Coalhouse
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CATEGORY
Six Strings sing.. Coaxing notes from the air, conjuring dreams of Favellas. Making love to conga drums, beating them into submission. Pluck chords, unlock padlocked rhythms that escaped sugarcane plantations. Slender fingers tease black saints stolen from Africa.
Mary sings from her stomach, someplace deep inside.
Finding her voice with a beautiful noise.
Like the distant memory of an old chanteuse
Mary's Bossa Nova touched tan hips
persuading bodies to move to and fro.
like strong magic....
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COMMENTS
twistedbeauty says: i enjoyed this piece |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY Coalhouse
The BeatThey gave the Beat a name and called it Hip Hop The Beat was stronger than a name The Beat was eclectic records mixed in Basements Tenements and Block parties SOMEBODY SAY HO! YOU DON'T STOP! KEEP ON! SOMEBODY SCREAM! The Beat didn't stop It became a 808 kick drum Driving through Compton The Beat made you nod your head Biggie and Tupac left physical form Speaking to the Beat The Beat was sold to sound pimps Who put whores on tour Turning top forty tricks into radio back shots Innocence lost The Beat was beaten The groove remained Living on dusty turntables Cracked cassette tapes The Beat lives on Pounded out on mess hall tables Incarcerated virtuosos sending signals To the next generation..  |
Don't fret ChildDon't fret Child They see Jesus in Us Save your tears They see Jesus in Us Jet Black to Hi Yella down to Paper Bag Brown They see Jesus in Us They see the stained glass twinkle in our eyes They see the universe in our reflection Don't fret Child They see Jesus in Us Carry racial stigma through the streets of Babylon, ancient Stigmata wounds on our hands and feet nailed to the cross Vilified crucified son of man Son of Mothers Son of Fathers Plead "My God My God Why Have You Forsaken Me" He and Him Hush Child they see Jesus in Us... |
Deep CoolDeep Cool All over this azure bubble suspended In the palm of nothing Deep cool fails to register on a thermometer or thermostat Below zero negroes Indigo tinged disciples of deep cool Cool when your feet hit the street Cool when your life plays plays out like the music in your ear The hiss of an old record speaking between beats Cool Deep cool... |
Minnie Brown (Little Rock Nine)They don't deserve us! Supreme beings levitating floating above the hate Spitting vile words vomited out of the mouths of southern belles and southern gentlemen.. Beings stronger than thrown rocks, hemp ropes lynch parties... Picnics, Pick a Nigg#r They don't deserve us! Tarnished halos crown sanctified bodyguards Step in front of bullets intended for us Sanctified bodyguard Minnie Brown prepared ground for our precarious path adding coffee to cream at Central High, Little Rock, Arkansas Sanctified bodyguard with no one to guard her body Sacrificial lamb handed over to the man, she took her stand When negros sit in, dying, trying to fit in. Know your place when you have none Find your place when you have one... Home is across the water... Home is across the water... |
Pop Culture/Pop CultCulture or Cult Industrial indoctrination inoculated with the invisible hand invisible man moving on cruise control Pop culture Pop cult the master plan Millions of Charles Mansions minions Receive video vaccinations eyes duct taped open Fed enemies intravenously Mass murder tours of duty come home a killer Choreographed by the cult Choreographed by the culture Action addicts sit still for their quick fix Sit Coms Rom Coms and Sci Fi Ricochet in empty minds Echo down empty hallways... Top Forty propaganda Do a new dance to the agenda Culture or Cult.....
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Mortal Angels BLM poemMortal Angels Fly in low trajectories Cautionary tales For Negroes with Alzheimers Forgot they Negroes Its still Emmit Till and Philando Castille Dying angels Dying in the light of day White knuckle hate taste metallic and bloody Instructed by the power structure to handcuff detain, maintain order By crushing your windpipe I cant breathe I cant breathe Three words from a mortal angel Reminding us of the price of admission Calling ourselves players When no one is playing games They left Mike Brown on the ground Mortal angel with clipped wings and covered body Our angels have a shelf life... Our angels fly low to the ground... Our angels, mortal angels..... |
Something for MartinAlone on his mountaintop Lookout Mountain Georgia Martin could see for decades difficult days ahead Moving, marching, shoe leather warrior Holding hands forming a human daisy chain link fence against brutality Martin held a barbershop mirror up to Americas unwashed conscious Blemishes imperfections magnified Turned love into a double barrel shot gun leaving pellets in hollow hearts Imbedded in hardened human hides Martin voluntary martyr wearing the undertakers suit tailored by hate sewn by supremacy Met fate in Memphis Martins dream realized in speeches Remembered in hearts... Something for Martin... |
El Hajj Malik El ShabazzMalcolm Little gave up a slave surname became brave not bulletproof Light skinned superhero eye witness to original sin southern hospitality with fire hose tactics northern apartheid, long strides through Harlem, call him brother minister Incarnation of the Negro voice muted by James Crow Stood up straight when the weight of two worlds pressed down on narrow shoulders.. He became X Last name of the stolen, Last name of the unknown... Used truth, weapons as words falling like Molotov tails incendiary and pure facing the east as he prayed Pray for us Brother Malcolm pray for us... |
Hard DriveNever erase your hard drive. Hard lives.. Stay alive. Stillborn, still here.. Midwives witness labor pangs in cotton fields. Personification of super slaves.. Fear of a black , phallic fratracide Pathological cuckold castration of the Negriod. Paranoid whipmarks keloids. Slavemaster going bareback, living life staring at stepchildren. Passive aggressive Quadroons slander Mulattos who despise triple black Sambos. Download into your mental hard drives. Hard lives. Stay alive. Stillborn, still here. Still here.... |
The Parable of I and I ( a Rastafari Toast )I and I chased the empress Neffreti across the eastern sky. Him caught her stride somewhere near Orions Belt.. I and I captured her glance and made life to her face to face.. She gave I and I rhythm, I and I gave Neffreti sons that cupped glowing embers.. I and I seen time divided by shadows on holy ground.. I and I fashioned talismans from bone and tendon, conch shell Shamans breathe hoarse incantations. Chanting ancient formulas. I and I is you, seen? I and I is you, seen? |
