Happy Independence Day

Just wanted to provide a different perspective on this whole 4th of July business as we sit down to partake of BBQ and enjoy the umpteenth display of fireworks. Like most great and wise declarations from people now since past, it, in many ways, still seems relevant to our times. Happy 4th!!!




The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro
by Frederick Douglass



A speech given at Rochester, New York, July 5, 1852




Mr. President, Friends and Fellow Citizens:

He who could address this audience without a quailing sensation, has stronger nerves than I have. I do not remember ever to have appeared as a speaker before any assembly more shrinkingly, nor with greater distrust of my ability, than I do this day. A feeling has crept over me quite unfavorable to the exercise of my limited powers of speech. The task before me is one which requires much previous thought and study for its proper performance. I know that apologies of this sort are generally considered flat and unmeaning. I trust, however, that mine will not be so considered. Should I seem at ease, my appearance would much misrepresent me. The little experience I have had in addressing public meetings, in country school houses, avails me nothing on the present occasion.

The papers and placards say that I am to deliver a Fourth of July Oration. This certainly sounds large, and out of the common way, for me. It is true that I have often had the privilege to speak in this beautiful Hall, and to address many who now honor me with their presence. But neither their familiar faces, nor the perfect gage I think I have of Corinthian Hall seems to free me from embarrassment.

The fact is, ladies and gentlemen, the distance between this platform and the slave plantation, from which I escaped, is considerable-and the difficulties to he overcome in getting from the latter to the former are by no means slight. That I am here to-day is, to me, a matter of astonishment as well as of gratitude. You will not, therefore, be surprised, if in what I have to say I evince no elaborate preparation, nor grace my speech with any high sounding exordium. With little experience and with less learning, I have been able to throw my thoughts hastily and imperfectly together; and trusting to your patient and generous indulgence I will proceed to lay them before you.

This, for the purpose of this celebration, is the Fourth of July. It is the birth day of your National Independence, and of your political freedom. This, to you, as what the Passover was to the emancipated people of God. It carries your minds back to the day, and to the act of your great deliverance; and to the signs, and to the wonders, associated with that act, and that day. This celebration also marks the beginning of another year of your national life; and reminds you that the Republic of America is now 76 years old. l am glad, fellow-citizens, that your nation is so young. Seventy-six years, though a good old age for a man, is but a mere speck in the life of a nation. Three score years and ten is the allotted time for individual men; but nations number their years by thousands. According to this fact, you are, even now, only in the beginning of your national career, still lingering in the period of childhood. I repeat, I am glad this is so. There is hope in the thought, and hope is much needed, under the dark clouds which lower above the horizon. The eye of the reformer is met with angry flashes, portending disastrous times; but his heart may well beat lighter at the thought that America is young, and that she is still in the impressible stage of her existence. May he not hope that high lessons of wisdom, of justice and of truth, will yet give direction to her destiny? Were the nation older, the patriot's heart might be sadder, and the reformer's brow heavier. Its future might be shrouded in gloom, and the hope of its prophets go out in sorrow. There is consolation in the thought that America is young.-Great streams are not easily turned from channels, worn deep in the course of ages. They may sometimes rise in quiet and stately majesty, and inundate the land, refreshing and fertilizing the earth with their mysterious properties. They may also rise in wrath and fury, and bear away, on their angry waves, the accumulated wealth of years of toil and hardship. They, however, gradually flow back to the same old channel, and flow on as serenely as ever. But, while the river may not be turned aside, it may dry up, and leave nothing behind but the withered branch, and the unsightly rock, to howl in the abyss-sweeping wind, the sad tale of departed glory. As with rivers so with nations.

Fellow-citizens, I shall not presume to dwell at length on the associations that cluster about this day. The simple story of it is, that, 76 years ago, the people of this country were British subjects. The style and title of your "sovereign people" (in which you now glory) was not then born. You were under the British Crown. Your fathers esteemed the English Government as the home government; and England as the fatherland. This home government, you know, although a considerable distance from your home, did, in the exercise of its parental prerogatives, impose upon its colonial children, such restraints, burdens and limitations, as, in its mature judgment, it deemed wise, right and proper.

But your fathers, who had not adopted the fashionable idea of this day, of the infallibility of government, and the absolute character of its acts, presumed to differ from the home government in respect to the wisdom and the justice of some of those burdens and restraints. They went so far in their excitement as to pronounce the measures of government unjust, unreasonable, and oppressive, and altogether such as ought not to be quietly submitted to. I scarcely need say, fellow-citizens, that my opinion of those measures fully accords with that of your fathers. Such a declaration of agreement on my part would not be worth much to anybody. It would certainly prove nothing as to what part I might have taken had I lived during the great controversy of 1776. To say now that America was right, and England wrong, is exceedingly easy. Everybody can say it; the dastard, not less than the noble brave, can flippantly discant on the tyranny of England towards the American Colonies. It is fashionable to do so; but there was a time when, to pronounce against England, and in favor of the cause of the colonies, tried men's souls. They who did so were accounted in their day plotters of mischief, agitators and rebels, dangerous men. To side with the right against the wrong, with the weak against the strong, and with the oppressed against the oppressor! here lies the merit, and the one which, of all others, seems unfashionable in our day. The cause of liberty may be stabbed by the men who glory in the deeds of your fathers. But, to proceed.

Feeling themselves harshly and unjustly treated, by the home government, your fathers, like men of honesty, and men of spirit, earnestly sought redress. They petitioned and remonstrated; they did so in a decorous, respectful, and loyal manner. Their conduct was wholly unexceptionable. This, however, did not answer the purpose. They saw themselves treated with sovereign indifference, coldness and scorn. Yet they persevered. They were not the men to look back.

As the sheet anchor takes a firmer hold, when the ship is tossed by the storm, so did the cause of your fathers grow stronger as it breasted the chilling blasts of kingly displeasure. The greatest and best of British statesmen admitted its justice, and the loftiest eloquence of the British Senate came to its support. But, with that blindness which seems to be the unvarying characteristic of tyrants, since Pharaoh and his hosts were drowned in the Red Sea, the British Government persisted in the exactions complained of.

The madness of this course, we believe, is admitted now, even by England; but we fear the lesson is wholly lost on our present rulers.

Oppression makes a wise man mad. Your fathers were wise men, and if they did not go mad, they became restive under this treatment. They felt themselves the victims of grievous wrongs, wholly incurable in their colonial capacity. With brave men there is always a remedy for oppression. Just here, the idea of a total separation of the colonies from the crown was born! It was a startling idea, much more so than we, at this distance of time, regard it. The timid and the prudent (as has been intimated) of that day were, of course, shocked and alarmed by it.

Such people lived then, had lived before, and will, probably, ever have a place on this planet; and their course, in respect to any great change (no matter how great the good to be attained, or the wrong to be redressed by it), may be calculated with as much precision as can be the course of the stars. They hate all changes, but silver, gold and copper change! Of this sort of change they are always strongly in favor.

These people were called Tories in the days of your fathers; and the appellation, probably, conveyed the same idea that is meant by a more modern, though a somewhat less euphonious term, which we often find in our papers, applied to some of our old politicians.

Their opposition to the then dangerous thought was earnest and powerful; but, amid all their terror and affrighted vociferations against it, the alarming and revolutionary idea moved on, and the country with it.

On the 2nd of July, 1776, the old Continental Congress, to the dismay of the lovers of ease, and the worshipers of property, clothed that dreadful idea with all the authority of national sanction. They did so in the form of a resolution; and as we seldom hit upon resolutions, drawn up in our day, whose transparency is at all equal to this, it may refresh your minds and help my story if I read it.


"Resolved, That these united colonies are, and of right, ought to be free and Independent States; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown; and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, dissolved."


Citizens, your fathers made good that resolution. They succeeded; and to-day you reap the fruits of their success. The freedom gained is yours; and you, there fore, may properly celebrate this anniversary. The 4th of July is the first great fact in your nation's history-the very ringbolt in the chain of your yet undeveloped destiny.

Pride and patriotism, not less than gratitude, prompt you to celebrate and to hold it in perpetual remembrance. I have said that the Declaration of Independence is the ringbolt to the chain of your nation's destiny; so, indeed, I regard it. The principles contained in that instrument are saving principles. Stand by those principles, be true to them on all occasions, in all places, against all foes, and at whatever cost.

From the round top of your ship of state, dark and threatening clouds may be seen. Heavy billows, like mountains in the distance, disclose to the leeward huge forms of flinty rocks! That bolt drawn, that chain broken, and all is lost. Cling to this day-cling to it, and to its principles, with the grasp of a storm-tossed mariner to a spar at midnight.

The coming into being of a nation, in any circumstances, is an interesting event. But, besides general considerations, there were peculiar circumstances which make the advent of this republic an event of special attractiveness. The whole scene, as I look back to it, was simple, dignified and sublime. The population of the country, at the time, stood at the insignificant number of three millions. The country was poor in the munitions of war. The population was weak and scattered, and the country a wilderness unsubdued. There were then no means of concert and combination, such as exist now. Neither steam nor lightning had then been reduced to order and discipline. From the Potomac to the Delaware was a journey of many days. Under these, and innumerable other disadvantages, your fathers declared for liberty and independence and triumphed.

