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AFRICAN ART WHOLE SALE
Category:
Poetry
Publisher: SELF
Pages: 140
Copyright: Jan 1, 1999
Collection of Poetry/Art
and Readers Reviews
Published books of poems:
Y.P.I.M.( YOUR PAIN IS MINE) 1986
Produced and Published a monthly Newsletter, THE DRUMS, 1990-1992
DON’T YOU DARE(Confronting the Hypocrisy)1990
THE WORKS(Idle Thoughts From A Not So Idle Mind)1999
THE TRUTH OF US(What Black folks really want, or don’t want)2000
THE CRY OF A LONELY HUNTER 2004
* My poems have appeared in National publications, FRONTIER REPORT, and THE SECULAR HUMANIST
As a painter:
THE HEX, which is owned by Mrs. Chico Jones, Kansas City, Mo.
MARTIN LUTHER KING AT STUDY, owned by The Black Archives of Mid-America, Kansas City, Mo.
THE ROCK, owned by Murvell and Murlee McMurray, Kansas City, Mo.
THEZZ MY BABIES, old from THE OLD COUNTRY STORE, in Lorman, Mississippi, owner in Arizona
THE BLACK MADONNA, on loan to Derrick Davis of Vicksburg, Mississippi
* many of my paintings were stolen in 1977, in Kansas City, Missouri, from my Studio and Gallery, MIRROR IMAGE, at 71th and Prospect.
Some of us are happily on that road of Ragged Dick, Luck and Pluck, or Tattered Tom, from nothing to something, from wading to swimming, from crawling to walking...nothing is something that I was, but it wasn’t because I was nothing, I was
All that I could be
the problem was something would not let me
now I am something you see, the thing I saw, was something that would not let me be... something,
but now I no longer wade by the shore
I’m getting wet all over
and swim in the deep-in with different
strokes for sure...
Yea, I can walking right up and knock on any door
I don’t have to crawl by, try
to be invisible any more.
The funny thing is , they do become invisible, forgetful and totally self serving. They don’t remember what it took to go from pot-licker to gravy from gravy to sauce, but it doesn’t really matter to them.
Maurice Copeland, now really get to know me!
UHURU!
THE CRY OF A LONELY HUNTER
UHURU MEANS FREEDOM
To some it is a threat of life unlived
afraid they will lose everything, their power, their control, their women
To those who have not lived, don’t know what life is all about , it is being able to stretch it too its limits, even go out of bounds, and still win the game
To those who want revenge it might mean lawful terror
To some it lends opportunity to fill carpetbags
To some it means DEATH!
THE CRY OF A LONELY HUNTER
UHURU MEANS FREEDOM!
AND EQUALITY!
?
WHY, THE CRY OF A LONELY HUNTER
“Once you conquer, be fit to defend, for you have attained something someone else wants.” LeRoy F. Smith(dec’d)
I selected this title, THE CRY OF A LONELY HUNTER, because it fits the effort it has taken to reach this point in my life.
Am I the HUNTER, no I am not, the hunter is actually the prey in my life. Yes, the goal to attain, the hurdle, the sought after... This is not backwards thinking, but a realization of expectations. Is it not, that you must seek the hunter to capture his position. Once the Hunter sets out to secure a victim, itself, the hunter is realized immediately as the target, or better yet a goal to realize. All are out to bag him.
So being neither hunter, or prey, that leaves me to be positioned as the cry, that I am. Prior to the pursuit, there is a preparation, the ceremonial cry, the growl, the wail, the beating of the chest, the pacing, the building up of an expectation to conquer...
I’m the strum of the drum
I am the stomp, the pacing back and forth
The grimace and growl, the wolfs howl,
the purr, the cats meow,
the bark of the hound ready for the chase
the whine of the fisherman’s rod
as it is casts upon the lake
I walk in cautious rhythm
one step at a time
I look forward and back
to guard the hunters rear, and cover his behind.
I am the warrior’s sound dancing up a beat
kicking and stirring the dust
leaping high
off his feet, I am the sound as the feet and ground meet!
I am the sound of blood,
the blood running through the veins of
the ambitious seeker of
truth, to get to the bottom
find the root...I am the reason screamed, the twig snapped , the noise made by an well oiled trap...I am the preparation!
I AM THE CRY OF THE LONELY HUNTER, heard first
in the beginning, and THUNDERING IN CONQUEST!
Once the hunt begins, I fall silent
I move against the wind
A solitary noiseless time
muffling my approach
no cries whimpers , or whines.
