When I Was a Negro
I remember the days when I was a Negro...
Free to go about where Negros go.
There seemed to have been,
A dignity and pride we all showed outside...
And kept within then.
Until the call came to be black,
With a proudness some said others lacked!
And the attack on Negroes by blacks,
Began to hold those of color back.
Renaming and claiming African-Americans,
We were now in one group packed!
Stacked together,
But not unified...
As we were before,
When we all were ignored.
Although a respect we had
Was gladly shown...and adored!
And now our thoughts are on each other to trap.
Just like those who fed and started this crap.
Affecting everyone with mentalities...
That are thoughtless and senselessly,
Way off track.
Today...
No one appears,
To be who they 'is'
And that 'bees' clearly a fact!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Nappy and Happy And Not Harried
I have never been 'black'.
Not midnight black.
Or even shown that,
At the crack of dawn.
I know that for a fact.
I would get up early to look.
And when I became African-American...
What happened to the West Indian part of me?
All I know is this,
Someone made an announcement...
And that part of my heritage,
Became a subdivision.
Like an urbanite separated...
From the others who surrounded,
In neighborhoods of suburban glee.
And when I wished to take all of that back,
To proclaim, in fact, I am indeed black...
It seems those who were lighter than I,
Wanted me to prove my loyalty too.
As if they had to approve...
My manner of speech,
And other things I chose to do.
I think they were trying to confuse me.
As confused as some of them appeared to be.
Sometimes when I did then reminisce,
The days of my youth I admit I missed...
I remember just being a 'Negro'.
And not have a concern...
On whose list I did not fit.
I was just 'Larry'...
Nappy and happy and not harried!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Primer For Blacks
Blackness
is a title,
is a preoccupation,
is a commitment Blacks
are to comprehend—
and in which you are
to perceive your Glory.
The conscious shout
of all that is white is
“It’s Great to be white.”
The conscious shout
of the slack in Black is
'It's Great to be white.'
Thus all that is white
has white strength and yours.
The word Black
has geographic power,
pulls everybody in:
Blacks here—
Blacks there—
Blacks wherever they may be.
And remember, you Blacks, what they told you—
remember your Education:
“one Drop—one Drop
maketh a brand new Black.”
Oh mighty Drop.
______And because they have given us kindly
so many more of our people
Blackness
stretches over the land.
Blackness—
the Black of it,
the rust-red of it,
the milk and cream of it,
the tan and yellow-tan of it,
the deep-brown middle-brown high-brown of it,
the “olive” and ochre of it—
Blackness
marches on.
The huge, the pungent object of our prime out-ride
is to Comprehend,
to salute and to Love the fact that we are Black,
which is our “ultimate Reality,”
which is the lone ground
from which our meaningful metamorphosis,
from which our prosperous staccato,
group or individual, can rise.
Self-shriveled Blacks.
Begin with gaunt and marvelous concession:
YOU are our costume and our fundamental bone.
All of you—
you COLORED ones,
you NEGRO ones,
those of you who proudly cry
“I’m half INDian”—
those of you who proudly screech
“I’VE got the blood of George WASHington in MY veins”
ALL of you—
you proper Blacks,
you half-Blacks,
you wish-I-weren’t Blacks,
Niggeroes and Niggerenes.
You.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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Were Not Going Back
Do you remember the good old days?
An empty stomach and a tear-stained face
Do you remember how it used to be?
The walking dead in the factory
I wont talk because
Its not as it was
You dont want the sack
Then dont doff your cap
{we are not going back} dont back pedal down a broken track
{we are not going back} Im alright jack is an easy trap
{we are not going back} no more need for wearing all black
{we are not going back} Im alright jack is an easy trap
Do you remember the dail pain
Of walking arouhnd with a ball and chain?
Do you recall when it was hard buyt fair?
You got your share on a line of a prayer.
Please put in my box
Some money for socks
Dont turn back the clocks
Its not as it was
{we are not going back} dont back pedal down a broken track
{we are not going back} Im alright jack is an easy trap
{we are not going back} no more need for wearing all black
{we are not going back} Im alright jack is an easy trap
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Must Be Freed
The ante-bellum Negro prayed,
For God to intercede,
And God in answer to him said,
'Your children shall be freed.'
The hand was seen upon the wall,
The fates at once decreed
That Negro bondsmen one and all,
Should soon be free, indeed.
'If Abraham Lincoln's president'
The South said, 'we'll secede;'
They apprehended he'd consent,
For Negroes to be freed.
