WHAT’S THE NEW NEWS
Third Ward
“If you’re not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.” -- Malcolm X
“If you’re not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.” -- Malcolm X
Yesterday
Yesterday
Today
Today
Tomorrow
Tomorrow
Closing the gap by fnding the truth with poems and raps for more info go to whatsnewnews.org
Closing the gap by fnding the truth with poems and raps for more info go to whatsnewnews.org
FREE
2nd Man Escapes: Burglary Suspect Killed When Surgeon Shoots Through Door: Police
Untitled , 2011 ©
Ayanna Jolivet Mccloud
In her sweaty palm, she held the mirror closely to her neck. In it but her past, which would be no longer. She took a deep breath, hold it, hold it, hold it, gun shot in the air. Broken mirror slips from her wet palms. Gone with it goes her past and present in unhinged pieces.
With the hollowness of her body, she ran with rhythm like no other. Her thick legs took her to places with deep scum and which hardened on her body like a protective coat of armor. Through the forests of Texas and trees, she ran, which echoed of memories of necks which hung limply from the twigs. Their spirits tripped her and hugged her tightly to lightly stop her breathing and give her new life to keep running for the other side. It was for the other side she ran. A thick line divided the past from an untouched future. For the other side, she ran through the deep circles of wind that gave breath to tiny hurricanes and knocked her off her core. Strangers from her past caught her in the race and tripped her. And their cousins guided her to mistepped courses off path from the race. But she wiped her tangled tears which weave a web of struggle around her body. The cotton absorbed this web and she ran. She ran through the borders which only existed in human minds, but were so real.
In the wind blew, forgotten memories, buried secrets, tongue written shadows, and the doom of time that they chose to disregard. And never remember. From earth to grave to womb her bare feet ran. She ran and was scooped up and digested by the earths. She was born again and again. The race of her life she ran, running further from this world until the echoed gun shot rang no more.
Program Proves Valuable in Redirecting Inner-City Youth
Untitled © Kenya “Mumbles Medina” Evans
No pressure to hold, no rest for the soul... I’m blessed to just be. With no hidden fees, I’ll share the recipe. My family tree? Grass rooted, strong branches paragraphed through thick limbs and sick hymns to the boot of the Timbs. It’s elevation ‘cause, “Him downstairs.” Constant daily meditation for patience, ‘cause them don’t care. With rims on stare, I bare with the glare now I’m golden eye. Double-O my seven ‘cause i want to fy. Sky’s no limit, rhyme so timid, then I hemor-
rhage on the after. Spot lights are aiming at the actors. Fashion the rapture until we gather, straighten-up your tie; poked in the cummerbund with pistols... remember where we come from? Look to the exit, no need to run from... we all had hope of copping beach front so Ma could sip a cold one. Feet propped up, become an old one. Dad didn’t make it. My heart starts quaking when I picture that. Lonesome. Ten years later the thoughts are closer. Don’t spark that doja! That time is over, rolling coasting sipping Folgers. Bolder from the caffeine fx, sport a patch for the nicotine itch... fve prayers turns on the life-switch.
Economics prof taught at TSU for 30+ years
Oh My God ©
Phillip Pyles I
A women waits for the 42, her child has to pee, he choses the side of the church.
Oh my God
Oh my God...Busta Rhymes voice
Man stabbed in park, his pockets are searched, the change in his pocket purchases a sweet, the remains lay where his body once was
Oh my God
Oh my God...Busta Rhymes voice
The library is closed.
Oh my God
Oh my God...Busta Rhymes voice
p.2
Men walking through Third Ward and clean up the community
Women’s Art Represents Community
How Sad is She © Tyres Bryant, 2005
The little one who can’t stand
Submissive to her mother’s fears
She reaches out her hands
Praying she can catch the yellow sun again…
Before she’s burned
She sits on the plank
Trying to keep her balance
But her burdens…….they gravitate
She refuses to fall back
And plunge into the dead sea
Ohhhhhhh How Sad is She
That dark place is really
Tired of calling her name
She runs like youthful ones do
She steps on the stool but She afraid the fence will Catch her at the knees
Defense brings her to her knees
She prays for an understanding of the plan
She learned to follow by example Fill in the missing pieces
Excavate the living will
She Breathes
Silence sulks in her pillows
She wants to sing but she doesn’t know
The words…so she hums
She Blinks…Swallows and Lets go of the tears
Her heart is flled with this Foreign substance called hate
She stares a hole into its very existence
Stronger
The miles no longer matter
She reaches for the yellow sun
Before she gets burned
How Sad is She?
