Why Don’t Jesus Rebuild Black Mothers’ Hearts?

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African Americans we have no reason to hold on to the American’ dream. We have no logic to pray our stock will champion self. For it is not, a plausible reason to adopt the culture of White Male Supremacy and consider yourself saved. My question since understanding religion at the age of 8 or 10 years old. Why is that White man on my mother’s bible? For the life of me, I could not grasps that connection. Nonetheless, she (pretended) to worship something that only supplied more fear and sorrow. My mother died a horrible death waiting on the White figure that did not exist. She cried and mourned herself to death….I felt hopeless almost like a villain or a death seeker.
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How could she pray and pray, yet nothing arrived but darken tears. The sun removed, the darkness soaks the faint attempt at dying by my hands. For surely, I had enough of this life, I began to mourn and behave like my deceased matrical. The storm whistling such a demise, yet, the summer coolness bleeds on my toes. I send this message to announce our evitable death while waiting for God. No such spirit would place the irony of our ways…or shall it. I run toward my mother but she’s not there. I hear her laughter, but she’s not there.
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I describe her to my children and grandchildren. But, she’s not there. There is no light for the blind, no cup, that swells with water. My soul has never healed from my mother’s death. I am a lonely pot, unfit to find strength in myself. Yet, I remain drunken, an intoxicated brute incapable of throwing her bible about. She cried, so much to that book, I hate it then and despise presently. There are no blessings for Black mothers’ that cry in the night….None.
The Invisible Dragon

When Black Men Cry

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Brothers and Sisters, we’re not considered as humans. What court-mandated violence have not visited Black folks’ souls? What scorn and violence has not raised its hands to our people, our women, our children? What child’s scream drowns out her mother’ brutal rape? It is the Black face this government hates without reason or cause. It is the Black face our countrymen have never visited yet dreams violence upon us. What means by the sky that holds God’s pity yet forecloses on thy skin. My fellow brothers and sisters, we have not made such a place home, just beyond our heaven. For surely, our humanity toils for deliverance, from thy brutal masters, our oppressors, and still, we willfully look over our past. Scorn our present and dream nightmarish about the future. Provide thy sword, and go yonder, that my eyes vision, not this torture.
 
Brothers and sisters, they killed the mule and sold the 40 acres. No bell rings for our salvation, among heaven or hell. So we pretend thy good, lay with the oppressors, the young brother screams. The officials place their hands over their ears, the brother moans, the sounds of slaves’ narratives. The 21st-century approached and dignified our value of a wounded dog. The rabid K9 marks the dark flesh as a reward from Black men and women negative responses. Stand up in court and receive thy justice for speaking without permission. The pillars of justice forever enslaved us to thy present state. This group, the African American male who mourn freedom and equality. But, thy eyes speak to its oppressors whom that loves Black pain. It is the screams of this brother as he lay postured. He has proclaimed, the constitution of the United States hates his spirit, and dreams far away.
 
When Black Men Cry…they tell stories.
The Silent Dragon Jumps

The Black “Zombie” Athlete

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The Black athlete soldier, unlike his counterpart, mirrors his urban brother.  He, the Black male, yearns redemption through athletic.  His scarred palms, paint his predicament exactly: athletic drugs and fascination, do not exist.  His dreams die before sunrise.  The Black athlete lives and die repeatedly believing, “What If”?  redemptive imagination, no longer running hot, the dark clouds, strangle his oxygen.  His brief thoughts, sunken tightly in a bent brow, says, I am not this cause.  I am not this monster, although, one cannot read or think critically. My blame, lay among others, the others that paved my path to illiteracy.  The Black athlete is not alone in this exploration, yet, his urban warrior yearns his deliverance.  Coaches, teachers, and the hood drove darkness together, never checking the revere mirror. Not engaging the speeding car, analysts predicted dark clouds ahead, you may want to get off the road, and wait this out.  Fuck no, wait what out, its just rain, The Black athlete, arrogant and gloomy, presses the gas.

