En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Kept Integrity

I remember early in my expressions as a writer,
I was told I did not represent my plantation roots.
I didn't depict those sufferings,
My ancestors experienced in the fields...
As they plotted to set themselves free from slavery.

Well...
All Black folks weren't shackled and chained.
Quite a few Africans sailed the seas with the Chinese,
Long before claims were made and history re-written...
By the 'others' who say to have discovered what they didn't.

I come from a long line of pioneers.
And there is nothing in my heritage,
That keeps me tied to paying an annual homage...
To being oppressed and grateful,
While I address this on a daily basis.
As I display a disrespect for myself.
And express a lack of identity.

None of my ancestors,
Would have never allowed me to reflect...
That kind of ignorance.
They may have been tricked and deceived,
To abandon their palaces and kingdoms...
But a kept integrity will never be diminished.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History

You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.

The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.

Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.

I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.

You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told

poem by Francis Duggan
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An Eclectic Approach That Is Adorned

Tribalistic?
Oh yes.
I wish I could address,
Every aspect of my heritage.
To represent each of my ancestors.

In fact...
My pride,
Can be best described...
As arrogance.
But that's okay!

As long as something about me,
Is displayed to expose my dignity.
Eccentric it may be,
In my willingness to have it presented.
With an eclectic approach that is adorned.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Trace Our Roots

there are ways of tracing our roots
where we come from
why we are here

how our forefathers braved
the seas and survived the big waves
of uncertainties
the cold, dark nights of their fears

how they all believed in dreams
how they trusted the direction given by the stars
how they solidified their hearts
with faith and hope
and love

as i listen to all of you talk about the stories
of our ancestors
my mind begins to to grow and travel
like roots
deep down the earth
tracing some humus
where i must live again
perhaps ever braver than the pioneers

they are our ancestors
and i think, they still believe that since we come from them
we must all be like them,

my dear cousin, now we have become the roots ourselves
and another child shall come
in the future
and listen some more, wanting to become branches and leaves and flowers

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Niggers

You look at me and ask yourself
Who am I?
What am I?
What have I to do?
I`m an African American, Black, nothing more
Why do I have to pay for my ancestors breaking that barrier,
For them proving your race,
That they didn't need your 'expertise',
they didn't need your education
Nor did they need your approval
To be what we all are today.
You look at me
You think,
My America is full of these 'niggers'
Who made your America

Full of trash
Full of ignorance
Full of cirme
We will never be white
Yet you forget that once America put up such a fight
With these non-whites,
Theses 'niggers'
These folks full of color,
And who do you think won?
Look around you.
What do you see,
Nothing but minorities all around
All about
Be careful for soon you will be slapped in the face when you see that you are now working for these'niggers'....

poem by Kendra Sanders
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Black History

Boom, boom, boom!
That was in 1530 to the Slave Trade;
My Mama told me so,
My Papa told me so,
In the name of our ancestors gone by;
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for powder,
Slaves for hardware,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! !
All over the West Coast of Africa!
Today, i am a Blackman to tell you a story.

Black History, the Black African, the Black Race;
Of my ancestors gone by,
Boom, boom, boom!
Black head, black sugar, black coffee;
Where are the true identities of the Blacks?
That was in 1530 to the Slave trade.

Black History, black love;
A Black Race to a call.
Tap your fingers and do think about it,
My Mama told me so;
Bllack shoes, black phones;
With the Black History gone too soon,
My Papa told me so.
Black hair, black eyes;
The black coal to steam up the engines!
In the name of my ancestors gone by;
But, where are the black pens of love to share?

Do think about this and learn from it,
Boom, boom, boom!
A Blackman in the house to tell us a story;
Where is William Wilberforce?
Where is Thomas Buxton?
Where is Granville Sharp?
What about the Slaves? !
These men need to tell us more;
They killed my ancestors softly without compensations!
Black love, black stream, a black home to live in;
Like 'Naughty By Nature',
I've got 'Queen Latifah' to tell us more.

Of the Black Songs,
Of the Black race,
With a Black-Limo to keep us going;
This Slave Trade was a Black History to us all.
Boom, boom, boom!
Do contact Africa to learn more from this;
Like a black bird, a black cat and the black fingers! !
Do contact Africa to see things for yourselves.
Oh Blackman,
When are they going to admit to what they did?
Like a Black Ninja in the house,
Do know your history before you destroy yourselves.

Boom, boom, boom!
The very sound of the Slaves marching on;
This is our colour and, we have to respect it.
Black Cop, Black Soldier;
A Black Marine to a call,
We still have more to learn from each other.

