth your career life and I can taketh it away.

and we enjoy so many different types of music— But not noise pollution.

David DeSilva

For this brief moment in time, I am god. I am held up on high as my meager underlings

Don’t forget to say “excuse me” or “please” and “thank you”— Courtesy should be our common language.

tremble at my feet. My every command is law. This universe that I create, that I bring to life in the final cut—a universe that came to life

Matteo N. Delgrosso

when I let there be lights, camera, action.

David DeSilva

Situations

RESPECT IS MY ATTITUDE Please don’t litter.

CLOSE MY EYES Here I lay,

The city is like your home.

the ruins of what’s left of a day. Less than ordinary, not very exciting at all.

Please practice cell phone etiquette.

Yet so very exasperating.

Keep your private life private! I close my eyes, Please don’t cut off the cars,

resting them after a day of training them on the world,

block driveways, or cut in car lines.

battered, abused, and beaten by the Madison Avenue scene,

Relax…life is short…let’s be civilized. Please hold the door for the person behind you. No one likes a slammed door in their face.

Please give up your seat on public transportation— To the elderly, handicapped, and mothers with babies.

Wondering how they can walk a mile in another man’s shoes

THE DIRECTOR’S WORD

when they can barely stand to go a few more feet in what they’re in now. So this is what it feels like to be god.

Please don’t spit on our sidewalks and streets. You know it’s unhealthy…not to mention gross. Please do pick up after your dogs.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I summon my powers—the producers, writers,

Good dreams tonight I hope I reap.

camera men and actor. In no time, I’m creating

Dreams not of what might be but what might have been.

a universe. I carve the mountains in each

How the day might have gone had I only stayed in one place.

character’s path. The day and the night

When was the last time you enjoyed stepping in it?

come and go at my command. Had I let the world come and find me today,

Please don’t curse in public. Teach children well. The city is a home to everyone from everywhere

would old friends have stopped by? Would I have been killed?

I am the director almighty. My will be

Would I have been cast in a movie where I run naked

done. Thou shalt be no prima donna higher

through a desert speaking nonsensical French?

than me, for I am a vengeful and jealous director.

Or at the very least, not be so tired as I am now?

I giveth your career life and I can taketh it away.

and we enjoy so many different types of music— But not noise pollution.

David DeSilva

For this brief moment in time, I am god. I am held up on high as my meager underlings

Don’t forget to say “excuse me” or “please” and “thank you”— Courtesy should be our common language.

tremble at my feet. My every command is law. This universe that I create, that I bring to life in the final cut—a universe that came to life

Matteo N. Delgrosso

when I let there be lights, camera, action.

David DeSilva

Situations

A FREE MOVIE PASS

NEW LIFE

Getting there is the easy way—

Shake off your sadness

standing, standing

and recover your spirituality.

waiting, waiting You’ve been in this rut of pain long enough.

till the time comes for me to get a free movie pass.

It’s time to brush off your heels and start the work that is very much needed.

Hurry, hurry— first come, first serve.

For death only comes to the one who gives up!

Don’t get there late or you will have to wait.

But life comes to the ones who spread themselves like seeds in a field, where they can nourish and grow.

It’s funny, you know, looking forward at the person in front of me…

Clyde C.

Oh no! He just let someone cut in line! Keep calm. Don’t fuss over it.

GUILT, DESIRE, AND LOVE

Because it is a free movie pass. Oh no! Another one cut in line! I yelled, “In the back, buddy!” He yelled back, “Kiss my ass!” “Oh no he didn’t,” I responded.

Sometimes it’s hard to understand certain feelings that one has in life. I mean, it’s hard to grasp why someone sometimes feels

We exchanged words toward each other

the same feelings for people of the opposite sex.

until it was too late…

If you are a man, people say that you should love women.

before we knew it, no more tickets.

And if you are a woman, people say that you should love men.

I was pissed, but I can’t be because it was, in fact, a free movie pass.

MOVIES

If you listen to what other people say Popcorn sound

Dawn McKnight

But what if that’s not the case?

big screen

free tickets of the movie I get away happy

and live according to their feelings and not your own,

the darkness

you will surely get wrapped up in their crazy world

comfy chairs

quietness

feel the effects

feels like I’m inside

the fact that

forget all your problems

I like the coming attractions

Dawn McKnight

Situations

of guilt, desire, and love.

makes me

So I say, live life according to your own feelings. Live life free from other people’s ideas about guilt, desire, and love.

Clyde C.

Situations

A FREE MOVIE PASS

NEW LIFE

Getting there is the easy way—

Shake off your sadness

standing, standing

and recover your spirituality.

waiting, waiting You’ve been in this rut of pain long enough.

till the time comes for me to get a free movie pass.

It’s time to brush off your heels and start the work that is very much needed.

Hurry, hurry— first come, first serve.

For death only comes to the one who gives up!

Don’t get there late or you will have to wait.