Fellow Citizens, I am not wanting in respect for the fathers of this republic. The signers of the Declaration of Independence were brave men. They were great men, too-great enough to give frame to a great age. It does not often happen to a nation to raise, at one time, such a number of truly great men. The point from which I am compelled to view them is not, certainly, the most favorable; and yet I cannot contemplate their great deeds with less than admiration. They were statesmen, patriots and heroes, and for the good they did, and the principles they contended for, I will unite with you to honor their memory.

They loved their country better than their own private interests; and, though this is not the highest form of human excellence, all will concede that it is a rare virtue, and that when it is exhibited it ought to command respect. He who will, intelligently, lay down his life for his country is a man whom it is not in human nature to despise. Your fathers staked their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, on the cause of their country. In their admiration of liberty, they lost sight of all other interests.

They were peace men; but they preferred revolution to peaceful submission to bondage. They were quiet men; but they did not shrink from agitating against oppression. They showed forbearance; but that they knew its limits. They believed in order; but not in the order of tyranny. With them, nothing was "settIed" that was not right. With them, justice, liberty and humanity were "final"; not slavery and oppression. You may well cherish the memory of such men. They were great in their day and generation. Their solid manhood stands out the more as we contrast it with these degenerate times.

How circumspect, exact and proportionate were all their movements! How unlike the politicians of an hour! Their statesmanship looked beyond the passing moment, and stretched away in strength into the distant future. They seized upon eternal principles, and set a glorious example in their defence. Mark them! Fully appreciating the hardships to be encountered, firmly believing in the right of their cause, honorably inviting the scrutiny of an on-looking world, reverently appealing to heaven to attest their sincerity, soundly comprehending the solemn responsibility they were about to assume, wisely measuring the terrible odds against them, your fathers, the fathers of this republic, did, most deliberately, under the inspiration of a glorious patriotism, and with a sublime faith in the great principles of justice and freedom, lay deep, the corner-stone of the national super-structure, which has risen and still rises in grandeur around you.

Of this fundamental work, this day is the anniversary. Our eyes are met with demonstrations of joyous enthusiasm. Banners and pennants wave exultingly on the breeze. The din of business, too, is hushed. Even mammon seems to have quitted his grasp on this day. The ear-piercing fife and the stirring drum unite their accents with the ascending peal of a thousand church bells. Prayers are made, hymns are sung, and sermons are preached in honor of this day; while the quick martial tramp of a great and multitudinous nation, echoed back by all the hills, valleys and mountains of a vast continent, bespeak the occasion one of thrilling and universal interest-nation's jubilee.

Friends and citizens, I need not enter further into the causes which led to this anniversary. Many of you understand them better than I do. You could instruct me in regard to them. That is a branch of knowledge in which you feel, perhaps, a much deeper interest than your speaker. The causes which led to the separation of the colonies from the British crown have never lacked for a tongue. They have all been taught in your common schools, narrated at your firesides, un folded from your pulpits, and thundered from your legislative halls, and are as familiar to you as household words. They form the staple of your national po etry and eloquence.

I remember, also, that, as a people, Americans are remarkably familiar with all facts which make in their own favor. This is esteemed by some as a national trait-perhaps a national weakness. It is a fact, that whatever makes for the wealth or for the reputation of Americans and can be had cheap! will be found by Americans. I shall not be charged with slandering Americans if I say I think the American side of any question may be safely left in American hands.

I leave, therefore, the great deeds of your fathers to other gentlemen whose claim to have been regularly descended will be less likely to be disputed than mine!

My business, if I have any here to-day, is with the present. The accepted time with God and His cause is the ever-living now.
Trust no future, however pleasant,
Let the dead past bury its dead;
Act, act in the living present,
Heart within, and God overhead.

We have to do with the past only as we can make it useful to the present and to the future. To all inspiring motives, to noble deeds which can be gained from the past, we are welcome. But now is the time, the important time. Your fathers have lived, died, and have done their work, and have done much of it well. You live and must die, and you must do your work. You have no right to enjoy a child's share in the labor of your fathers, unless your children are to be blest by your labors. You have no right to wear out and waste the hard-earned fame of your fathers to cover your indolence. Sydney Smith tells us that men seldom eulogize the wisdom and virtues of their fathers, but to excuse some folly or wickedness of their own. This truth is not a doubtful one. There are illustrations of it near and remote, ancient and modern. It was fashionable, hundreds of years ago, for the children of Jacob to boast, we have "Abraham to our father," when they had long lost Abraham's faith and spirit. That people contented themselves under the shadow of Abraham's great name, while they repudiated the deeds which made his name great. Need I remind you that a similar thing is being done all over this country to-day? Need I tell you that the Jews are not the only people who built the tombs of the prophets, and garnished the sepulchers of the righteous? Washington could not die till he had broken the chains of his slaves. Yet his monument is built up by the price of human blood, and the traders in the bodies and souls of men shout-"We have Washington to our father."-Alas! that it should be so; yet it is.
The evil, that men do, lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones.
Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?

Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative answer could be truthfully returned to these questions! Then would my task be light, and my burden easy and delightful. For who is there so cold, that a nation's sympathy could not warm him? Who so obdurate and dead to the claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully acknowledge such priceless benefits? Who so stolid and selfish, that would not give his voice to swell the hallelujahs of a nation's jubilee, when the chains of servitude had been torn from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like that, the dumb might eloquently speak, and the "lame man leap as an hart."

But such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common.-The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fa thers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day? If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. And let me warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a nation whose crimes, towering up to heaven, were thrown down by the breath of the Almighty, burying that nation in irrevocable ruin! I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a peeled and woe-smitten people!

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us away captive, required of us a song; and they who wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth."

Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultuous joy, I hear the mournful wail of millions! whose chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are, to-day, rendered more intolerable by the jubilee shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, "may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!" To forget them, to pass lightly over their wrongs, and to chime in with the popular theme, would be treason most scandalous and shocking, and would make me a reproach before God and the world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is American slavery. I shall see this day and its popular characteristics from the slave's point of view. Standing there identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on this 4th of July! Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally hideous and revolting. America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of the constitution and the Bible which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery-the great sin and shame of America! "I will not equivocate; I will not excuse"; I will use the severest language I can command; and yet not one word shall escape me that any man, whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is not at heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be right and just.

But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, "It is just in this circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists fail to make a favorable impression on the public mind. Would you argue more, and denounce less; would you persuade more, and rebuke less; your cause would be much more likely to succeed." But, I submit, where all is plain there is nothing to be argued. What point in the anti slavery creed would you have me argue? On what branch of the subject do the people of this country need light? Must I undertake to prove that the slave is a man? That point is conceded already. Nobody doubts it. The slaveholders themselves acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their government. They ac knowledge it when they punish disobedience on the part of the slave. There are seventy-two crimes in the State of Virginia which, if committed by a black man (no matter how ignorant he be), subject him to the punishment of death; while only two of the same crimes will subject a white man to the like punishment. What is this but the acknowledgment that the slave is a moral, intellectual, and responsible being? The manhood of the slave is conceded. It is admitted in the fact that Southern statute books are covered with enactments forbidding, under severe fines and penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or to write. When you can point to any such laws in reference to the beasts of the field, then I may con sent to argue the manhood of the slave. When the dogs in your streets, when the fowls of the air, when the cattle on your hills, when the fish of the sea, and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to distinguish the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you that the slave is a man!

For the present, it is enough to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro race. Is it not astonishing that, while we are ploughing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold; that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants and secretaries, having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators and teachers; that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hill-side, living, moving, acting, thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives and children, and, above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian's God, and looking hopefully for life and immortality beyond the grave, we are called upon to prove that we are men!

Would you have me argue that man is entitled to liberty? that he is the rightful owner of his own body? You have already declared it. Must I argue the wrongfulness of slavery? Is that a question for Republicans? Is it to be settled by the rules of logic and argumentation, as a matter beset with great difficulty, involving a doubtful application of the principle of justice, hard to be understood? How should I look to-day, in the presence of Americans, dividing, and subdividing a discourse, to show that men have a natural right to freedom? speaking of it relatively and positively, negatively and affirmatively. To do so, would be to make myself ridiculous, and to offer an insult to your understanding.-There is not a man beneath the canopy of heaven that does not know that slavery is wrong for him.

What, am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system thus marked with blood, and stained with pollution, is wrong? No! I will not. I have better employment for my time and strength than such arguments would imply.

What, then, remains to be argued? Is it that slavery is not divine; that God did not establish it; that our doctors of divinity are mistaken? There is blasphemy in the thought. That which is inhuman, cannot be divine! Who can reason on such a proposition? They that can, may; I cannot. The time for such argument is passed.

At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. O! had I the ability, and could reach the nation's ear, I would, to-day, pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.

What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy-a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.

Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the monarchies and despotisms of the Old World, travel through South America, search out every abuse, and when you have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the everyday practices of this nation, and you will say with me, that, for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival.

Take the American slave-trade, which we are told by the papers, is especially prosperous just now. Ex-Senator Benton tells us that the price of men was never higher than now. He mentions the fact to show that slavery is in no danger. This trade is one of the peculiarities of American institutions. It is carried on in all the large towns and cities in one-half of this confederacy; and millions are pocketed every year by dealers in this horrid traffic. In several states this trade is a chief source of wealth. It is called (in contradistinction to the foreign slave-trade) "the internal slave-trade." It is, probably, called so, too, in order to divert from it the horror with which the foreign slave-trade is contemplated. That trade has long since been denounced by this government as piracy. It has been denounced with burning words from the high places of the nation as an execrable traffic. To arrest it, to put an end to it, this nation keeps a squadron, at immense cost, on the coast of Africa. Everywhere, in this country, it is safe to speak of this foreign slave-trade as a most inhuman traffic, opposed alike to the Jaws of God and of man. The duty to extirpate and destroy it, is admitted even by our doctors of divinity. In order to put an end to it, some of these last have consented that their colored brethren (nominally free) should leave this country, and establish them selves on the western coast of Africa! It is, however, a notable fact that, while so much execration is poured out by Americans upon all those engaged in the foreign slave-trade, the men engaged in the slave-trade between the states pass with out condemnation, and their business is deemed honorable.

Behold the practical operation of this internal slave-trade, the American slave-trade, sustained by American politics and American religion. Here you will see men and women reared like swine for the market. You know what is a swine-drover? I will show you a man-drover. They inhabit all our Southern States. They perambulate the country, and crowd the highways of the nation, with droves of human stock. You will see one of these human flesh jobbers, armed with pistol, whip, and bowie-knife, driving a company of a hundred men, women, and children, from the Potomac to the slave market at New Orleans. These wretched people are to be sold singly, or in lots, to suit purchasers. They are food for the cotton-field and the deadly sugar-mill. Mark the sad procession, as it moves wearily along, and the inhuman wretch who drives them. Hear his savage yells and his blood-curdling oaths, as he hurries on his affrighted captives! There, see the old man with locks thinned and gray. Cast one glance, if you please, upon that young mother, whose shoulders are bare to the scorching sun, her briny tears falling on the brow of the babe in her arms. See, too, that girl of thirteen, weeping, yes! weeping, as she thinks of the mother from whom she has been torn! The drove moves tardily. Heat and sorrow have nearly consumed their strength; suddenly you hear a quick snap, like the discharge of a rifle; the fetters clank, and the chain rattles simultaneously; your ears are saluted with a scream, that seems to have torn its way to the centre of your soul The crack you heard was the sound of the slave-whip; the scream you heard was from the woman you saw with the babe. Her speed had faltered under the weight of her child and her chains! that gash on her shoulder tells her to move on. Follow this drove to New Orleans. Attend the auction; see men examined like horses; see the forms of women rudely and brutally exposed to the shock ing gaze of American slave-buyers. See this drove sold and separated forever; and never forget the deep, sad sobs that arose from that scattered multitude. Tell me, citizens, where, under the sun, you can witness a spectacle more fiendish and shocking. Yet this is but a glance at the American slave-trade, as it exists, at this moment, in the ruling part of the United States.

I was born amid such sights and scenes. To me the American slave-trade is a terrible reality. When a child, my soul was often pierced with a sense of its horrors. I lived on Philpot Street, Fell's Point, Baltimore, and have watched from the wharves the slave ships in the Basin, anchored from the shore, with their cargoes of human flesh, waiting for favorable winds to waft them down the Chesapeake. There was, at that time, a grand slave mart kept at the head of Pratt Street, by Austin Woldfolk. His agents were sent into every town and county in Maryland, announcing their arrival, through the papers, and on flaming "hand-bills," headed cash for Negroes. These men were generally well dressed men, and very captivating in their manners; ever ready to drink, to treat, and to gamble. The fate of many a slave has depended upon the turn of a single card; and many a child has been snatched from the arms of its mother by bargains arranged in a state of brutal drunkenness.

The flesh-mongers gather up their victims by dozens, and drive them, chained, to the general depot at Baltimore. When a sufficient number has been collected here, a ship is chartered for the purpose of conveying the forlorn crew to Mobile, or to New Orleans. From the slave prison to the ship, they are usually driven in the darkness of night; for since the antislavery agitation, a certain caution is observed.

In the deep, still darkness of midnight, I have been often aroused by the dead, heavy footsteps, and the piteous cries of the chained gangs that passed our door. The anguish of my boyish heart was intense; and I was often consoled, when speaking to my mistress in the morning, to hear her say that the custom was very wicked; that she hated to hear the rattle of the chains and the heart-rending cries. I was glad to find one who sympathized with me in my horror.

Fellow-citizens, this murderous traffic is, to-day, in active operation in this boasted republic. In the solitude of my spirit I see clouds of dust raised on the highways of the South; I see the bleeding footsteps; I hear the doleful wail of fettered humanity on the way to the slave-markets, where the victims are to be sold like horses, sheep, and swine, knocked off to the highest bidder. There I see the tenderest ties ruthlessly broken, to gratify the lust, caprice and rapacity of the buyers and sellers of men. My soul sickens at the sight.
Is this the land your Fathers loved,
The freedom which they toiled to win?
Is this the earth whereon they moved?
Are these the graves they slumber in?

But a still more inhuman, disgraceful, and scandalous state of things remains to be presented. By an act of the American Congress, not yet two years old, slavery has been nationalized in its most horrible and revolting form. By that act, Mason and Dixon's line has been obliterated; New York has become as Virginia; and the power to hold, hunt, and sell men, women and children, as slaves, remains no longer a mere state institution, but is now an institution of the whole United States. The power is co-extensive with the star-spangled banner, and American Christianity. Where these go, may also go the merciless slave-hunter. Where these are, man is not sacred. He is a bird for the sportsman's gun. By that most foul and fiendish of all human decrees, the liberty and person of every man are put in peril. Your broad republican domain is hunting ground for men. Not for thieves and robbers, enemies of society, merely, but for men guilty of no crime. Your law-makers have commanded all good citizens to engage in this hellish sport. Your President, your Secretary of State, your lords, nobles, and ecclesiastics enforce, as a duty you owe to your free and glorious country, and to your God, that you do this accursed thing. Not fewer than forty Americans have, within the past two years, been hunted down and, without a moment's warning, hurried away in chains, and consigned to slavery and excruciating torture. Some of these have had wives and children, dependent on them for bread; but of this, no account was made. The right of the hunter to his prey stands superior to the right of marriage, and to all rights in this republic, the rights of God included! For black men there is neither law nor justice, humanity nor religion. The Fugitive Slave Law makes mercy to them a crime; and bribes the judge who tries them. An American judge gets ten dollars for every victim he consigns to slavery, and five, when he fails to do so. The oath of any two villains is sufficient, under this hell-black enactment, to send the most pious and exemplary black man into the remorseless jaws of slavery! His own testimony is nothing. He can bring no witnesses for himself. The minister of American justice is bound by the law to hear but one side; and that side is the side of the oppressor. Let this damning fact be perpetually told. Let it be thundered around the world that in tyrant-killing, king-hating, people-loving, democratic, Christian America the seats of justice are filled with judges who hold their offices under an open and palpable bribe, and are bound, in deciding the case of a man's liberty, to hear only his accusers!

In glaring violation of justice, in shameless disregard of the forms of administering law, in cunning arrangement to entrap the defenceless, and in diabolical intent this Fugitive Slave Law stands alone in the annals of tyrannical legislation. I doubt if there be another nation on the globe having the brass and the baseness to put such a law on the statute-book. If any man in this assembly thinks differently from me in this matter, and feels able to disprove my statements, I will gladly confront him at any suitable time and place he may select.

I take this law to be one of the grossest infringements of Christian Liberty, and, if the churches and ministers of our country were nor stupidly blind, or most wickedly indifferent, they, too, would so regard it.

At the very moment that they are thanking God for the enjoyment of civil and religious liberty, and for the right to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences, they are utterly silent in respect to a law which robs religion of its chief significance and makes it utterly worthless to a world lying in wickedness. Did this law concern the "mint, anise, and cummin"-abridge the right to sing psalms, to partake of the sacrament, or to engage in any of the ceremonies of religion, it would be smitten by the thunder of a thousand pulpits. A general shout would go up from the church demanding repeal, repeal, instant repeal!-And it would go hard with that politician who presumed to so licit the votes of the people without inscribing this motto on his banner. Further, if this demand were not complied with, another Scotland would be added to the history of religious liberty, and the stern old covenanters would be thrown into the shade. A John Knox would be seen at every church door and heard from every pulpit, and Fillmore would have no more quarter than was shown by Knox to the beautiful, but treacherous, Queen Mary of Scotland. The fact that the church of our country (with fractional exceptions) does not esteem "the Fugitive Slave Law" as a declaration of war against religious liberty, im plies that that church regards religion simply as a form of worship, an empty ceremony, and not a vital principle, requiring active benevolence, justice, love, and good will towards man. It esteems sacrifice above mercy; psalm-singing above right doing; solemn meetings above practical righteousness. A worship that can be conducted by persons who refuse to give shelter to the houseless, to give bread to the hungry, clothing to the naked, and who enjoin obedience to a law forbidding these acts of mercy is a curse, not a blessing to mankind. The Bible addresses all such persons as "scribes, pharisees, hypocrites, who pay tithe ofÝ mint, anise, and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith."