Black wine, Black Doctor, Black People;
Know all about your history.
About where you came from and,
Where you are today;
Black seed, black marble, Black Prophets!
We still have more to learn.
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for hardware,
Slavces for powder,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! ! !
Black beauty, black sea, black pot;
Black Nurse, black melody, black stamp;
Know your history always.

Of the freed Slaves from England to Sierra Leone,
With those from America to Liberia! ! ! !
Today the Black Panther is here to stay like,
The Black Writer.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Confined and Limited

As long as the affects
Would damage their ethnic heritage...
They were allowed,
To degrade and disrespect themselves.
In glorious decadence...
An intelligence dismisses.

For marketing and entertainment value.
Connecting temptation and lust...
With pride to maintain their ignorance.
Trusting in a deceptive acceptance!
They praised the spreading of their own craze!

And those that used them would pocket.
No one wished to stop it...
Since these images were worshipped as symbolic.
Like alcoholics on a binge...
They passed along these priorities onto their children.
For fortune and fame!
And certain prison cells to claim.
As if a graduation takes place.

Are these the freedoms their ancestors perceived?
To be flushed down the drain...
By the deceit and misdeeds of their masters!
As lessons learned to disgrace...
A race demoralized with identities defaced.

For all to find themselves...
Eventually,
In a socialistic bliss.
Confined and limited,
By a greed that defeats...
A consciousness diminished.
And depleted as is wished!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Awaiting For a Black History Date

Those awaiting for a Black History date,
To express their appreciation...
For contributions their own kind make.
Are those trying to find,
Approval for these acts.
That had been laid and placed in past decades...
For the chance to enhance and romance,
Deeds done to eliminate...
The sweat endured to produce the facts.

And how can a 'Black History'...
Take just a few days,
To confirm any of that?

To gather to celebrate the lives of these folks...
Should be done on a daily basis.
And not when just provoked.
Or joked when adorning attire...
Meant to invoke a connection that inspires.

It is difficult to live each day as it is...
In a society that has done its best,
To disavow the truth as it is lived.

And taking one month to proclaim one's identity...
Seems a waste of time.
When people rather wine and dine.
Especially if thoughts are not carried around...
With a discipline within that is deep down.
Or with an integrity that does not disappear...
Before Spring has yet to begin!
And the Winter cold and snow...
Has from steps safely cleared.

'I'm Black and I'm proud! '

No doubt.
But...
When?
What time of the year?

And what are you wearing...
Before those thoughts of yours,
Come to an end.
Hmmm?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Aspect of Their Lives Has Been Colorized

Shot, maimed.
Dragged from behind trucks.
And swung randomly from trees.
That is the visual...
I get from 'those' people.
And with me it sticks.
From me it wont leave.

And I remember Katrina,
When these same people...
Were calling 'my' people refugees.
As if they weren't the immigrants...
On land their ancestors illegally stole.
From those who are native!
To instigate intimidation and disrespect.

And I've been told I carry an embitteredness.
I've been told by those I carry a chip on my shoulder,
That I should address.
I've been 'called' and told many things...
By those folks who will not confess,
If it wasn't for people of color...
They would find it difficult to feed themselves.
Or be able to protest,
Whatever those interests are...
They have to defend and protect.

Since every aspect of their lives has been colorized.
And maybe that's why their 'greatness'
IS apparently on the waning side!
And they walk around envious, insecure, unhappy and upset!
Yet...
If it wasn't for those of color,
Their achievements would not have been their best.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Here to Play The Dozen's

Hello?
Is there a light on in your attic?
Obviously not.
Unfortunately,
There is nothing dimming at all in your head.
At least give me eye contact,
So I feel as if something said is being heard,
And shared.

You ignoring me,
Is a favor done you wont believe.
I don't have to put up with your ignorance.
Or tolerate disrespect from no one.
In fact,
Give me more distance.

I live in this community.
And I am familiar with the neighborhood.
What happens here and what folks do to themselves,
May be entertaining to you.
And I could care less if you disagree with me.
But you folks have been programmed,
To invite your own unexpected deaths.

I have integrity and some dignity left,
That has of yet been taken.
And I have identity.
Of that you have none.
My comprehending of that has long been numbed.
To the point it is no longer heartbreaking.
Nor am I one to fake unity!
It aint happenin'.
And if it is I'd like to know where?

But let me say this...
To get this over with quick.
You can act as if I am invisible,
If that helps you pretend I do not exist.
However...
Do not 'think' I have to put up with your 'stupidity'
Because others get a kick out of it!