No longer afraid to plunge into
The dead sea
Generational curses can say their goodbyes
That dark place is tired of calling her name
No longer a memberance of her mother’s fears
How Sad is She….
Third Ward Woman Has Music in Her Veins
Sinfonia in H tx 3r d Movement © leaves caught in an Aria fy up on Cleburne
Ennis winds turn, against Gentrifcation
as if Treemonisha inverted the world
Upside down she’s an ancestor in a cloud, with more gravity than earth
Orchestras Bee formed of honeycombed melodies sweet Scott Joplin maple ebonies, one in the Chamber music
Rag---Time parties like SilkScarves--Rolexes music and style reminding youth of Context, we didn’t just dance
composed symphonies with Cosmological mysteries deep rooted within history, ask Le Chevalier de Saint-Georges
TSU is cantata of legacy accompanied by an Ocean of Soul
Anne Lundy brought even more to behold, this “beautiful world”
Symphonic hues of maroon and silver kiss at twilight shotgun house porch conversations laughing til midnight, among elders with hydroponic night lights
Michael K Taylor, ask Pulitzer 1976 p. 3
girl near tree and swing
Danielle Burns, Lovie Olivia, Ann Johnson and Rabe’a Ballin
discuss The Roux show at HMACC
For Houston Schools, College Claims Exceed Reality
Prison Poem © Phillip PyIes II
When you think of Third Ward what comes to mind?
The current neglected community or ancestors from a forgotten time. What would Jack Yates have to say about the high school with his name
The graduation rate alone would make him go insane.
Good thing for him, he is long gone from this place
Walking down Live Oak his spirit leaves its trace
Blessing those that wish to return the Trey to what it once stood for A proud place where dreams could soar, where friends opened banks, and people never settled they demanded for more. I sound like a negro in prison that is writing my frst poem, but i am free in Third Ward or am I?
Fan hits right note for Houston blues legend
A passion for Sam ‘Lightnin’ Hopkins leads to a state marker honoring the Houston icon and his music BLUES IN THE TRE’ ©
Egie Ighile
De blues it don’ git more downhome. Lone Star dirt under ma shoes. Southern twang and country swang a’howling on Dowling. G’head now, pretty mama! Bend fuh me while I bend dese notes on dis here guitar. Tonight I got ma gin and ma mojo hand and dere ain’t no botheration gonna bother me. Swing mine, baby, and I’ll swing yours! Sho’ you right, mama! A lil’ sumthin’ from Po’ Lightnin’. A lil’ pinch make you wail. Gee’yuh dat mooaaaan, like Lemon used ta say. “Boy, you betta play it right!” he tell me. Way back now. He never learned me a note. But I was playing with him when I was eight years old. Long ways we went together. Been hustlin’ ever since. Never was born with a dime. Nothin’. Just de blues. Wasn’t nothin’ fuh me plowing dat mule in a one horse town. So I hobo out Centerville. Take a freight train to be my friend. Been ever’where a po’ man can go from de chain gang to Tokyo. I play my guitar, catch a song from de air. Just me and de blues. Because de blues is with you ever’day and ever’where. Dey tell me, “Lightnin’, you just talking dat jive.” But I ain’t. Hell, can’t nobody tell Lightnin’ about no guitar. I learned all dem sons of bitches how to play! Yeah, you feel it, mama. Dat’s right. Move yourself on over here. Mmhmm! C’mon now. Lawd have mercy!
p. 4
Woman fghts crime in Third Ward area
Char lene Pr iester © Michael K Taylor, June 1980
Somewhere . . . between Herman Park and 45 Lies a Truth.