To battle North against the South,
O'er states rights was agreed,
But echo from the cannon's mouth,
Said, 'Negroes must be freed.'
Confed'rates did with marked success,
McClellan's steps impede,
Till Abr'm Lincoln did confess,
That Negroes must be freed.
The Union boys with heaven's strength,
From that time did succeed;
And fought with valor till at length,
The Negro slaves were freed.
The Jim Crow car for Negroes made,
To crush their pride, indeed,
Has on the harps of thinkers played,
Those people must be freed.
The right of suffrage from the men,
Is taken out of greed;
A better day is coming when
They shall from this be freed.
Black men before the lyncher's rope,
In vain for mercy plead,
But justice cries, 'There is a hope,
From such you shall be freed.'
From ignorance and poverty,
From superstition's creed,
From those who crush his liberty,
The Negro must be freed.
The hand has written on the wall,
The clouds must all recede,
For God Whose word can never fall,
Says,'Negroes must be freed.'
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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White And Black
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever showed him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life was a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Black And White
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever shown him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life became a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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With a Readiness to Assassinate Characters
There are many trapped Negroes,
Still left behind.
And sitting on verandas, waiting...
To define themselves with wishes.
With dismissals picked,
That are easy to find!
As they pray to reopen doors...
Long abandoned,
On closed plantations.
Desperate were their needs then,
To be freed and released...
From an increase of oppressive treatment.
But mental struggles kept,
And harvested by those purists of bigotted limits.
Believing they are God's gifts.
And annointed to suppress and punish others...
As perceived from their own restricted lives lived.
In a valued wicked sickness.
And has left their land and taken stances,
Accepted as racist.
Showing their grievances on their bitter faces.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Still left behind.
With mindsets confined and enslaved.
Praying that an obeying.
Will deliver them with souls saved.
In the heavens suspended,
With harps and wings.
And praises to sing!
There are many trapped Negroes,
On expanding lazy butts!
And loving unaccountable responsibility...
That leave generations,
Annoyingly spoiled and absent of guts!
But strutting their vacant beliefs...
On filthy streets that reflect their philosophies.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Crying on the outside.
Yet denying on the inside...
They have no identities at all!
And they are lost.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Hating the fact they call themselves 'black'.
With desires to be found as clowning 'nigguhs'.
And doing their best to 'Step 'n Fetchit'.
On a backward track.
And sustaining a hip-hop gladness about that!
'Whoa...Hey!
Don't you feel some will find what you reveal offensive? '
Of course!
Especially those who oppose being referred to as Negroes.
And those African-Americans who can't stand to be called 'black'.
But not those mulattos who are thrilled to represent...
Just what it means,
To be descendents of Queens and Kings.
And proud it's digested.
Confessed and expressed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Just a Pinch of Common Sense
I am glad not to repeat...
Those days of my youth.
Encouraged to be everything else,
Instead of what I wanted to pursue.
I was young and self expressive,
Then.
With opinions I had...
I made known,
If I chose to
Over again!
Which I did often.
Much of my life lived back then,
Was done fast tracked!
With many things done...
Today would not be condoned!
Not like that.
And I am not going to settled today,
For childlike conversation,
And a densed destination...
From someone who claims to be grown!
If I can get just a pinch of common sense...
Determined to exist within one person,
I'd be feeling at home!
But those feelings here,
Aren't shown
Not like that.
From anyone claiming ownership!
That's what makes me feel lonely.
Buried in thoughts of how things used to be.
In today where those 'used to bees' are useless!
When I think about that,
I become sad as the feeling of isolation...
Overwhelms me!
When I think about that...
I realize more,
Why you and I had to depart!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Your Face
In your face.
And scrutinized on a daily basis,
That should not take place with such curiosity.
But it does with the getting of attention.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
With a dignity I wear my identity to expose.
I have never had a wish to be depicted as a stereotype,
To appease those who are white to please appetites.
Not me I am happy to be who I am.
And then there are those who wish to be viewed,
As 'good' Negroes.
With obedience and subservience,
Served to those they'd rather not upset.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
Does this confession make me 'less' patriotic?
Or am I 'more' American because I have beliefs...
To be the best human being that I can be.
Regardless of any images that provide others with relief.
How you depict with descriptions to abuse and define?
Is a problem you have to overcome in your limited mind.
With time given to dread or not.
And 'that' will never be a question you will hear me ask!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In 1975 I was among a group of blacks who formed the Black Americans in Support of Israel Committee.
quote by David Dinkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unless It Has Never Been Addressed
If you are not celebrating,
Yourself...