I am not into self destruction.
Or folks who make excuses to self abuse themselves.
And I know you don't understand this,
Because your mama didn't teach you.
And your father refuses to be a man.
And I know you don't understand 'that'.
Nor am I here to play the 'dozen's with you.
Truth I do not play with!

Too many of you have been pitched the taste for truth.
But you'd rather do a genocide on yourselves,
Better than 'the man' can!
And your ignorance has been addicted to keep that focused.
But nothing done I do is a mirage.
I'm here to snap your ass awake.
Don't get that messed up with your sugared cookies.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Originated By The Chinese

'We have come together today,
To express the results of our findings.
And to announce,
We have discovered without doubt...
The origin which has produced,
Such devastation!

The massive pain endured and suffered,
Has been pinpointed by the use of our research.
And overflowing facts...
Throughout this thorough investigation.

We suggest you sit back.
And relax.

Ladies and gentlemen...
The origin of this massive pain suffered by so many,
And agitating generations...
To enforce divisions and separations.
Has been caused by the reluctance to accept truth.
And an avoidance to pursue it.
As it is...
And not perceived.

We recommend,
Effective immediately...
An elimination of the feeding of delusions.
Even though this may create,
A society developing a lessened appetite...
For reality,
Yet fed overdoses of deceit and corruption.
And a withdrawal of their fantasies,
May create widespread outrage.
Folks,
We predict will become crazed.

Long before a Spaniard landed on these shores...
And announced he was Christopher Columbus,
Of Italian birth but of a Spaniard disposition.
Nothing was mentioned of the navigational maps,
He followed.
Hollowed through rough seas.
And originated by the Chinese.
That guided his claims...
Or claims made,
Of his discoveries.'

~Excuse me?
So what are you saying?
This place ain't European?
Like we've been told and seeing?

Even though this is suppose to have been a melting pot,
Some folks got greedy and filled their own pockets!
And that has not been stopped.
And that's why they have taken all that we've got?
Using that and deceit.
To mask their treachery and treason.
To leave us empty handed before they made a clean sweep?
Hey...
What about the Indians, the Aztecs...
The Africans. And...
Those who were here first,
The Eygptians.
Which no one cares to mention.
What about them?
Oooohhh!
This is so disappointing.
Now...
That would make a good movie! ~

Rxpressing your disappointment?
Or the reluctance to reveal this information?

~Naw!
It would be great to show how those Chinese,
Got us all hooked on having Chinese food on Friday nights.
And ain't nobody yet...
After all these years,
Can say a full sentence in their language.
I guess if something tastes good,
Who cares what it is called!
Or...
How to say it!
Now 'that' is amazing.~

Resources Used to Inspire This composition:

AOL Research Center
Christopher Columbus...
Italian:
Crisoforo Colombkrestô'fõrõ kõlôm'bõ
Known in Spain as:
Colónkrestõ'bäl kõlõn'...1451-1506
Place of birth: Genoa, Italy

And the book,1421: The Year China Discovered the World
written by retired submarine commander and historian,
Gavin Menzies.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You define a good flight by negatives: you didn't get hijacked, you didn't crash, you didn't throw up, you weren't late, you weren't nauseated by the food. So you are grateful.

quote by Paul Theroux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If The Truth Be There...Tell It

The strength of America,
Was built on the backbone
Of those of color.
Those who paved the railroads...
Chinese, Mexicans, Indians and Blacks.
And slaved in the fields.
The Irish know that these are facts.
Indentured slaves...
Many of them were.
While the 'others' found ease in comfort!
And doing what they feel.
While they imported relatives...
To begin nepotism deals.
Some with no English spoken at all.
And their ancestors made sure,
They were not the ones to sweat.
While ignorance at a time ran rampant...
To create today's regrets!
And that is the history,
Often not told...
To those who have chosen racism,
As the way to go!
To claim what is and not theirs to share!
If the truth be there...
Tell it!
And not sell deceit,
That defeats...
Lost souls!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reluctantly Seeking

In a world in which many have spent,
Fortunes to keep themselves deluded...
And so many more kept drugged on fantasies,
With preferences to numb their heads...
To remain comatosed as if in sleep.
It is apparent and not overwhelming at all,
To witness people like this craving to be comforted...
By myths more valued than realities that exist.
While dismissing those with abilities to assist.
As they highlight with neon their ignorance.

Although the price paid to keep them deceived,
Has dug a hole so deep people slowly awakening...
Have reluctantly begun seeking to find anyone,
Willing to erase and re-write...
The most recent events in current history.
That will not place too much emphasis,
On those in positions...
'Assuming' they were born with superior intelligence.
But discovered to be incompetent!
And completely out of their minds.