The invisible storm stirs, The Black athlete’ hell predicted, flushing poorly constructed thoughts is not a savior.  No more cheers, his alter ego, transform him into the urban or rural warrior, his dark skin cursed. The powerful strut, his athletic chest sunken, the invisibleness apparent.  Not yet to the Black Athlete…he doesn’t give a shit.  No acadphotoemic institution provided, “no, you can’t play ball, you cannot think and read critically”.  Nonetheless, he storms into the abyss, thinking to describe his death.  He stumbles breathing, as the dark smoke, strangles his Black ass to invented death.

His coded pillow, signal terror, and an unimaginable fate, the tears begin again, and again.  What community or society permits such an academic holocaust?  The Black Athlete’ salvation is imaginary, intoxicated dreams, yet, nightmares. He silently sings, his voice sickens the authentic student, she realizes he’s on academic death row.  His death secured, “take it like a man, and go back where you came from”. From where, shall I venture, for whom shall hear my sorrows?  To the whore’ blossom shall grant redemption, heroin numb feelings, I’m slowing into my place…everything fine now..I’ll sleep a bit. When the sky bleeds sunlight my spirit will awake. I’ll be different, momma, I’ll be nice…I’m scared momma: I don’t know how to read and write.  What will they do to me?

What will they do to me?

Boy stop your crying..you only got three years to serve.  Your sister say hey,  she miss you. Your son ask about you every day, I didn’t want to bring him, I don’t want him to see you like this.  What you reading in here…son you have to read, that’s only way you get somewhere.  How’s your cousin doing, what cellblock is he in…don’t they fight over there a lot.   Yea, momma, it’s lots of violence in here, the slightest thing can blow up..I wish, I would have listened and learn reading and writing.  None of that boy, you in here now so think about getting out.  There are no jobs out there…just don’t give up son.  Don’t die alive in prison.  I’m praying every day momma, every day.

The Invisible Dragon

 

Dodge City Short: Phillips’ Garage Parties and Busting Freight

66f6ee0987d55c2c59c13c347cfdbf04Lil Ricky, as a poor young boy, growing up in the tight-canned ‘Englewood’ neighborhood set the stage for sport integration, drugs, hacking, and more. Poverty strips humanity from victims as the quest for more resources takes hold.  You’re aware your friends’ make silent noises in your absence.  Nonetheless, you act as if nothing connects with your ears, ‘sure they’re not laughing at me.’

Lil Ricky lived in a two flat in the Chicago’ Englewood community, 514 West Tremont.  In the early 70’s, at that time, Lil Ricky saw two parents in nearly every home or apartment.  More interesting, you respected adults, there were men in homes, married and unmarried at times.  Thus, we’ll stop throwing rock when one walked by. “Hey, Mr. Jones.,”  Ain’t you that Williams’ boy, yes sir, that’s me.  What’s your dam name boy, Ricky, lil Ricky sir…Well little Dickie, Ricky sir, whatever.  Stay your little Black behind off my garage.  And if I catch you in my backyard I’ll rip your ass up right there.  Now come take your behind to the store for me…ok Mr. Jones.  What store?  Brooks or Skeets…just get hog head cheese and bring my change.  Can I get something, No…bring back my change boy.  Yes sir.

Later in the Dodge

What the hell lil Ricky? Did you hear?  No what’s up?  Shelly pregnant.  WHAT!!! You’reslide_368066_4213848_free lying, she lives on my block…dude you lying?  No I’m not, she’s pregnant…dude that’s wild.  Her father’s going to be pissed…I’ve never seen anything like this.  She’s still in high school…her life over man…I’m telling you, really.  Yea, though, She is fine and got a big ass…who you think did it…don’t know.  It’s not like she runs around, this is not real Ricky…unheard…seriously the community was silent.  I had a crush on Shelly but not after that diagnosis…her mother has to be mad as hell.  What’s going on with the garage party? The new family, ‘Phillips’ throwing one this Friday…they brother name ‘Wee’ kicking it off.  You going…lil Ricky…yea I guess.