But life comes to the ones who spread themselves like seeds in a field, where they can nourish and grow.

It’s funny, you know, looking forward at the person in front of me…

Clyde C.

Oh no! He just let someone cut in line! Keep calm. Don’t fuss over it.

GUILT, DESIRE, AND LOVE

Because it is a free movie pass. Oh no! Another one cut in line! I yelled, “In the back, buddy!” He yelled back, “Kiss my ass!” “Oh no he didn’t,” I responded.

Sometimes it’s hard to understand certain feelings that one has in life. I mean, it’s hard to grasp why someone sometimes feels

We exchanged words toward each other

the same feelings for people of the opposite sex.

until it was too late…

If you are a man, people say that you should love women.

before we knew it, no more tickets.

And if you are a woman, people say that you should love men.

I was pissed, but I can’t be because it was, in fact, a free movie pass.

MOVIES

If you listen to what other people say Popcorn sound

Dawn McKnight

But what if that’s not the case?

big screen

free tickets of the movie I get away happy

and live according to their feelings and not your own,

the darkness

you will surely get wrapped up in their crazy world

comfy chairs

quietness

feel the effects

feels like I’m inside

the fact that

forget all your problems

I like the coming attractions

Dawn McKnight

Situations

of guilt, desire, and love.

makes me

So I say, live life according to your own feelings. Live life free from other people’s ideas about guilt, desire, and love.

Clyde C.

Situations

I CAN’T WAIT

YOU…YOU…

The pilot says,

I just want to live

“We are now landing in Puerto Rico,

and at every instance

I hope you have enjoyed your flight.”

you take away more of my time—

You step into the terminal

in seconds, minutes, and hours

and the heat is overwhelming. Then the breezes, gentle and caressing

YOU KNOW ME, TOO!

and you adjust.

I have beseeched and bartered and begged Can I have this summer?

you know me. You want to just

Can you leave me alone, just this once?

I’m that very pissed-off person

jump into a cab

I’m tired of your constant nagging

and say,

you know me

“To the beach!

by now,

Just leave me the fuck alone. the ravages of the disease

As soon as he lets you out,

monté

kicking off your shoes,

you know me sometimes I just want to give up

Running into the surf, making love to that sun.

In 1987, I tested positive for HIV. I believed it was the end of life as I knew it. I was right. With a great many changes, trial and error and adjustments I have made it thus far. I believed the medication to be more deadly than the virus. I believed they invented this as a form of genocide for those deviants— those IV drug users and homosexuals. I believed they have a cure. I still believe and I’m just waiting.

oh, so tired

monté

I believe they may have been right about my diagnosis.

19 year later

I’m tired tired

I can’t wait.

Get out. You…You…

are screaming out my name

you run to the water

You know

I believed it was a mistake.

Who needs it?

I’ll pick up my luggage later.”

taking off all of the New York cares and worries.

your constant 2 cents.

VOICES FROM 13TH STREET

God, give me strength

monté

to last another day so that more can get to know me

monté

Situations

I CAN’T WAIT

YOU…YOU…

The pilot says,

I just want to live

“We are now landing in Puerto Rico,

and at every instance

I hope you have enjoyed your flight.”

you take away more of my time—

You step into the terminal

in seconds, minutes, and hours

and the heat is overwhelming. Then the breezes, gentle and caressing

YOU KNOW ME, TOO!

and you adjust.

I have beseeched and bartered and begged Can I have this summer?

you know me. You want to just

Can you leave me alone, just this once?

I’m that very pissed-off person

jump into a cab

I’m tired of your constant nagging

and say,

you know me

“To the beach!

by now,

Just leave me the fuck alone. the ravages of the disease

As soon as he lets you out,

monté

kicking off your shoes,

you know me sometimes I just want to give up

Running into the surf, making love to that sun.

oh, so tired

monté

I believe they may have been right about my diagnosis.

19 year later

I’m tired tired

I can’t wait.

Get out. You…You…

are screaming out my name

you run to the water

You know

I believed it was a mistake.

Who needs it?

I’ll pick up my luggage later.”

taking off all of the New York cares and worries.

your constant 2 cents.

VOICES FROM 13TH STREET

God, give me strength

monté

to last another day so that more can get to know me

monté

Situations

MASTER THIEF

MY SECRET PLACE

It steals again and again

It is soft, warm, beautiful and safe.

Despite silent alarm

Deep within my Secret Place.

guarded, and

In here, the air is oh so rare.

armed

I dream my dreams without a care. I can ride astride a great white whale

It steals

and catch a streaking comet by its red-hot tail. out from the dark

I’ll pay Ol’ Man Moon a visit

into the deep

and we’ll laugh a streak of blue.