Statistical proof
sidewalk chalk outlines defne a 1980 that lately refects a warzone home to mothers and hustlers alike a 3rd Ward Night might bring out the vampires
6 murders 6 rapes
District 16 gleams with police lights Red and Blue Hues strobe the White streets with no clues as to who Or why
High pitched reapercussions are louder than low convictions leaving no witness just stitches for snitches and a blues song for an El Dorado winter night
50 robberies 26 aggravated assaults
side walk chalk outlines my mind fear is like a prison cell bringing hell to heaven
dreams unleavened
Waiting on a Messiah that’s been waiting on Us.
Somewhere . . . between Main St and the East End Resides a Truth
51,319 human beings
91 percent of them being segregated
invisible men
American trapped in a microcosm where poverty and prosperity kiss near a South MacGregor intersection
240 burglaries 248 thefts
Right at the end comes a cue to Resurrect. to date
no halt
What’s Left
Like Father, Like Son
Mr . Rain © Nathaniel Donnett
I try to ventilate my mental then innovate, rapid growth the capital of my state of mind is overpopulated. although, although, although my brain breezes out cloudiness of what you call over crowdedness. Often what happens is baby blue, baby blue?
baby blue skies turning grayish skies feeling trapped in spaces liquifying faces drizzling glass grins, until the last laugh cracks then rain droplets become toxic, topics, outta focus of fame when the fash lens dims
im- mediately, feeling free, buildings be come tombstones of the living dead. mindless mental spread, killing spree.
As the raindrops on my back like African spears, I feel you should know I’m your beginning, middle, end of your tomorrow why you take bites outta my life, I fnd your’s quite hard to swallow Mr. Rain why would you abort your only child, leave your mother nature out there on welfare
trying to get a job, son has no father fgure, pulls a trigger tries to rob looks in the mirror and says you’re not my daddy mother says he is your daddy son says he’s not my daddy mother says he is your daddy son says he’s not my daddyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
I try to ventilate my mental then innovate, rapid growth the capital of my state of mind is over populated, although, although although my brain breezes out cloudiness there is no longer over crowdedness
there is now sun with baby blue, baby blue, baby blue, sunshine with baby blue skies
sunshine with baby blue skies, sunshine, sunshine, the sun shines the sun shines the sun…. shines, the Son……………... Shines
p. 5
Waiting For Justice
Untitled ©
Kenya “ Mumbles Medina” Evans
I don’t aspire to be a complainer, I don’t tire of being a remainder of sorts for positive force. Batteries not included, but that’s diluted with pocket knives, polluted our lives. Watch the sky in case a rocket dives. Marginalize the worth of my folks. It’s net worth that they gross. Supply demands that I get treated like a man. Greeted like a fan standing for hours in the cold holding every single release, but they don’t mingle with geeks. My days are simple but they see them as weak. I occasionally speak. Activate the mic, I’ll rage on the beat. It’s not the same to self- proclaim I’m a beast. I’m not ashamed to be meek, but like Prometheus, consumed by the eagle’s beak? Wait! That’s not mumz. I want but don’t depend on funds. It goes as quick as it comes. They chose their God but shirk’s not right for me. I’m worth a better life, akhi. Drop to knees, forehead cracks the earth’s surface... shift tectonic plates with earnest. My purpose is... I chose a simple life. Brought along my kids and wife.
“Good night! Your job’s well done.”
We still have slums and violent rhymes with no purpose. Let the monkeys out the cage and center stage the view just looks like a circus. But I just talk about it. Mumble disdain, right now the “Z” is silent like a Christmas night, holy treat. Days of the weak, I gaze when I sleep. R.apid E.ye M.ovement. The rhyme’s congruent with my groove, kid, so move your feet.
If you feel me, put your hands to the sky. I don’t know why... sometimes I cry when the days go by. Don’t ask why, it’s like “She’s passing me by”. Days of the weak, days when they sleep, days when I freak... feel me.