What’s wrong?  The only thing we do is grind our dicks on our zippers.  That shits hurt…some of them need to wear a skirt.  The Phillips family’ cool but one brother man he is no joke, I stay away from him.  Dude he’s mad all the time…all the time.  Son of a bitch looked at the mail box and the motherfucker box fell over.  Never smiling…creepy dude, keep your eyes open.  Are you going to the party Nate?  Yea, I might, I might be doing something, yea peeping in people’s windows.  I don’t do that!   Not what I heard, in fact, they say you camp out on the back porch.  Damn dude, really, come on man…not cool.  But what have you seen come on man tell us…or we’re going to rat your ass out.  Tell us what you seen……What naked?  How big were they? Seriously like monster tidies…dude really damn. Did she see you?  Dude I live on the second floor, I better not catch your ass trying that shit on my lil sister.  Hey, you want to dance?  Yea, cool, the new people must not have parents, they throw garage parties a lot.

Dude, peanut, you killing the robot, it looks real…get it zut.  Hot as hell in this garage, let me check outside for a moment..   You see Big Red?  Dude they say he doing a drug Richard Pryor doing…which one? Cocaine.  Cocaine!  Dude that’s expensive can’t no one pay for that…someone’s lying to you.  Seriously, why don’t you smoke weed lil Ricky, because I’m an athlete, I get high off sports and life.  What an idiot?  You know what Reed, you’re a creep and you can’t get a girlfriend, why not?  Because you’re a creep…that’s why you have no girlfriends…women don’t like creeps.  So, take your creepy ass onto the 400 block and chase a dog.  Bastard.  You not going to hit me…hit me, hit me, my father and brother going to whoop your ass…creep.

Lil Ricky, be quiet…dude be Quiet.  What’s up listen…what..

BOXES!             BOXES!                    BOXES!

gtra-1118-boxcar-single-door-rail-car-golden-triangle-railroad-class-3-mississippi-gtra-golden-triangle-railway-ms_-freight-train-railcarLil Ricky and crew running dastardly for free merchandise at the end of the 500 block. Unhitch It, Unhitch It, Unhitch It…Berry….dude get up there, yank that motherfucker harder…Yank…loss of air pressure sounds the alarm….BOXES!!! BOXES!!! BOXES!!!  We got boxes, McDonald fries…hell yea, McDonald’s fries…hell yea.  Dude that ‘Berry Yates’ cat pretty good…I know that motherfucker running like someone was chasing him.  Yea he lives in the roll houses, big-ass family.  They must have different fathers, one of them light-skinned, brown skin…you know how that work.  Lil Ricky, what you think about their other sister…what’s her name again…Sim.  Her name Sim, yea, I give her 50 feet, she’s tough…her brothers cool, I guess.  I know Berry ran after that boxcar like Walter Payton.  I’m like dam….ROOTS’ Kunta Kente running.  Get back here Toby, Black motherfucker you.  Dude they whoop the skin off Kunta ass…yea that was wild.  I wish we had a color TV…you mean you wish you had a daddy.  I got a father he just works a lot…yea at the county jail sleeping.

And look at your shoes, they just sent a distress signal out. Black bastard, yea look at that big gap, where’s your tooth?  In your momma’ bra…you cross-eyed jack ass, your momma so Black motherfucker fried two eggs on her face…that’s not funny it was when I added cheese on her face….lil Ricky your gap scares little kids…why don’t you visit the dentist, oh you did, he ran away.  Hmm funny creep…you know when you don’t get free lunch, you can’t use food stamps.  We don’t get food stamps, we not on welfare.  You lying motherfucker, your shit is raggedy and if you’re not on welfare…your clothes are.  Black ass—talking about kissing Sheedy.  Sheedy said you didn’t know where things were…and you shot your load when she closed the door.  Sex dummy…you don’t use tools to unsnap a bra…sex bastard…yea what about your sister.  Don’t get your ass whooped…say another word, motherfucker if you breathe before I leave, I’m going to dog walk your ass around that car.  Pussy-ass fuck…Damn Lil Ricky, why you go off on him like that…fuck it just let it go….

Robert ‘Amp’ Williams