EYES

Slick, quiet, quick A thief It steals again and again It chooses who, what, where, and when

Size you up

I’ll wear a gown of Velvet Sky

looking…looking…for

and adorn my hair with Stars.

signs and symptoms

My soul is free

looking for skeletons

my spirit is sweet

wearing grey-tinged skins

I dance on air

looking for cheeks and eye sockets sunken in

that tickles my feet.

looking for splashes of rashes

I’ll roam the entire Universe,

It steals

then fly toward home base. into the dark

Eyes

Soon again to be safe

out from the deep

size you up

in my warm, soft, Secret Place.

looking…for…that look…that says

My Secret Place is not hard to find.

HIV…AIDS

I reside on the Path of Eternal Time.

Quiet, quick, slick That master thief,

Just look for the Rainbow Bridge and cross over. Grief.

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

Does he? Does she? Do they? Do you? Do I?

Ascend the Crystal Stairs.

have HIV…AIDS?

Enter the Heart of the Nova. Sound the Diamond Gong.

Eyes

Swing wide the Golden Gate.

size you up. Looking carefully…and

I’ll say: Welcome, Friend.

carefully look

Please come on in

away.

to my warm, soft, Secret Place.

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

and make Heavenly Love to you. Tonight, as the Guest of Honor at a party on Mars

on cat feet

Situations

Then I’ll lay you down upon a floating cloud

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

Situations

MASTER THIEF

MY SECRET PLACE

It steals again and again

It is soft, warm, beautiful and safe.

Despite silent alarm

Deep within my Secret Place.

guarded, and

In here, the air is oh so rare.

armed

I dream my dreams without a care. I can ride astride a great white whale

It steals

and catch a streaking comet by its red-hot tail. out from the dark

I’ll pay Ol’ Man Moon a visit

into the deep

and we’ll laugh a streak of blue.

EYES

Slick, quiet, quick A thief It steals again and again It chooses who, what, where, and when

Size you up

I’ll wear a gown of Velvet Sky

looking…looking…for

and adorn my hair with Stars.

signs and symptoms

My soul is free

looking for skeletons

my spirit is sweet

wearing grey-tinged skins

I dance on air

looking for cheeks and eye sockets sunken in

that tickles my feet.

looking for splashes of rashes

I’ll roam the entire Universe,

It steals

then fly toward home base. into the dark

Eyes

Soon again to be safe

out from the deep

size you up

in my warm, soft, Secret Place.

looking…for…that look…that says

My Secret Place is not hard to find.

HIV…AIDS

I reside on the Path of Eternal Time.

Quiet, quick, slick That master thief,

Just look for the Rainbow Bridge and cross over. Grief.

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

Does he? Does she? Do they? Do you? Do I?

Ascend the Crystal Stairs.

have HIV…AIDS?

Enter the Heart of the Nova. Sound the Diamond Gong.

Eyes

Swing wide the Golden Gate.

size you up. Looking carefully…and

I’ll say: Welcome, Friend.

carefully look

Please come on in

away.

to my warm, soft, Secret Place.

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

and make Heavenly Love to you. Tonight, as the Guest of Honor at a party on Mars

on cat feet

Situations

Then I’ll lay you down upon a floating cloud

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

Situations

WHY?? Why do I write prose and poetry? What significance do the words hold? How do I distinguish what is correct or incorrect? Is it all about an emotion, a thought of the mind in motion, a beat of the heart, or a note of music to the soul? Why do I try to express what I feel in words that rhyme, where from time to time the words can be out of context? Where do all the words come from and why do I torture my soul to provide meaning for their existence? Why? Why? Why? There are so many questions, yet we cannot distinguish how everyone views the words and notes, knowing that each individual has a different mindset and understanding of the reading in their own way. Why do I continue to write down blurs of the imagination, words that fly relentlessly through my entire being? Why, so that I may be analyzed, criticized, or amorously endeavored in some else’s life other than my own? The “why” is continuous. The “why” is endless. The “why” is meaningful. The “why” is the center of my critical view of self and the softness of my every surrounding.

Wamiq ‘Ali Abdus Sabur Situations

helping many, one by one AIDS Service Center NYC 41 East 11th Street, New York, NY 10003

(212) 645-0875

fax: 645-0705

www.ascnyc.org

EIGHT Writings from the AIDS Service Center NYC Creative Writing Workshop Issue No. 8 September 2005

Situations 8

Articles inside

Poems by Dawn McKnight

Poems by David DeSilva

Poems by Matteo N. Delgrosso

Poem by Eric D. Miller and Sean Evans

Poems by Eric D. Miller

Poems by John Benknockee

Poems by Gene A. Barclay

Poems by Sherry P

Poems by Ivey Cherry

Poems by Shurland H. Aird

Poem by Kent Jackson

Poems by Bobby Weekfall

Poems by Diane Dawson

Poems by Theresa Ilardi

Poems by Iris Elizabeth Sankey

Poems by Ruth Bryant

Poems by Luther Jarman

Poems by Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Poems by Michael L. Snead

Poems by Lorenzo Murphy