A student of my past, the pen and pad recounts the story. Denounced the glory for a spot in the shade. I dropped my joy in the spot where I laid, returned to claim it but the over brush caught fames, a vacant lot now remains. I know the plot, so I know who’s to blame. Don’t point your glock if you don’t know where to aim. On some David Blaine, now you see me now you don’t, but don’t say my name. The children are sleeping... I’m a warrior on the weekend. Peeking through the blinds to have a good time. I heard their rhyme, too bad they don’t have the shine. Only 60 watts, dim witted. They’re either B.I.G. or Pac, slim pickens. I quit drinking way before I had a record deal. I never signed a contract... is that sober to you? If Scully’s right, what is Mulder to do? Believe in the dream, believe in the things that elevate the bird’s wings. I know why he sings, on constant lock down, days of the week. The days when they sleep, behave when you speak. I pachyderm memories; expand the germ to taxiderm my enemies. Lions and tigers and bears... oh my! How fast the hours and time of the day go by. You know medina keeps it gully. Copped the apple cider with plans to sip the bubbly.
2 Weeks, 3 Shootings in Third Ward
Trifecta © Nathaniel Donnett 2011
Voice of “The Id”
I grew up poverty stricken, robbery killin, now I gotta a feelin, how to plot a million with this gun. Ain’t no one stopping me, plus its fun, hit the street lottery, Orville Redenbachering your dome. Chrome and black steel, optometry check, and see how that gat feel. Pow! Gang initiation, now, gang affliation. No need to think logically- no modesty. Time is money and waiting for anything is costing me. Drug wars, thug lords, clogged pores in the city streets. Blood poured, evaporating from the city’s heat. It’s hell, sell something on the block. I don’t worry about jail, warrants, or cops, ‘cause their souls, sold for sell, like a sell out. I mail out something to fll their pock(s). That’s how they were able to get that gold watch. It’s amazing how many diamond rocks, you can cop from some opium rocks, lying in a zipped locked bag. Life’s baggage, carried in a body bag, black plastic, temporary casket to the morgue. I’m adored by the kids and teens, see my beamer beam, hypnotizing them. A fashion statement, that’s talking loud and saying nothing. I’ll throw my hands in the air, and wave ‘em, but you bet not dare hand cuff ‘em. I’m a predator, I’ll kill your message and your messenger; remove you from the page, like a newspaper editor Third Ward, you better listen to what I’m tellin ya.
Voice of “The Ego” (2x’s)
What’s the New News? You’re the New News Third Ward, you better get you some clues
Voice of “The Super Ego”
I’m telling ya. You wear the mask so well, shackles is king of your castle. Kill at will, chrome, rims, vogues and axles, steal, sale crack samples, cash faux pas. Jack cars with a 45 mag, show ya fragile. Mishaps tropes, feels like outcast odes to jail cells. Dead above the death stairwell. Stop, past go, dark shadows, cast glows over the community mass oaths. That show you love, but you won’t show‘em love back though. You have no morals, when the facts blow, out the window, when you stare slow-ly, the glass broke. Don’t play, this ain’t no game on some astro-turf. Worth comes from beneath where the grass grows, from the roots. So don’t be in cahoots with evil. I speak thru, you, me, us, them, and we the people. An “S” on my chest, in your mind. I’m your super ego, nero- surgeon with a scaple, thread and needle. Elite scope opening your cerebral, like Richard get your head Wright; because you’re our Native Son, that’ll shine for the next light. Be a solar obelisk. I’m a social optimist, providing the mis-informed, information to mental agents cohabitations. Collapsing mental stations by simply tracing steps, draw from your conscious outline, create your next place of depth, not confned to a space of death. Sharpen yourself. Staying on point right? You’re the New News. Headline, in bold, black font type. If you want it done, be the one to get it done right!
Voice of “The Ego” (2x’s) What’s The New News? You’re The New News. Third Ward, you better make you some new moves.
Protest against police brutality for Chad Holley
p. 6
Third Ward Crossword Puzzle
by Nathaniel Donnett
Across
2. Michelle Barnes director of The Community_____ Collective
4. Robbie ____ owns gallery on Almeda for 27 plus years
5. Director of Houston African American Museum
8. Street where there was a division of blacks and whites during segregated times 9. _________ Biggers established the Texas Southern University’s art dept 10. Douglass elementary (named after Frederick Douglass) was initially named the Third Ward School located on what street?
