Listen – (c) Carmon Armstrong

“Listen to this fool
trying to put me down.
Calling me the N-word
just because my skin is brown.
…Well, I thought I told you once,
but I’ll tell you once again:
Anyone can be a N-word!
It doesn’t matter about his skin.
I’ve seen some high yellow N-word(s).
And some all white too!
And yes! I’ve even seen some N-word(s) who are deep black-blue.
So pay attention Mr. Know-it-All
because I want YOU to get this straight:
Just because my skin is black
dirty N-word ain’t my fate.”

(c) Carmon A. Armstrong

The Trading Post by Lewchie

Yes I would like to trade this pair of shoes, for a pair of Timberlands
They were my Grandfather’s marching shoes, he passed them down to me he
told me that they would help me take a stand
He said he marched in those shoes until they open the school doors to
educate the black man
He said he marched in those shoes until he had the right to vote
Democrat or Republican
He said he marched in those shoes until they had grass and mud stain
from all over America’s land
He said he marched in those shoes while being hit with bricks and
bottles because he had some demands
He said he wanted to be able to drink from any water fountain his
thrist commanded
My Grandfather sure did a lot of marching in those shoes just to prove
the black man was a man
I would not do that to my Timberlands

Nonsense Makes Sense

We tango sambo
Manifesting delicious
Delinquency to the tune
Of tito
Ditto machito & his afro-cubans
Plantation palpitations
Bandana fandango
Somber sambo
Santeria celia
Cruz middle passage
Memorizing meringue
Sherbro sho bro
Talk that talk
Tantalize romanticize
Defecate delinquencies
Until p diddy’s umbrella
Is eunichized

Colonial Colón
Original origami
Paper tigers like Swans, geishas, Gertrude
& Virginia
Shakespeare’s sister
In a room of her own
But I’da b well damned
If that be my destiny.

Isis Osiris
Sister brother
Wife husband
ashes spread across seven skies
And I, sis, come looking
Reunification rectification
Holy wholeness
Can’t flub it
Or fuck with it
Untouchable like beloved
Whole womb
Embraces total nut
And it’s on
Like donkey kong
Or king kong.
who ain’t got nuttin on me
Cept extended stomach
Moon round
Full and fecund
Digging the ground
For roots
Sooty black foots my only carriage
But divorce not marriage
That be how I do it do i
While you try to woo it
only to end up rueing it
behind some foolish shit

but that ain’t the end
as I extend into tomorrow
no sorrow
as I search the world round
for the proper noun
to give my seed

P.A.C vs my history
sobukwe no way
Dahomey da homey
Africa to america
Da homey
Get it on, Gat it on
get get gone
only grass seen
prison lawn

don 3 of 4
1st sankara
2nd kono
And yeah, fauna
Has his name
Nowhere near lame

And I reclaim my fame
Signing my true name
I, Sis, You, Bro, San, Son
Isis Osiris and Horus
True trinity.

©2006 Tichaona M. Chinyelu

Jazz Stanzas

Jazz Stanzas

The wolves may huff and puff
but they ain’t got nothing on
apple sized cheeks
that blew sounds just as sweet
as the juice.

It don’t mean a thing
if you don’t take the A train
and hear the lady from baltimore
with the sanitizing stench of bleach on her
from scrubbing those damn white steps.
From lady’s maid to lady day
from the whorehouse to
covering the waterfront
until finally
it was heroin, not her man
that had lady singing the blues.

A trumpeter walks in front of a horse
leading a perennial procession for you.
That’s the image that comes to mind
when I think of you.
Your smile derided.
Your character declared a caricature
but Ghana loved you.
You were pops to the world.

In a mining township
a hundred miles from Johannesburg
exposed to jazz, traditional music
and apartheid
a horn player was growing up.
In a jim-crow dominated township
it was designed to be impossible
to graze in the grass
but somehow
you did.

And now, it is said
we don’t love the music.
Our faces are not in the audiences
of those who carry it on.
Our dollars aren’t spent on it.
We have allowed it to leave
and because of that
it no longer belongs to us.

But this is simply not true.

© 2004 Tichaona Chinyelu

Weaver Woman

I weave words
like a west african market woman
selling you my vision, my mangoes, my papayas
even my coconuts.
My finished product can be held up to the sun
illuminated, made to shine.