'Perhaps our methods that have been decades expressed,
Became misinterpreted and overshadowed by our intent...
To address our desires to always include everyone,
Without exception.
To reflect a greatness that embraces all of our endeavors.
We have 'always' maintained that in our actions and beliefs.
Our policies of inclusiveness are heartfelt and deeply meant.'

~They lost the last election.
Didn't they? ~

Bigtime!
How can you tell?
Is it possible you could depict them with 'some' sincerity?

~I am not that imaginative.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Ancestors Still Speaks

Hear the Negros from my ancestors to the generation of young Blacks
Americans proudly say: Our black is united together around the world,
different ethnic backgrounds together we are one.

Our black stands strong through the evil of racism and diversity

Our black is bold

Our black is free

Our black lives on

My ancestors still speaks.

poem by Anasha Greham
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Startled

People are such mysterious creatures to observe.
When it's believed
Someone seen on a daily basis,
Has no worth they can detect.
That person becomes like them...
Driven by bad luck and circumstance.
They are comfortable with not taking chances.
And 'good luck' is what they express in doubt!
However...
When it is discovered someone seen on a daily basis,
Has, in fact...
Achieved accomplishments,
In front of them and not behind their backs!
They become quite startled that someone like that...
Could care less about the methods used,
Or who determines how success is measured to reflect
One's influence!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On A Daily Basis

I am often humbled,
By those expressions made
Regarding my thoughts...
With any impressions,
They have laid to stay in minds.
I find I am fascinated.

Whether appreciated or not,
I have to stop sometimes to wonder.

This I've been doing for such a while now.
And I try to maintain a comprehension about life,
With curiosity.
And that isn't easy to express at times.
Especially when my feelings,
Are not heightened by a respect I should let show.
Finding a pinch given gets more attention,
Than a peck on the cheek with cheesiness.
And I ain't that kind of a writer.

And I've been attacked for being black.
Not because I express that!
But...
Because my comments offend,
Those pretending I should not notice bigotry displayed.
Or that I have not been in contact with racism.

I am aware of Disneyland but I've never been.
I can only elaborate on my own personal encounters.
Especially regarding my own life.
With obstacles, strife and tribulations.

Like others who write and many who do not,
There are things I dislike.

There are aches and pains and sufferings I've gained,
From this experience.
But...
Do I choose to dwell on them?
Sure I do.
When it feels good to do it!
But what purpose is being achieved?
A bonding with agony?
Please.

I was in the military,
With guys who bragged about their wounds.
And displayed scars like badges.
On the regular.

So many people carry and share their frustrations.
As if life is an experience only known to a few who live it!
And I've learned life is to be enjoyed!
With as much happiness one allows.
And I say allow!
Since so many choose not to do that!
Many have chosen to be victims.
Listen to them.
This is not denied.

When I discovered peace of mind...
I did not realize I had to pay for it!
Yes!
It ain't free.
And I did with tears, heartache...
And emotional investments!
With lost dignity too.
I held onto my identity.
I knew early it was precious.

One day my faith awakened me with sunlight so bright!
And nature awaiting my acceptance to share it.
I felt at one with the Earth.

I felt I had to thank it
For allowing me to leech upon its goodness.
And not to my surprise the Earth complied.
I expressed a gratefulness to God,
For all the gifts I received that came unwrapped.
I felt a release from entrapments.

And I rid myself of limitations.
Knowing if I was to be ignorant about anything...
Affecting my experience.
There was a lot of misunderstanding I refused to admit.
I had to let that go.
It showed on my face too much.

Today I choose to be naive.
About many things.
With a clarity that there is so much I'd like to learn.
On a daily basis.

I choose to have my life to live it.
Carrying around bitterness is such a waste of time.
Especially when time, as we know it...
IS for the most part,
A human illusion!
Made to market and appease frustrations.
And shopping can frustrate more than constipation.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Victim Of Learning Too Many Lessons

Why is it that it seems,
You express little empathy...
Towards those who are currently,
Suffering from hunger, homelessness.
And a loss of their dignities.

'I began to express that years ago,
When the sight of it would hurt me so.
And I witnessed those with turned up noses.
Pretending what was exposed,
Had been a dilemma others chose.'

But the circumstances today are quite different.

'How and why? '

Those who suffer,
Have lost their homes and valuables.
And images that impressed,
Others in a lesser position...
They never took time to address.
With their empathies expressed.

'And...
Your point is what?
Their suffering done is more effective?
And my empathy given to them,
Should be more reflective? '

But the circumstances today are quite different.