But the church of this country is not only indifferent to the wrongs of the slave, it actually takes sides with the oppressors. It has made itself the bulwark of American slavery, and the shield of American slave-hunters. Many of its most eloquent Divines, who stand as the very lights of the church, have shamelessly given the sanction of religion and the Bible to the whole slave system. They have taught that man may, properly, be a slave; that the relation of master and slave is ordained of God; that to send back an escaped bondman to his master is clearly the duty of all the followers of the Lord Jesus Christ; and this horrible blasphemy is palmed off upon the world for Christianity.

For my part, I would say, welcome infidelity! welcome atheism! welcome anything! in preference to the gospel, as preached by those Divines! They convert the very name of religion into an engine of tyranny and barbarous cruelty, and serve to confirm more infidels, in this age, than all the infidel writings of Thomas Paine, Voltaire, and Bolingbroke put together have done! These ministers make religion a cold and flinty-hearted thing, having neither principles of right action nor bowels of compassion. They strip the love of God of its beauty and leave the throne of religion a huge, horrible, repulsive form. It is a religion for oppressors, tyrants, man-stealers, and thugs. It is not that "pure and undefiled religion" which is from above, and which is "first pure, then peaceable, easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and with out hypocrisy." But a religion which favors the rich against the poor; which exalts the proud above the humble; which divides mankind into two classes, tyrants and slaves; which says to the man in chains, stay there; and to the oppressor, oppress on; it is a religion which may be professed and enjoyed by all the robbers and enslavers of mankind; it makes God a respecter of persons, denies his fatherhood of the race, and tramples in the dust the great truth of the brotherhood of man. All this we affirm to be true of the popular church, and the popular worship of our land and nation-a religion, a church, and a worship which, on the authority of inspired wisdom, we pronounce to be an abomination in the sight of God. In the language of Isaiah, the American church might be well addressed, "Bring no more vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me: the new moons and Sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with; it is iniquity, even the solemn meeting. Your new moons, and your appointed feasts my soul hateth. They are a trouble to me; I am weary to bear them; and when ye spread forth your hands I will hide mine eyes from you. Yea' when ye make many prayers, I will not hear. Your hands are full of blood; cease to do evil, learn to do well; seek judgment; relieve the oppressed; judge for the fatherless; plead for the widow."

The American church is guilty, when viewed in connection with what it is doing to uphold slavery; but it is superlatively guilty when viewed in its connection with its ability to abolish slavery.

The sin of which it is guilty is one of omission as well as of commission. Albert Barnes but uttered what the common sense of every man at all observant of the actual state of the case will receive as truth, when he declared that "There is no power out of the church that could sustain slavery an hour, if it were not sustained in it."

Let the religious press, the pulpit, the Sunday School, the conference meeting, the great ecclesiastical, missionary, Bible and tract associations of the land array their immense powers against slavery, and slave-holding; and the whole system of crime and blood would be scattered to the winds, and that they do not do this involves them in the most awful responsibility of which the mind can conceive.

In prosecuting the anti-slavery enterprise, we have been asked to spare the church, to spare the ministry; but how, we ask, could such a thing be done? We are met on the threshold of our efforts for the redemption of the slave, by the church and ministry of the country, in battle arrayed against us; and we are compelled to fight or flee. From what quarter, I beg to know, has proceeded a fire so deadly upon our ranks, during the last two years, as from the Northern pulpit? As the champions of oppressors, the chosen men of American theology have appeared-men honored for their so-called piety, and their real learning. The Lords of Buffalo, the Springs of New York, the Lathrops of Auburn, the Coxes and Spencers of Brooklyn, the Gannets and Sharps of Boston, the Deweys of Washington, and other great religious lights of the land have, in utter denial of the authority of Him by whom they professed to be called to the ministry, deliberately taught us, against the example of the Hebrews, and against the remonstrance of the Apostles, that we ought to obey man's law before the law of God.2

My spirit wearies of such blasphemy; and how such men can be supported, as the "standing types and representatives of Jesus Christ," is a mystery which I leave others to penetrate. In speaking of the American church, however, let it be distinctly understood that I mean the great mass of the religious organizations of our land. There are exceptions, and I thank God that there are. Noble men may be found, scattered all over these Northern States, of whom Henry Ward Beecher, of Brooklyn; Samuel J. May, of Syracuse; and my esteemed friend (Rev. R. R. Raymond) on the platform, are shining examples; and let me say further, that, upon these men lies the duty to inspire our ranks with high religious faith and zeal, and to cheer us on in the great mission of the slave's redemption from his chains.

One is struck with the difference between the attitude of the American church towards the anti-slavery movement, and that occupied by the churches in Eng land towards a similar movement in that country. There, the church, true to its mission of ameliorating, elevating and improving the condition of mankind, came forward promptly, bound up the wounds of the West Indian slave, and re stored him to his liberty. There, the question of emancipation was a high religious question. It was demanded in the name of humanity, and according to the law of the living God. The Sharps, the Clarksons, the Wilberforces, the Buxtons, the Burchells, and the Knibbs were alike famous for their piety and for their philanthropy. The anti-slavery movement there was not an anti-church movement, for the reason that the church took its full share in prosecuting that movement: and the anti-slavery movement in this country will cease to be an anti-church movement, when the church of this country shall assume a favorable instead of a hostile position towards that movement.

Americans! your republican politics, not less than your republican religion, are flagrantly inconsistent. You boast of your love of liberty, your superior civilization, and your pure Christianity, while the whole political power of the nation (as embodied in the two great political parties) is solemnly pledged to support and perpetuate the enslavement of three millions of your countrymen. You hurl your anathemas at the crowned headed tyrants of Russia and Austria and pride yourselves on your Democratic institutions, while you yourselves consent to be the mere tools and body-guards of the tyrants of Virginia and Carolina. You invite to your shores fugitives of oppression from abroad, honor them with banquets, greet them with ovations, cheer them, toast them, salute them, protect them, and pour out your money to them like water; but the fugitives from oppression in your own land you advertise, hunt, arrest, shoot, and kill. You glory in your refinement and your universal education; yet you maintain a system as barbarous and dreadful as ever stained the character of a nation-a system begun in avarice, supported in pride, and perpetuated in cruelty. You shed tears over fallen Hungary, and make the sad story of her wrongs the theme of your poets, statesmen, and orators, till your gallant sons are ready to fly to arms to vindicate her cause against the oppressor; but, in regard to the ten thousand wrongs of the American slave, you would enforce the strictest silence, and would hail him as an enemy of the nation who dares to make those wrongs the subject of public discourse! You are all on fire at the mention of liberty for France or for Ireland; but are as cold as an iceberg at the thought of liberty for the enslaved of America. You discourse eloquently on the dignity of labor; yet, you sustain a system which, in its very essence, casts a stigma upon labor. You can bare your bosom to the storm of British artillery to throw off a three-penny tax on tea; and yet wring the last hard earned farthing from the grasp of the black laborers of your country. You profess to believe "that, of one blood, God made all nations of men to dwell on the face of all the earth," and hath commanded all men, everywhere, to love one another; yet you notoriously hate (and glory in your hatred) all men whose skins are not colored like your own. You declare before the world, and are understood by the world to declare that you "hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; and are endowed by their Creator with certain in alienable rights; and that among these are, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; and yet, you hold securely, in a bondage which, according to your own Thomas Jefferson, "is worse than ages of that which your fathers rose in rebellion to oppose," a seventh part of the inhabitants of your country.

Fellow-citizens, I will not enlarge further on your national inconsistencies. The existence of slavery in this country brands your republicanism as a sham, your humanity as a base pretense, and your Christianity as a lie. It destroys your moral power abroad: it corrupts your politicians at home. It saps the foundation of religion; it makes your name a hissing and a bye-word to a mocking earth. It is the antagonistic force in your government, the only thing that seriously disturbs and endangers your Union. it fetters your progress; it is the enemy of improvement; the deadly foe of education; it fosters pride; it breeds insolence; it promotes vice; it shelters crime; it is a curse to the earth that supports it; and yet you cling to it as if it were the sheet anchor of all your hopes. Oh! be warned! be warned! a horrible reptile is coiled up in your nation's bosom; the venomous creature is nursing at the tender breast of your youthful republic; for the love of God, tear away, and fling from you the hideous monster, and let the weight of twenty millions crush and destroy it forever!