The skins of my poems have been submerged in mud
then laid at the bottom of the baobob tree to dry
like mudcloth.
The blood of my poems can be as dry as the sahara
as wet as monsoons
as cutting as a machete in the hands of the mau mau.

I weave blood into my words:
red blood, dried blood, young blood.
An oversaturation of blood decorates my words
makes them pulse red.
My words hang from trees
like the bitterest kind of strange fruit.
My words find the peruvian revolutionaries
murdered while hogtied
and then buried in criminal secrecy.
My words were inspired by rigoberta menchu.

I roots rock reggae with my words
have them jamming to the heart beat rhythm
of the warmest music.
The fabric of my words is at its lightest
when they’re in the dancehall or the yard.
My words sweep over people
like the softest caribbean breezes.
My words will have you dreaming of blue skies
white sands and coral reefs

and while you’re dreaming
i weave black people into my words
and i am done.
My finished product can be held up to the sun
illuminated, made to shine.

© 2005 Tichaona Chinyelu

Da Flag

I pledge allegiance
To the red, black and the green
for red, white & blue
left me with red scars and welts,
white-hot ire and singing blue.

Timothy N. Stelly, Sr.

Things that make you go hmmm?

T-mania – tchelle8180

America America What did you do? Stole a country from Indians To sit back and act like it was you Was this you too? The peanut Heart surgery Traffic light Elavator Shoes Clothes dryer Refrigerator Comb And to get even sicker, the list continues on Who takes the credit? Forget credit Whose getting paid? Into whose hands have these profits laid? Reparations? Lets get to the core How long are we going to sit back And act like we can continue to take more Continue to to take more lies More hidden truths More confusion to put on our youth Police (KKK) continue to beat The uniforms in replacement of those old white sheets Scientist in a lab you seem to be Crack cocaine is that testimony I give credit for that plan Whoever invented that was very smart man Because as you anticipated, it destroyed Plenty of your target it employed 401K is the prison term The lock down of anxious sperm Ovaries are left on the outside Then the two cannot coincide Oh, now I see Leave the woman out And take in the man So the multiplication of a chlid will not be in plan Therfore how can they re-create If you take away the birth-right of the ones they hate Or even better, introduce them to gay WHITE HOUSE CONVERSATION “Let’s give them big money you say Cut out a college education and with a ball they can play Now, let’s send in OUR prey She can claim rape And we can snatch it all away” “In the lab again we go This time let’s hit Africa But let’s hit that slow By the time they wake up Know one will ever know” “We will infect beyond infection Until their brains have no recollection By the time they realize what hit em They’ll be asking for our protection” “Now remember, we want to keep Africans and African-Americans of distance We don’t know what will happen if they unite with persistence Oh please, to Africa, they’ll never go That’s why I told you keep liquor, pipes, and blunts in heavy flow at their corner sto’” “Now, lets infect the Africans kin that here with us Put the virus on the scene, attached with “In God We Trust” How will we hide the cure(H202)? We will do it real smooth We’ll keep it away by not letting the FDA approve” “Oh, its Election time again” “How about we put something really big in the news for distraction Instead of 9/11, I think this time we’ll use one or two of the Jackson’s” “That way we will still be on a roll And this sorry government we created, can still be in control” -Food for thought-

American employment

T-mania –
Don’t discriminate against me
Can’t you see
You are hurting me

My soul is on hold when you come around
Trying to impress you with a smile
When deep beneath is a frown

Its not fair
Can’t you see
You are hurting me

Changing my speech pattern so you can see
I am not the person you perceive me to be

Can’t you see
You are hurting me

Don’t laugh
It ain’t funny
I have to put my soul on hold for the money

Or else
How will I live
A helping hand you won’t give

And I don’t want it
I can hold my own
I see thru that smile
That you and I both know is fake as silicone

Guess what? I am human like you
Its a fact
If another human being did it
I can do it too

Can’t you see
You are hurting me

Now, have I ever done that to you!
You speak like me cause you WANT to

Let me be me

Who I am

Where I’m from

Is me

Can’t you see
You need to stop
Cause you are really hurting me