'How and why? '

These people have never experienced,
A life lived like this before.

'Neither had my ancestors.
But guess what? '

What?

'When my ancestors suffered,
They never discriminated by looking away.
And today you can say...
I am a victim of learning too many lessons.
And when I am shown a negligence,
By them expressed...
What am I to do?
Show them I have not been taught by the best? '

But the circumstances today are quite different.

'How and why?
Are these new lessons I have not recognized?
Have those old lessons been changed,
And are now disguised? '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There Are Many More Like Me To See

Is there any 'particular' reason why you question me?
Any reason at all you question my integrity with intensity?
My experience and acquired wisdom you detect as delusional.
Or believe me to fantasize the real issues to minmize?
Why?

Is it that I do not expose wounds or scars left by obstacles?
Am I not reflecting enough pain from a suffering done,
To buffer the sounds of groans I've numbed...
From the taking of drugs or the drinking of alcohol,
And thrown out of local bars when I've gone too far?
To be seen stumbling around until I fall and discovered bawling?

I've been through all of that.
Long before you began to probe with xrays and radar.

Is there any 'particular' reason,
Why you address me with disrespect?
Or feel free and okay to express indiginites you think I'll accept?
Is it my appearance, where I live, speak or choose to dress...
That you perceive me as being someone less who's beneath you?

OR...
Could it be I have an identity you don't often enough see?
And you...
From what you have observed from others to view,
Have been conditioned to treat me like dirt?

Well...
I hope you're prepared to be traumatized!
Because there are many more like me to see...
Once the veil has been removed from your tunnel visioned eyes,
To shock and surprise.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is About Identity and Principle

What difference does it make,
Whose heart you take and break?
What difference will you fake next...
If you say you've made mistakes,
When those mistakes leave heartbreak...
Over again,
In a thoughtless process unconsciously taken!

And this is not about money,
Or being Afrocentric.
This is about identity and principle.
One's integrity and dignity.

This is about those areas of life,
That have never dawned on you.
Because you are just too caught up in 'things'.
And no one can pay for magic to happen...
If one's mind is already established in ego!
To adorn and impress,
A valued emptiness.

And...
Let me leave you with this,
When did you determine I was not Afrocentric?
Was it before or after you recognized I was not subservient?
Or after you obtained the benefit of my efforts...
Erased from beneath your footsteps.
And I had been freed with blood I left...
From displaying a humblizing ignorance.
You find to market is best.
Or was 'that' something you had been told?
By those sold on reaching for already polished gold.

You do not remember the days,
The path you did not pave...
Had not been laid with choices,
Do you?
But I forget...
You represent that generation absent of deeds.
Delusioned and free of struggle.

You just want to shine...
Regardless of who holds your spotlight.
Or who had paid to have that light shine upon you.
I knew those unafraid to be challenged by those paths unpaved.
And perhaps my comfort with that...
Leaves you opinionated that I am not aware,
I am black?
I just don't carry the affects of that on my back!
And why should I...
When every stride I glide is still followed!

And this is not about money,
Or being Afrocentric.
This is about identity and principle.
One's integrity and dignity.
And none of that do you represent...
As a means for your survival!
I can where...
And with whom I sit and eat.
That is something yet I can not do.
As I pretend to be unaware...
Of the closeness of my oppressor's teeth.
And you...
Could care less of who makes the mess.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Others May Mistake A Duck

I remember being defined,
By...
How I spoke with a wish to be understood.
Pronunciating words with a clarity.
And spoken in the way they were spelled,
As they were meant to be.
I was not the one to accept mediocrity.

I remember being judge by the way I looked.
Where I lived and the interest in others I took.
And what I had to present and didn't.
I was 'out-of-it' to many.
And this was said to me as if to restrict.

I remember putting a stamp on my identity.
And the acceptance of this,
Had been rejected by others who could not then see.
In fact...others would approach me,
As if I had commited treason.
Or had an incurable disease.

People can be cruel when making their assessments.
As if those selected needed to be taught a few lessons.

Today with integrity and my identity intact,
I do not declare my 'Blackness'.
I've always been proud of that.
What is obvious to me needs no announcing of fact.
Or do I oppose those with a host of opinions,
To appear more bold to the ones opposing my goals.
Finished or not they will never be diminished.

I have learned not to pay naysayers any attention.
Or give them time to stretch the limits of their minds.
If others may mistake a duck in wasted debates,
To argue what they see is a parakeet...
Or something else to be caged.
They will have those same issues forever on display.
Regardless how outdated their manifestations,
With them stay.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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