But it is answered in reply to all this, that precisely what I have now denounced is, in fact, guaranteed and sanctioned by the Constitution of the United States; that, the right to hold, and to hunt slaves is a part of that Constitution framed by the illustrious Fathers of this Republic.

Then, I dare to affirm, notwithstanding all I have said before, your fathers stooped, basely stooped

To palter with us in a double sense:
And keep the word of promise to the ear,
But break it to the heart.
And instead of being the honest men I have before declared them to be, they were the veriest impostors that ever practised on mankind. This is the inevitable conclusion, and from it there is no escape; but I differ from those who charge this baseness on the framers of the Constitution of the United States. It is a slander upon their memory, at least, so I believe. There is not time now to argue the constitutional question at length; nor have I the ability to discuss it as it ought to be discussed. The subject has been handled with masterly power by Lysander Spooner, Esq. by William Goodell, by Samuel E. Sewall, Esq., and last, though not least, by Gerrit Smith, Esq. These gentlemen have, as I think, fully and clearly vindicated the Constitution from any design to support slavery for an hour.

Fellow-citizens! there is no matter in respect to which the people of the North have allowed themselves to be so ruinously imposed upon as that of the pro-slavery character of the Constitution. In that instrument I hold there is neither warrant, license, nor sanction of the hateful thing; but interpreted, as it ought to be interpreted, the Constitution is a glorious liberty document. Read its preamble, consider its purposes. Is slavery among them? Is it at the gate way? or is it in the temple? it is neither. While I do not intend to argue this question on the present occasion, let me ask, if it be not somewhat singular that, if the Constitution were intended to be, by its framers and adopters, a slaveholding instrument, why neither slavery, slaveholding, nor slave can any where be found in it. What would be thought of an instrument, drawn up, legally drawn up, for the purpose of entitling the city of Rochester to a tract of land, in which no mention of land was made? Now, there are certain rules of interpretation for the proper understanding of all legal instruments. These rules are well established. They are plain, commonsense rules, such as you and I, and all of us, can understand and apply, without having passed years in the study of law. I scout the idea that the question of the constitutionality, or unconstitutionality of slavery, is not a question for the people. I hold that every American citizen has a right to form an opinion of the constitution, and to propagate that opinion, and to use all honorable means to make his opinion the prevailing one. Without this right, the liberty of an American citizen would be as insecure as that of a Frenchman. Ex-Vice-President Dallas tells us that the constitution is an object to which no American mind can be too attentive, and no American heart too devoted. He further says, the Constitution, in its words, is plain and intelligible, and is meant for the home-bred, unsophisticated understandings of our fellow-citizens. Senator Berrien tells us that the Constitution is the fundamental law, that which controls all others. The charter of our liberties, which every citizen has a personal interest in understanding thoroughly. The testimony of Senator Breese, Lewis Cass, and many others that might be named, who are everywhere esteemed as sound lawyers, so regard the constitution. I take it, therefore, that it is not presumption in a private citizen to form an opinion of that instrument.

Now, take the Constitution according to its plain reading, and I defy the presentation of a single pro-slavery clause in it. On the other hand, it will be found to contain principles and purposes, entirely hostile to the existence of slavery.

I have detained my audience entirely too long already. At some future period I will gladly avail myself of an opportunity to give this subject a full and fair discussion.

Allow me to say, in conclusion, notwithstanding the dark picture I have this day presented, of the state of the nation, I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery.

"The arm of the Lord is not shortened," and the doom of slavery is certain. I, therefore, leave off where I began, with hope. While drawing encouragement from "the Declaration of Independence," the great principles it contains, and the genius of American Institutions, my spirit is also cheered by the obvious tendencies of the age. Nations do not now stand in the same relation to each other that they did ages ago. No nation can now shut itself up from the surrounding world and trot round in the same old path of its fathers without interference. The time was when such could be done. Long established customs of hurtful character could formerly fence themselves in, and do their evil work with social impunity. Knowledge was then confined and enjoyed by the privileged few, and the multitude walked on in mental darkness. But a change has now come over the affairs of mankind. Walled cities and empires have become unfashionable. The arm of commerce has borne away the gates of the strong city. Intelligence is penetrating the darkest corners of the globe. It makes its pathway over and under the sea, as well as on the earth. Wind, steam, and lightning are its chartered agents. Oceans no longer divide, but link nations together. From Boston to London is now a holiday excursion. Space is comparatively annihilated.-Thoughts expressed on one side of the Atlantic are distinctly heard on the other.

The far off and almost fabulous Pacific rolls in grandeur at our feet. The Celestial Empire, the mystery of ages, is being solved. The fiat of the Almighty, "Let there be Light," has not yet spent its force. No abuse, no outrage whether in taste, sport or avarice, can now hide itself from the all-pervading light. The iron shoe, and crippled foot of China must be seen in contrast with nature. Africa must rise and put on her yet unwoven garment. "Ethiopia shall stretch out her hand unto God." In the fervent aspirations of William Lloyd Garrison, I say, and let every heart join in saying it:


God speed the year of jubilee
The wide world o'er!
When from their galling chains set free,
Th' oppress'd shall vilely bend the knee,

And wear the yoke of tyranny
Like brutes no more.
That year will come, and freedom's reign.
To man his plundered rights again
Restore.

God speed the day when human blood
Shall cease to flow!
In every clime be understood,
The claims of human brotherhood,
And each return for evil, good,
Not blow for blow;

That day will come all feuds to end,
And change into a faithful friend
Each foe.

Here's An Inconvenient Truth

They don't give a shit
if you're a poet--
they want you
to sell your soul
in order to
put food on your table,
keep the lights on,
and have a roof over your head.

They don't give a shit
if you're trying to create
beauty
out of the ugliness of life;
wring truth
past all the bullshit
that the media tries to pass off
as reality.

Hell, they don't even believe
in the creator of the universe,
so why would they care
about what a poor little nigger
like you has to say?


Because they don't give a shit!!

Thought For The Week

"If more politicians knew poetry, and more poets knew politics, I am convinced the world would be a little better place in which to live."



---John F. Kennedy

Savoring This Moment

Last night, Senator Barack Hussein Obama, announced himself, to the nation and to the world, as the presumptive Democratic nominee for the President of the United States. We are, quite possibly, just a few months away from electing the first black man to the highest office of this land. Words at this moment seem insufficient to even convey the enormity of that thought. When I think that, once upon a time, a black man was even't allowed to vote; not even allowed to be able to read or write; not even considered to be a full human being(by law, no less); and now, here we are, on this precipice of history... I don't even know if it has quite fully sunk in yet. I can only imagine that there are tears and shouts of joy emanating from those of our American citizens who have gone on before us, who fought and died for a moment such as this. I only hope that we, as a nation, can live up to this moment and savor it for all that it is worth and make the most of it. That we, as a nation, are indeed ready for change and can be the change we want to see in the world. 'Nuff said!

A Short Poem About Me

I long to be
What God has made me to be--
A human being.

Thought For The Week

"The best response to evil is to make something beautiful."

--John O'Donoghue,
Celtic writer

Thought For The Week

"We hunger to be known and understood. We hunger to be loved. We hunger to be at peace inside our own skins. We hunger not just to be fed these things but, often without realizing it, we hunger to feed others these things because they too are starving for them. We hunger not just to be loved but to love, not just to be forgiven but to forgive, not just to be known and understood for all the good times and bad times that for better for worse have made us who we are, but to know and understand each other to the same point of seeing that, in the last analysis, we all have the same good times, the same bad times, and that for that very reason there is no such thing in all the world as anyone who is really a stranger."

- Frederick Buechner
from Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons

Thought For The Week

Sometimes I come across a poem that I wish I had written. The following poem is one of those and I humbly submit it as a thought for the week.



Bring It Forth



Leo, that lionhearted Count
Tolstoy, knew the truth:
"Love is a manifestation of the divine,
for which the notion of time does not exist.
Therefore, love is manifested only now,
in the present, in every instant."

Every instant, every breath
should echo this, "Love
is the most important thing of all.
But one cannot love
in the past or the future.
One can only love now,
at the present time and in the present moment."

Only now, only how
can we understand true compassion?
Who amongst us can love
right here and now, unconditionally
embrace the world,
all its hustle and bustle,
all its multitudes and madness,
and take them all to heart?

Who can become as lionhearted as Leo
and follow his dictum:
"The purpose of life is to bring forth goodness.
Now, in this life."

I ask and I pray,
bring it forth.

(c 2007 thomas fortenberry)

Life Without Black People

A very humorous and revealing story is told about a group of white people who were fed up with African Americans, so they joined together and wished themselves away. They passed through a deep dark tunnel and emerged in sort of a twilight zone where there is an America without black people.

At first these white people breathed a sigh of relief..

'At last', they said, 'no more crime, drugs, violence and welfare.'

All of the blacks have gone! Then suddenly, reality set in. The 'NEW AMERICA' is not America at all - only a barren land.

1. There are very few crops that have flourished because the nation was built on a slave-supported system.

2. There are no cities with tall skyscrapers because Alexander Mils, a black man, invented the elevator, and without it, one finds great difficulty reaching higher floors.