With pride and dignity.
You have no identity.
That is how I see it!
That is how it appears to me.
There is something missing in your life.
An understanding that goes unidentified.
Something unliked one wishes to hide...
Or ignore! Perhaps despise!
There is an unacceptance.
And whatever it is,
It is denied.
Anyone with a pride and dignity...
Will let this be known.
And it is clearly shown,
On the outside as it should be.
Unless it has never been addressed,
Or respected.
And the emptiness is left unconnected!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jim Crow Cars
If within the cruel Southland you have chanced to take a ride,
You the Jim Crow cars have noticed, how they crush a Negro's pride,
How he pays a first class passage and a second class receives,
Gets the worst accommodations ev'ry friend of truth believes.
'Tis the rule that all conductors, in the service of the train,
Practice gross discriminations on the Negro—such is plain—
If a drunkard is a white man, at his mercy Negroes are,
Legalized humiliation is the Negro Jim Crow car.
'Tis a license given white men, they may go just where they please,
In the white man's car or Negro's will they move with perfect ease,
If complaint is made by Negroes the conductor will go out
Till the whites are through carousing, then he shows himself about.
They will often raise a riot, butcher up the Negroes there,
Unmolested will they quarrel, use their pistols,rant and swear,
They will smoke among the ladies though offensive the cigar;
'Tis the place to drink their whiskey, in the Negro Jim Crow car.
If a Negro shows resistance to his treatment by a tough,
At some station he's arrested for the same, though not enough,
He is thrashed or lynched or tortured as will please the demon's rage,
Mobbed, of course, by 'unknown parties,' thus is closed the darkened page.
If a lunatic is carried, white or black, it is the same,
Or a criminal is taken to the prison-house in shame,
In the Negro car he's ushered with the sheriff at his side,
Out of deference for white men in their car he scorns to ride.
We despise a Negro's manhood, says the Southland, and expect,
All supremacy for white men—black men's rights we'll not protect,
This the Negro bears with patience for the nation bows to might,
Wrong has borne aloft its colors disregarding what is right.
This is called a Christian nation, but we fail to understand,
How the teachings of the Bible can with such a system band;
Purest love that knows no evil can alone the story tell,
How to banish such abuses, how to treat a neighbor well.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Why Negroes Don't Unite
Why of all the many races in the country where we live,
Do we find so little union as the Negro race can give?
Is it lack of love? or color? who will give the reason true,
Why they cherish opposition more than other peoples do?
We'll examine for a moment, how the Negro race is made,
Now, we find them all complexions, any hue and ev'ry shade,
Scraps of all the human races in among them we can find,
All the many dispositions, ev'ry nation of its kind.
Ev'ry tribe will hang together, though among the Negroes found,
Which will bring about dissensions, on all questions that abound,
Ev'ry blood must have a 'say so,' red or yellow, white or black,
Differ always in opinion, racial union always lack.
Hark! the whites of this assembly to a special plan agree,
Lo! the red men now are holding their opinion, don't you see?
Aye, the blacks must have a hearing in the question of today,
Yellow folks compose a factor and the same will have a say.
Scripture tells how Ham was tickled by the shame of Noah's plight,
How his brothers with a mantle shielded Noah from the light,
Now we find that Ham's descendants keep disgraces well exposed,
While the children of the others keep a shameful secret closed.
From inheritance the Negro gets his levity and mirth,
More than any other species of the races of the earth,
He rejoices in reporting what will bring his neighbor shame,
Charity extends her mantle and the others cover blame.
When the race discards the fragments, by the others thrown aside,
And suppresses altogether sinful levity and pride,
Then begins a cultivation of a union of the race,
That will strengthen all its borders which for naught will yield apace.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Setting Free The Little Black Bird...
and this i remember
when i was yet a young boy
in a far away village
i caught a black bird
in my handmade trap
and it was trying to
escape from the hold of
my hands,
at first i liked to bring it home
and show to father
but then i looked at its eyes
begging for mercy to be
set free
and i heeded to its flee
i released that little black bird free
x x x x
it is the same now between me and my body
this trap and this soul that begs now to be set free
this little black bird begging for mercy
it shall be set free
that young boy understands
it is this body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Negro Schools
Please be silent now, my country, while I fill the speaker's place;
While I point out some abuses that we constantly embrace,
Listen with your best attention to the words that I shall say,
How the Negro schools are managed, in this Commonwealth today.
All the officers are white men and together they conspire,
To undo the schools for Negroes, of such deeds they never tire;
Oft we find among the trustees men who cannot read a word,
But when speaking of the Negro, they are certain to be heard.