Just a stealthily stalk, and wary eyes
a cunning mapping of hope, the determined walk...
then I sight my quarry, that is the
way life is , so I
don’t have to be sorry...
I try to examine them eye to eye
I have the ability to hypnotizes,
once confused, drawn in my spell
I spring to action fast as hell...
Then I shall bawl out my
VICTORIOUS ROAR!
conquered what was sought
weakened prey was caught...
WEAKENED? Was it weakened because it was ill,
or because in it’s life its journey had been fulfilled?
Was it because it was not strong, and wasn’t meant to live too long? Was it because some are suppose to die, so that other may survive, grow strong to stay alive? Was it just because one had the urge to kill, so some other could be impressed by a strong will.
WEAKENED? Maybe because it had grow fat and sassy, to big for it own good. Slow on it feet, and a target for whatever passes. Maybe it just had to rest, after dining on what it possessed. Maybe it was weakened by the arrogance of omission, not believe any would seek out it’s position...
THE CRY OF THE LONELY HUNTER...PURRS!
ENJOY THE JOURNEY
Excerpt
OLD BONEY JONES
In this poem, you will recognize a master at work...
There is a story I want to tell it has a moral sure as hell
It came from the mind of an old ex-slave
a mind that was washed to be
humble, behave
Old Boney Jones was his name, he got his name from a look he owned, tall and slim he was, he could almost look at the tree tops
or pick the crest,
darn if he didn’t look like
he could do his best...
Boney was quite a man...
I asked Boney one day about
his freedom was he glad
to be free from slavery
thankful to get away,
if he thought this freedom
was all it was put out to be
and if he was proud of freedom
would he rather be slave or free...
Boney looked confused as he thought in a wonderland
of “Ifins I’s” and “naryabouts”, and “Huhs”, then all of sudden it seemed
He discovered,
he knew he was FREE TO TELL ME!
LISTEN TO OLE BONEY...
You know sometimes I wish I was back, in the hands
of Ol Massa and Missus, cause I didn’t have to worry about,
comings, or goings
ins or outs
can I go in here, with old massa, I knew where I could go and where I couldn’t go
I knew where I was suppose to be
Who to look at
and who not to see
With old massa, I did not have to be nobody else
Now I’s free sometimes I’m scare to be me,
if I look over there,
a nigger could get scalped
and lose his hair
I f I go over there I could die...
cause my kind cant live over there
and I wonder why...I’s Free
With Old massa, I didn’t have to worry about that
I knew who I was, and where I’m suppose to be at
I didn’t have to worry if I had enough of nothing
cause I had it all, and thats a fact!
I had all the cotton, the taters, the maters and at CORNSHUCKING DAY... I had a ball
Now I’s free I wonder where the next meal
will be
I wonder if the factory will hire me
I wonder if the darkies will still notice
my picking songs
as they sashay down the promenade
singing they freedom songs...
fighting for every right that is
wrong
I wonder if freedom
is free...
They won’t let me be what I want to be
I wanted to be a builder of my black community,
they told me I was trouble,
and the COMMITTEE
will soon come talk with me!
Said they was going to tell me what I could
and couldn’t be
Would I rather be slave or free?
When I was a slave, I was somebody
Now I’m free, it’s like the darkies
don’t even see me!
Some darkies don’t act like they
know no more,
what the other one said,
ignoring one another and spurning
because they got a little learning
they snooty and book read
Freedom is funny, Makes a Darkie act
different when he got a little money...
(A different look came over Boney)
What is this freedom be
the chains of division, of hypocrisy
the changing of the guard to oppress
a thought
the opening of doors, forbidden to enter
scurry of the lost
What do this freedom bring
Carpetbags filled with
shams and schemes
false hope and
promises declared
Jim Crow and Black Codes
everywhere
separation of the minds
parades for equality
just marking time
discrimination at a steady pace
lugging blackness
all over the place
from sea to shining sea
my tail still drags
humanness denied me
Oh this freedom has brought about a change
Preference is no longer allow...
300 years of being the preferred beast
sudden equality
is leveled in decree?
My this freedom is strange
years of time released legislation
just to declare me a MAN!
Never addressing the part of me
torn apart in slavery
wife sent south never again did I see
my children sold away from me...my family torn apart...
my lover and my heart
but that didn’t matter you see
I was an animal
in captivity
sold
to the highest bidder who wanted me
to work for their
fortune and security
Best years of my labor
was laid behind
ignorant and free
to be only what they say I can be...
(It is a shame we have to beg for recognition!)
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