3. There are few if any cars because Richard Spikes, a black man, invented the automatic gearshift, Joseph Gambol, also black, invented the Super Charge System for Internal Combustion Engines, and Garrett A. Morgan, a black man,
invented the traffic signals.

4. Furthermore, one could not use the rapid transit system because its procurer was the electric trolley, which was invented by another black man, Albert R. Robinson.

5. Even if there were streets on which cars and a rapid transit system could operate, they were cluttered with paper because an African American, Charles Brooks, invented the street sweeper.

6. There were few if any newspapers, magazines and books because John Love invented the pencil sharpener, William Purveys invented the fountain pen, and Lee Barrage invented the Type Writing Machine and W. A. Love invented the
Advanced Printing Press. They were all, you guessed it, Black.

7. Even if Americans could write their letters, articles and books, they would not have been transported by mail because William Barry invented the Postmarking and Canceling Machine, William Purveys invented the Hand Stamp and Philip Downing invented the Letter Drop.

8. The lawns were brown and wilted because Joseph Smith invented the Lawn Sprinkler and John Burr the Lawn Mower.

9. When they entered their homes, they found them to be poorly ventilated and poorly heated. You see, Frederick Jones invented the Air Conditioner and Alice Parker the Heating Furnace. Their homes were also dim. But of course, Lewis
Lattimer later invented the Electric Lamp, Michael Harvey invented the lantern, and Granville T. Woods invented the Automatic Cut off Switch. Their homes were also filthy because Thomas W. Steward invented the Mop and Lloyd P. Ray the Dust Pan.

10. Their children met them at the door - barefooted, shabby, motley and unkempt. But what could one expect? Jan E. Matzelinger invented the Shoe Lasting Machine, Walter Sammons invented the Comb, Sarah Boone invented the Ironing Board, and George T. Samon invented the Clothes Dryer.

11. Finally, they were resigned to at least have dinner amidst all of this turmoil. But here again, the food had spoiled because another Black Man, John Standard invented the refrigerator.

Now, isn't that something? What would this country be like without the contributions of Blacks, as African-Americans?

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, 'by the time we leave for work, millions of Americans have depended on the inventions from the minds of Blacks.'

Black history includes more than just slavery, Frederick Douglass, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Marcus Garvey & W.E..B. Dubois.

Words To Live By

I hope I can live according to the words in the following quote by my favorite writer, James Baldwin:



"One writes out of one thing only -- one's own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from the experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
– James Baldwin

Thought For The Week

"Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears [their] grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do not clear a decent shelter for your sorrow, and instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge - from which new sorrows will be born for others - then sorrow will never cease in this world and will multiply."

- Etty Hillesum
quoted in Marc Ellis, "Toward a Jewish Theology of Liberation"

A Little Bit Of History To Put Things In Perspective

I wish I had written this, because it encompasses everything I believe, but I gladly post it here for all to read and to contemplate.



Why is it that a Black Man can create a tiny piece called a filament(electric light - Lewis Latimer) that allows people to see in the dark?

But can't be seen fit to lead a country to the true light.

Why is it that a Black Man can create an instrument(clock - Benjamin Banneker) that all People use to tell time?

But people don't think it is time for him to run a country.

Why is it that a Black Man can design a place for the high authorities to meet in & a place for the President to live in (The Capitol & the White House - Phillip Reid (a slave) & Pierre L'Enfant)?

But not good enough to lead these meetings or live in himself.

Why is it that a Black Man was brilliant enough to do the first open heart surgery (Dr. Daniel Hale Williams) and show the world how to get and preserve plasma (Dr. Charles Drew)?

But not good enough to put a program in place where everyone can afford this
surgery.

Why is it that a Black Man was creative enough to design an instrument (traffic light - Garrett Morgan) to bring multiple people (traffic) to a halt?

But not seen creative enough to design a plan to bring all this unnecessary and worthless fighting between countries to an end.

Why is it that a Black Man could create the soles (shoes - Jan Matzeliger) that people walk on everyday?

But not seen good enough to fill the shoes of a bad president.

Why is it that a Black Man was smart enough & brave enough to teach himself(Fredrick Douglas & Thomas Fuller - both slaves) and others how to read, write and/or calculate math?

But not seen (as) smart enough and bold enough to calculate a platform to be
President to a country that sure needs another first by us.


So you see my Brothers and Sisters, what I am saying is let us not forget our
past,

Which led us to our present and can definitely be the backbone to our
future.

We were good enough, smart enough, creative enough, and bold enough then, so

Let's all give Obama the chance to show that we are still these things and
more.

We all are as strong as our weakest link, so don't be that weak link that
denies our people that chance to show we still can OVERCOME & BE THE FIRST.

Doing The Wright Thing

The following is in response to an emailed response I received from an old college friend and fellow Obama supporter, to whom I posed the question of what she thought regarding the whole Rev. Wright situation. I've included her inital response to the question, to provide context, followed by my response.


"From the moment I first heard the sound bites I thought, 'People like Ted & I will probably agree with or at least understand where he’s coming from as soon as we hear the whole context. But sooooo many others are going to have a big problem with this!' And I was right. We totally get the whole “chickens coming home to roost” sort of thing and the fact that God does not bless the bad things we do. I admire Rev. Wright. And even though I think this will hurt Obama, I admire the way Rev. Wright will not back away from defending what he believes and speaking the truth as he sees it! I also understand Obama’s response in distancing himself from someone who will cause “divisiveness”. Obama’s goal is to bring everyone together in order to move forward together.

"What do you think?"


My response:

What I think is, "Thank you", for seeing this as I see it. I totally agree with what you just wrote. Rev. Wright is not saying anything that hasn't been said within the black community for a number of years. I think it's unfortunate regarding the timing of this with Obama running for president and I hope this doesn't have an adverse effect on his candidacy. But sometimes when you speak the truth, you run the risk of alienating and dividing people. The Old Testament prophets were considered crazy for their preaching, too. And it's been noted that a sermon that Dr. King was working on before his death, was titled, "Why America May Go To Hell"; he was vilified for his stance against the Vietnam War, saying that America was the greatest purveyor of violence in the world. But as always, America has short-term memory, as evidenced by how we choose to remember him every February and on his birthday. And why is what Rev. Wright's been saying any more outrageous than anything Jerry Falwell, Pastor Hagee, or Pat Robertson have said and been saying for years? Why hasn't the media focused on those statements like they have with Wright?(I don't think I need to answer that, if you know what I mean). I hope down the line that Obama and Rev. Wright can sit down and work this out--it would be like disavowing the knowledge of having an uncle. And I also hope that Obama can move forward and that people will see through the media smokescreen and diversion that this is and see Obama for the person that he appears to be and wants to be as president and that is, someone who does want to unify us and move this country forward.



Besides, we've had 8 years of a president who claims Christ as his favorite philosopher and yet, has no intention of admitting he was wrong about the war or of trying to get us out of it; who dropped the ball on Katrina; and wants to put the blame for the economy on Congress, but yet wants to continue to send billions and billions of dollars to Iraq. And they say that Wright is divisive? Or Obama, for having gone to his church? Don't get me started!! "Nuff said!!

How Many Shots Does It Take To Bring Down An Unarmed Black Man?

How many shots does it take to bring down an unarmed black man? Apparently, 41 isn't enough anymore--now it's 51! And they wonder why we distrust cops! And apparently it's not important anymore to br tried by a jury of your peers, when you can get a judge on the payroll to try your case, because it's more than likely that the verdict will go your way. And they wonder why we distrust the justice system? And now it's not enough to have white cops doing the shootings--they've recruited our own to do it as well. Fuck you very much!! I wiped away tears for yet another black man, gunned down on what was supposed to have been a very special day--a soon-to-be husband and probably loving father of two, who will never know him again in life, because it was decided that his life wasn't worth living anymore. Rest in peace, Sean Bell, because God knows, we won't, as long as it's ok for police in this country to gun down black men because they feel unsafe and at risk, when it turns out that their fears are unfounded and they can be acquitted for such costly and reckless actions. I hope I don't get in trouble for writing this, because God knows, speaking(or writing) the truth in public, will get you vilified. Look at what they're doing to Rev. Jeremiah Wright!! 'Nuff said...for now!

Thought For The Week

No matter what...it is with God.

He is gracious and merciful.

His way is through love,

in which we all are.

It is truly--A Love Supreme--


--John Coltrane

Billie Holiday - Strange Fruit

A classic and haunting gem from one of my favorite jazz performers.

Thought For The Week

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful implanted in the human soul.” --Johann Wolfgang Goethe

The Future Of America

I wanted to share this video of students at a high school in the Bronx who have been inspired by Barack Obama's campaign for president. It pretty much speaks for itself. If they get it...'nuff said!

Martin Luther King Jr. Tribute - U2

On this, the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in Memphis, Tennessee, I would like to share this amazing tribute video that I found on YouTube and ask that we consider the life of one of this country's greatest heroes--what was lost and what we have yet to attain to as a nation, as a "beloved community", that he hoped we would become. To slightly paraphrase another U2 song, may he "sleep tonight, and ...his dream be realized..."