Education for the Negro they discourage, and they say,
'It will bring dissatisfaction to such people ev'ry day,
Make them crave for something higher, such as white men should enjoy,
Which will spoil the other Negroes that we have in our employ.'
Shorter terms are recommended many times as low as two
Are the months to Negroes given, in a year—now this is true,
Longer terms the whites are given in the same communities—
They conform to such a standard of the right with perfect ease.
Poorer pay to Negro teachers, driving good ones from the field,
Schools are let to lowest bidders to the same they're forced to yield,
Higher pay and better teachers for the white schools is the cry.
While encouragement is given Negro schools to starve and die.
Rural libraries established for the whites on ev'ry side,
But when application's made for Negro schools it is denied,
Thus they deal with education for the mass of Negro youth,
Posing still as great exponents and conservers of the truth.
From the sword of fierce Goliath we may all a lesson learn,
How while planning death to others on your head it may return,
In regard to schools for Negroes, cease their welfare to neglect,
For the same will come upon you in a way you least expect.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Hold Me Back
(young - young)
I got a big fat cadillac built for you
I got a honk thatll blow the avenue
Got a hot dog kickin all bend my thing
Got a a sugar looking woman with a bald headed man
Give me five o here boy, thats what Ill do
Got a big fat momma who can hold a tune
Gotta slip that bone in hard and mean
A honky tonk woman get the best of me
Cant hold me back
Cant hold me back
Cant hold me back
Get a heart attack
Cant hold me back
Got a honky tonk big ball hit to thrill
I got a sugar boot money baby thatll kill
A honky tonk 15 golden mile
Gotta bald headed woman loaded in the town
You can get me to the ball man, drivin in
And dont balk the kill, call in the ville
You gotta map the wrong town, hit the road
You got the whole boppa movin on down the road
Cant hold me back
You cant hold me back
You cant hold me back
You get a heart attack
Cant hold me back
You cant hold me back
You cant hold me back
You cant hold me back
You get a heart attack
Cant hold me back
You cant hold me back, you cant hold me back
You cant hold me back, you cant hold me back
Cant hold me back, you cant hold me back
You cant hold me back, you get a heart attack
Cant hold me back (hold me back)
You cant hold me back (hold me back)
You cant hold me back (hold me back)
Cant hold me back (hold me back)
You cant hold me back (hold me back)
Cant hold me back (hold me back)
You cant hold me back (hold me back)
You cant hold me back
2000, j. albert & son, pty.
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not prejudiced against the Negro. When I was governor, I did more to help the Negroes in our State than any previous Governor, and I think you can find Negro leaders in the State who will attest to this fact.
quote by Strom Thurmond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The One You Despise
Mother, I must warn you, you've come to look the fool
For, in attempt to teach me life, you've broken every rule.
You say that I should stand proud, because my ancestors were black
Yet for the ones of white and red my pride must somehow lack
You told me to feel handsome, be proud of what I see
And yet, 'Big, black and ugly, ' is all you say to me
Then manners, you tried on me to press
And handsome grooming, with proper dress
But then, you offer no respect,
And, still, from me, perfection expect
And, now, you say it's time to go
And, at eighteen, it's time. I know.
And though I love you I must away
Though, never knowing just how to say,
'I'm sorry'
The one you despise is always there
She's taught me respect, loving and care
She's taught me pride, in my ancestors, all
Because I am me, that's enough to stand tall
She's shown me the beauty in others too
She's even shown me the beauty in you.
She's taught me manners, how to get along
That appreciation and respect should be strong.
She does not worship me as you say, but offers me respect
And even with my imperfection, my trying, she accepts
Were it not for her, when I was in LA
I could hurt myself, or run away
So go ahead, Mother, and call her a whore
You'll only draw me away from you more.
'I'm sorry.'
poem by Wakefield Mahon
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My father was
My father was
A colonized negro
He moved from rural Mississippi
To brick city St. Louis.
He knew how to be black
But he kept that to himself.
My father imitated his oppressors
Said yes ser and adverted his eyes.
My father died as a security guard
At a Kentucky Fries Chicken
Killed by a younger colonized black
A victim of European imperialism.
A victim of an imposed culture
To the miss educated black man
Who holds cheat as to be
Inhuman the life of blacks
Conceder deposable in
The American culture
That teaches us to be good negros
In the white way of colonial racism
Of the psycho-sexual norm
Of Occildemtalism
poem by David E. Patton
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