14. Project Row House Founders- Bert Long, Jesse Lott, Rick Lowe, Floyd Newsum, Bert Samples, George Smith, and _______ Bettison
16. Housed parties, dances, and where musicians played
18. Space where the Free Clarence Brandley case meetings were held.
19. Emancipation _________was land that was purchased by Rev John Yates and others
20. Third Ward was also known as _____ Hill
by Robert A. Pruitt
Down
1. Cleveland Turner- sculpture, installation, and public art artist
3. Three letter word for third ward, also the name of rapper who was banned from a local radio station for exercising his freedom of speech
6. mascot of high school that was formally a middle school in 3rd ward
7. Texas politician who assisted African Americans during Reconstruction - Norris Writght
11. Reggae Hut, Sip and Surf, Black Heritage Gallery, Peggy Park, Eat Gallery, Post Offce, 12. You can’t open a knife or fre a gun with boxing gloves on. Rev ____Martin director of Progressive Amateur Boxing Association
13. Alabama Community Gardens started in 1985 by Verious 15. Riverside Hospital was also know as Houston ______ Hospital when it opened in 1926
17. Middle school named after Jack Yates High School’s frst principal p.7
Texas Commerce Bank opens Riverside Branch in Third Ward
Untitled ©
Tyres Bryant 2011
It fows through the community like fallen leaves
Then does so before the next payday arrives
Other avenues taken
The paving of the road to economic power subsides
It’s a foster child drifting from place to place
Never mounting in the base that allows it to grow
Uncertain of where to root in order to show
And educate others on the value of accountability slash ownership
This building, this symbol of fertilization
Can not only infuence this Ward3 but change the perception of a nation
It has a distinction that’s infuential
Punctuating with purpose and potential
Yet still asking...How does your garden grow?
Genetically modifed to organically ostracize
It feeds into values that hold hands tightly
Teach what you preach for actions are slightly
Watched, retained and mimicked to date
Don’t discard the roots that spout whispers of fate
Souls are starving just calling to be fed
Minds being made but begging to be led
As the spirit of opportunity presents itself
Weakened by stereotypes that run skin deep
The concept is an open blister
“A percentage of profts going back into the community”
It probably should have all been whispered
Third Ward Puzzle Answer Key
What’s The New News Newspaper and project was created to respond to how the media portrays events that happen within the Third Ward community. It also was created to challenge the way people read those stories by supplementing them with the forms of poetry and raps. This idea developed from many conversations that centered around some of the community’s philosophies of self improvement, creativity, and self determination. The main goal was to engage those directly who live within the community without exploiting those who live in the community. Some of the ideas center around recalling the attention and value to historic and future historic locations within Third Ward, blurring generational gaps and importing an interest in literacy and events with those who may overlook the newspaper and its information with different forms of writing, creating an atmosphere with the news racks that display a sense of creative pride and interest for public art works that aren’t easily available in these areas by artists who are familiar with the area. In other words it is a newspaper for the people, by the people to further people.
The What’s The New News Project Thanks Regina Agu, Rabe’a Ballin,Tyres Bryant, Gregory M. Carter, William Cordova, Nathaniel Donnett, Kenya “Mumbles Medina” Evans, Robert Hodge, Egie Ighile, Ann “Sole Sister” Johnson, Ayanna McCloud, Robert A. Pruitt, Lovie Olivia, Phillip Pyle II, Michael K. Taylor, The Community Artists’s Collective, The Black Heritage Galllery, The Breakfast Klub, The Almeda St Post Offce, Reggae Hut, Eldorado Room, S.H.A.P.E. Community Center, Texas Southern University, Nick Cooper, GEM LithoPrint, KPFT, Zin Wali
photos by Nathaniel Donnett
more info can be found on www.whatsnewnews.org
p. 8 Ester King at TSU protest against art mural whitewashing