Opus Beautemous

This week's entry is inspired by the famous questionnaire, created by French writer, Marcel Proust, utilized by French television talk show host, Bernard Pivot, of Bouillon de Culture, and adapted by James Lipton, host of the Bravo television show, Inside the Actors Studio, which he asks to every guest at the end of the program. I just thought I'd try this out for fun, to sort of stimulate the creative juices a little bit. Not to mention, give you a little insight into who I am. And it might be a fun exercise for those of you out there who may read this blog, to try out for yourselves or with other people. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to leave any comments, questions, and/or suggestions. 'Nuff said!!





What is your favorite word?

Beautemous-I think I made it up, I don't know when, and it doesn't seem to be in any dictionary. To me, it's a cool way of saying that something is most excellent or outstanding, like when you manage to find a parking space or something happens to you that was completely unexpected, that's beautemous.

What is your least favorite word?

Taxes. The least said about that, the better. If I could vote to avoid having anything to do with them, I would, gladly---twice!!

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Really good writing, in whatever medium. That's what I aspire to.

What turns you off?

Injustice of any kind.

What is your favorite curse word?

Well, this might come as a shock to those who knew me growing up in church or from going to a Christian college, but it's motherfucker. When it's said properly or in the right context(i.e. almost any Samuel L. Jackson movie or the title poem of my recent collection of poems, "Mofo' Risin'", etc.), in any number of variations, it's poetry.

What sound or noise do you love?
The laughter of children, especially babies.

What sound or noise do you hate?

The construction noise outside my window at 6:30 in the morning.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Jazz musician--either a piano player or trumpeter.

What profession would you not like to do?
Teacher, only because I respect the profession too much to throw my hat in the ring. Which goes contrary to what some of my friends have told me.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

I think the fact that I'm at the Pearly Gates would be enough for me.

Poetry In Review

I recently came across this review, from a couple of years ago, of a book of poems that I self-published a few years back. I wasn't aware of the review when it came out and so was pleasantly surprised when I was doing a search online and going through old emails and stumbled on it. Thank God, it was a positive review, though sometimes a negative review can be telling. But it juices me up when someone, other than family or close friends, sees some good in what I put out into the world. And, so I share this with you. If any of you out there in cyberland, who are reading this and are interested in getting a copy of this book, of which I have several and am more than willing to unleash from my stash, let me know, either by leaving a comment or shooting me an email. "Nuff said.




POETRY REVIEW

"Mofo' Risin' " by Joseph Powell
17 Poems
PO Box 10024, Burbank CA 91510
jobypoet@yahoo. com
2004

Review by L.B. Sedlacek

One of the dedications that begins "Mofo' Risin' "
is from Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise" -- "You may
shoot me with your words, / you may cut me with
your eyes, / you may kill me with your hatefulness, /
But still, like air, I'll rise." Powell's own dedication
reads, "Dedicated to all the mofos still tryin' to
rise!!" Having briefly studied poetry with Angelou
and remembering what a powerful force she is
(especially when speaking of her childhood
experiences that inspired many of her most memorable
works), I expected nothing less from Powell's
own poems. I was not disappointed. Each
poem stands on its on with clear crisp meaning,
i.e. anyone can read them and get it. And that's
quite an accomplishment.

His poems are powerful and relatable even
though I must admit that I've lived in the
"Bible Belt" (south) so long I had to sit and
think for a minute to realize what a "mofo"
really is! But, that's the point. I imagine
if I met Mr. Powell in person -- other than the fact
that we're both poets, we'd probably have
nothing in common; yet I and anyone else
could find something inherent in their own
lives in this particular body of work.

From "The Death of Cupid" --
"I will shed no more tears / Will not celebrate
another love song / or write another love
poem; / I will take my heart from my sleeve /
and put it back in my pocket, / where it
belongs, ..."

From "Gratis" --
"You are / the poem / I haven't / written/
yet. // Your words / have shown / me /
how free / I am / to be / me. ..."

From "Def Poet" --
If I were a slam poet / and, I'm not, by
the way, / I'd breathe similes /
into your nostrils / and give you life; /
(w) rap metaphors / around your ears /
like the garland wrapped / in Billie
Holiday's hair; / I would not lull you /
to sleep, ...."

Powell's verse is fresh and provocative
and sticks in your head. "Mofo' Risin' "
is a refreshing entry into human
observation and the mind of a poet.

Joseph Powell's work has appeared in
"Circle Magazine." He is the author
of "Blood on the Page" (2002) and
"With Unveiled Faces" (1998).

More Quotable Quotes

I did a blog entry a few years ago wherein I posted some quotes from other writers and the like, which I have found inspirational and enlightening. Periodically, in this blog, I would like to continue that trend, in the hopes that whoever is reading this, will also find inspiration and enlightenment as well, starting with the quotes you will find below. Enjoy!



"Just remembering how careful you have to be with words, how much we're obliged to be poets as screenwriters, is energising."

--Anthony Minghella, writer-director(The English Patient, Cold Mountain, The Talented Mr. Ripley), who died last week.


There's always something left to love

'BE YE KIND ONE TO ANOTHER...' EPHESIANS 4:32
Tony Campolo writes: 'Some years ago I saw Lorraine Hansberry's play, A Raisin in the Sun, and heard a passage that still haunts me. In it an African-American family inherits $10,000 from their father's insurance. The mother sees the chance to escape ghetto life. The brilliant daughter sees a chance to go to medical school. But the older brother begs for the money so that he and his friend can go into business together, and make things good for the rest of them. The mother gives in. Well, the 'friend' skips town with the money, and the desolate son has to break the news to the family. Immediately his sister lashes him with ugly words. Her contempt has no limits. Suddenly the mother interrupts her, "I thought I taught you to love him." The daughter answers, "Love him? There's nothing left to love." The mother responds: "There's always something left to love. And if you ain't learned that, you isn't learned nuthin! Have you cried for that boy today? I don't mean for yourself and the family. I mean for him: for what he's been through and what it done to him. Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When they done good? Well then you isn't through learning, because that isn't the time at all. It's when he's at his lowest and can't believe in himself 'cause the world has done whipped him so. When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child, measure him right. Make sure you've taken into account what hills and valleys he's done come through before he got to wherever he is".



"Life often has a way of making people feel small and unimportant. But if you find a way to express yourself through writing, to put your ideas and stories on paper, you'll feel more consequential. No one should pass through time without writing their thoughts and experiences down for others to learn from. Even if only one person, a family member, reads something you wrote long after you're gone, you live on. So writing gives you power. Writing gives you immortality."

--Antwone Fisher




"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."

–- C.S. Lewis



(On the terrible stutter he suffered from as a young man]: "One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."

--James Earl Jones



"Put me in a room with a pad and a pencil and set me up against a hundred people with a hundred computers -- I'll outcreate every goddamn sonofabitch in the room."

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."

–-Ray Bradbury


"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you
have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise.
The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."

--Sylvia Plath


"Fear of rejection, give that up. See, all fear, you have to give up. All hope, you have to give up. Because there's no such thing as hope in Hollywood. There either is doing it or not doing it."

–-James Coburn, May 22, 1992, "A Day in the Life of Hollywood"



"Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. If your ideas are any good, you'll have to ram them down people's throats."

–-Howard Aiken


"You must keep sending work out; you must never let a manuscript do nothing but eat its head off in a drawer. You send that work out again and again, while you're working on another one. If you have talent, you will receive some measure of success -- but only if you persist."

–-Isaac Asimov



"Being a real writer means being able to do the work on a bad day."

-- Norman Mailer



"Life is not a support system for art. It's the other way around."

–-Stephen King



"Of all the arts in which the wise excel, nature's chief
masterpiece is writing well."

--Andre Breton (French Writer)



"Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat."

--F. Scott Fitzgerald



"Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them."

–-Nathaniel Hawthorne



"Some of us are timid. We think we have something to lose so we don't try for the next hill."

--Maya Angelou, Writer


'Nuff said for now!

We Are The Ones--Another Obama Video by will-i-am

When I watch something like this, I feel encouraged by what is possible. Like what people felt about John and Bobby Kennedy; about Martin Luther King, Jr.; the way I felt when Harold Washington ran to become, and then became, the first black mayor of Chicago; even what I felt when Hillary's husband ran for the presidency in '92. What is possible. When a dream can become a reality. I believe that Obama represents that change is possible and that he will be a president of the people and the face of this nation that the world needs to see. As always, just my thoughts. Enjoy the video and let me know what you think.

