Tattered Fruit

Committments

Constantly on top
even behind curtains,
like yesterday’s moon

Blooming to break away 
from closed spaces,
a seed achieved from its womb

Salvation of a Race

We used to be

the shadows of mankind,

silhouettes now come to the light

depicting images scanty no more.

An absorbing canvas,

how slavery and segregation

didn't break our mirrors

shattering the vanity's core.

Black empowerment

like a jaguar crowned panther

because it was made a different print

from the anchor.

Reveries dead,

we are a movement strong

like the bus Rosa parked

to minister our color.

-Jg

Grounded to Stay Afloat

Grounded to stay afloat,

walking in the shoes

that take me through

my days above water.

Anchored to swim tough,

a melanin boat

filled with pride and notions,

drifting like the free wind.

Rifting through

the blemished layers

my past skins flaked away

from my pigment.

No remnants

in the other side of the mirror,

only pillars of my self love

spitting the image of me now.

-Jg

Waste to Want Better

Fallen

stars against the rain,

whimpered wishes

watched through the window's pain.

Damage done

like the moon maimed,

heighlight of life

left scathed.

A bosom's trade

flashed at a parade

of what looks like treasure,

til the paint chafes.

Take the mistakes,

take the missed takes,

eyed things differently

and waste the mistakes.

-Jg

Curb the Tears

Old emotions

saturated through,

left out on the curb

like garbage day.

Landfills reak of victory,

shirt collars stained,

passed over the good will,

no longer a good feel on any skin.

Plenty dem,

separated from light,

too heavy for the wash,

like blankets over eyes.

Lighten the load,

bargain for nothing

with a gouge in price

that will sacrifice you.

Flourishing in Worry

Bags of burdens

submitted to watering

all that is beneath me.

-Jg

My Vibes

Retrieve my vibes,

plateaus to valleys low,

the bellows from under me,

an ardor from underneath.

Conceive my vibes,

the smug faces of relief

to see that a scared lion

in any pride can crown king.

Receive my vibes,

the tithes given respectively,

paving back to my roots

of Africa's Lilly.

-Jg

CondemNation

At a hierarchy of times.

I'm too black, he's too pink,

she crossed the border line;

a bunch of deleterious links tagged

that shouldn't come from America,

and I felt terrible in my fight

for the flag.

Most folks are second-class?

No one really knows them all,

yet labeled and prepared toe tags,

their brilliant lights sheathed.

Bureaucracies with slick ways,

paving graves to hide the

condemnation.

Elation cut short of dull blades,

an agony that lets the pain rage,

placing all ethnic groups in a body cast.

Be we a nation that lasts alas

without bloodshed,

of the flesh and the inner spirit.

Tattered Fruit

Tattered fruit swayed from branches;

a Langston law to how dark the past gets.

Lifeless there with blood stained leaves,

the roots that supported the tree

wretched in extended grief.

Woes fell malefic and watered the seeds,

offspring versed the values, love me or leave me.

What Mama Said

A woman is the water to a seed,

attached to the root of a man,

clinched to his growth

after Mama's rearing.

She is damaged lest it is done,

a flawed jewel pristine,

and don't place a hand on her!

Mama once told me.

Guide the light in her darkest place,

like the moon painted on her sorrow.

Brush over the blemish,

till revealing the masterpiece she is.

Fight for the woman like war raging,

escalating triumph for her battle field.

A hollow place pending burial

of everything against her smoking gun.

Don't place a hand on her!,

the woman who is not Mama,

but reflects her v...