A Reluctant Eulogy

It was a year ago this past weekend that I lost one of the closest friends I have or ever will know--Michael Edmonds. He was my "partner in crime", my brother, compadre, my laugh meter. We shared as many commonalities(both children of the Christian faith; both divorced; both desiring to be writers; lovers of good comedy and strong drama; able to break the other up with a good joke or funny line; co-workers in the field of animation preproduction) as we did differences(he from the deep South, I from the upper Midwest; he white, myself black; he of the conservative Republican persuasion, myself a progressive Democrat), which made for a unique friendship and those are rare indeed. Hardly a day goes by since his passing that I don't think of my friend. There have been scores of jokes and movies that I would love to call him up and chat and laugh about; I would love to hear his thoughts on the current presidential race, even if we probably wouldn't agree on a candidate; and he would have been an integral part of my wedding last October. My life has not been the same now that he's gone and memories, however vivid or not, do not nearly suffice. And talking to the departed seems to work best in movies and on tv. Even the following poem, written for a memorial service that some of his friends here in southern California had for him last year, barely scratches the surface of honoring who he was and meant(still means) to me. All I can say is that I hope whoever read this blog entry will be blessed, as I feel I have been, to know a friend like my friend Michael. "Nuff said"!!






A RELUCTANT EULOGY
(for Michael)

by Joseph Powell




This is for my fallen comrade,
for my brother-in-arms
for my partner in crime.

I am crying copious tears that
I never expected to shed---
So soon, too soon.

I am not asking God to answer me why
He took my friend,
for I don’t expect Him to tell me;

but I am asking Him to turn back the sun
for at least one time,
for one more day to hear his laugh,
for one more day to see that mischievous twinkle in his eye,
for one more day to see that “shit-eating grin”.

But I don’t expect Him to do that either.

But in time, I hope He will strengthen my fragile memories,
let me hear his laughter in my head,
let me turn those tears into twinkles in my own eyes,
let me wear that “shit-eating grin” that he loved so much,
as I remember the bond we shared
as comrades in the struggle,
as brothers-in-arms,
as partners in crime.

In closing, I will ask of God one thing I expect He will grant—

that I not forget.


© 2007 Joseph Powell

And, In Closing...

To finish out with the theme of Black History Month, I leave you with another piece from my poetic archives, also inspired by another writer who I consider to be a spiritual and literary mentor and whose ability to speak the truth in love is something I've tried to emulate and continue to aspire to--James Baldwin. He was Harlem's(and therefore, America's) native son. The author of several novels, including "Go Tell It On The Mountain" and "Giovanni's Room";a number of essays including "The Fire Next Time"; as well as plays, screenplays and poems, he was a much needed voice during the height of the civil rights movement, someone not afraid to show this country who it was and still proclaim love for it, in spite of itself. As always, I implore you to check this writer out for yourself and be inspired as I continue to be. In the meantime, enjoy the following poem and let me know what you think by leaving your comments, thoughts, etc. 'Nuff said!


A BELATED MEMORIAL FOR
A PROPHET LONG GONE
(for James Baldwin)



His flesh became word
And was spoken among us,
Though we esteemed him not--
With nappy head
And frog eyes;
Not exactly an appearance
That would easily attract someone.
But he spoke with the tongue
of a fierce angel
and his pen was a mighty, two-edged
sword.
He preached the truth,
in love, of course,
for how else could he have done it?
But heard him, we did not,
like so many of our prophets before him.

He came from among us,
yet he was not quite like us,
with a soul that epitomized
the dichotomy, the paradox,
the bittersweet wrestle
within us all--
black and white,
angel and devil,
male and female,
saint and sinner,
slave and free.

But like Martin and Malcolm,
his younger brothers
and fellow warriors before him,
he is now free at last,
his soul having found a resting place--
his sword beaten into a plowshare,
he wrestles no more.


© Joseph Powell

The Quintessential Poet

In continuing the theme of Black History Month, I submit the following poem,"A Hymn For Sister Maya". Like the poem from last week's entry, it too was written roughly fifteen years ago(I hope my best poems are not from fifteen years ago!). It is, what I think, a loving homage to a person who, I feel, is the quintessential poet and the inspiration for why I am a poet and what I aspire to do with my writing--Maya Angelou. If you've never read her work or heard her speak, you are sorely missing out on one of the great treasures of this world. For those not familiar(and you've probably been living under a rock, if that's the case), I would suggest reading "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings", the first in a series of autobiographies she's written about her amazing life. Or get a collection of her poems(preferably in audio if possible, though her voice speaks loud and clear from the page as well). At any rate, I hope the following poem serves the purpose that I intended and that is, to convey the wonder and beauty of this "phenomenal woman"--"the epitome of eloquence" and "the embodiment of elegance"--and that it will inspire you to seek her out. "Nuff said!



A Hymn For Sister Maya


The epitome of eloquence,
The embodiment of elegance;
Queen--
Mother Africa descended
In all her glorious splendor.
Her voice,
Once silent long ago,
Now springs forth
Like the thunder
Of a thousand rainstorms
And just as nourishing;
Or,
Like the still small voice
Of a gentle angel,
Bearing glad tidings
Of great joy.
Her beauty
Knows no equal;
Her words
Are like fine silk,
Smooth to the touch,
Pleasing to the skin;

Or,
A double-edged sword
Piercing bone and marrow,
For she can't help
But bring forth truth,
The truth.
It is her gift to us--
Her calling,
Her life's blood,
Her duty
As one raised up from the wilderness,
Not as a reed swayed by the wind,
But a prophetess of the highest order.

She is
That heaven we find in a wildflower,
Our mirror to nature;
But not only that.
She is
The storefront preacher;
The street rapper;
The social worker;
That favorite teacher.
She is
Mother, daughter;
Sister, lover;
Friend;
Our fielder of dreams
And conveyer of nightmares.

She is
The cry of Rachel
Weeping for her children
And refusing to be comforted.
She is
The song of the virgin Mary
In praise to her God.
The world is brighter
Because she has shone her light
In our dark places.
Her candle
Will one day
Blow out,
But the flame
That she has ignited
Will burn on,
Eternal,
For that is
What flames do.


© Joseph Powell

Resolved:To Be Seen And Heard(An Invisible Man Speaks Out)

The following poem is one that I wrote, oh maybe, fifteen years ago or so, and one, I believe, is in keeping with the theme of black history. Not to mention, that some of what it speaks about and to is still relevant in these supposedly enlightened times. I performed an excerpt of it in the National Geographic/PBS documentary special, "Skin", which aired back in November 2002 and which is featured here as well. I hope that you may find something inspirational or thought-provoking or maybe even just a little bit of yourself in the piece. And if not, just keep your comments to yourself.(Just kidding!)







Resolved:To Be Seen and Heard
(An Invisible Man Speaks Out)


Hear me, America!
For I will not be silent.
I will not go gentle
Into that good night
Or anywhere else you wish me to go.
For I am here
And here I'll stay,
Until you acknowledge me
Or die trying.
For I am your darker brother
You'd rather keep in the closet;
The invisible man you choose not to see;
The millionth man wishing to be counted;
The rapper and the preacher,
Speaking the truth to you in love,
But by all means necessary.

I am the somebody standing next to you in an elevator,
As you clutch your purse tighter and hope that
I'm not getting off on the same floor as you.
I am God's child, sitting next to you in church,
And yet as far away from you as the east is from the west.

I am the one who got away
From the projects, drugs, gangs, and prisons;
Who works on Wall Street, Madison Ave, the Wilshire District,
and the Magnificent Mile;
But can't catch a cab or buy a home
or get a loan or date your daughter
or live next door to you.

I am Othello, the hero you love in public,
and the scourge you hate in private.
I am James Baldwin,
Malcolm X,
Martin Luther King,
Thurgood Marshall,
Langston Hughes,
W.E.B. DuBois,
And a host of others--
Still wondering, when are you going to wake up?
Wondering, when are you going to get it?

I am the ghost of decades past;
Of slavery and lynchings,
Of white sheets and burning crosses,
Of Jim Crow and "Move to the rear",
Of attack dogs and fire hoses,
Of "Wait!" and "Be patient!",
Of assassinations and wiretaps,
Of getting the mule without the 40 acres,
Of affirmative action and Indian-giving
(If you know what I mean!).

Am I bugging you?
Have I got under your skin?
Because you haven't gotten under mine yet,
Nor have you walked in my shoes.
For if you could, you'd see
That I am you and you are me;
The reflection of your hopes and fears,
Your thoughts and dreams;
The other side of the coin;
Truth staring you in the face;
Love waiting to be received;
The dream tired of being deferred;
The voice in the wilderness,
waiting to be answered.

Will you see me as I am,
Not as what pride and prejudice
Has blinded you to?
Will you hear me
Amidst the din and noise
Of fear and ignorance?
Hear me say,
In a still small voice,
"I love you!"........


I'm still waiting.


© Joseph Powell

YES WE CAN - Music Video Barack Obama

This is an amazing video featuring and produced by will-i-am of the group, black eyed peas, inspired by and featuring excerpts from Barack Obama's speech after the New Hampshire primary. It also features some familiar faces you might recognize. Enjoy!

Beyond Baroque - Joseph Powell

This is a video of me reading my poems, "Def Poet" and "Riding the Coltrane", at the Beyond Baroque open mic, Venice, CA on April 1, 2007. Enjoy!

Ben Harper Widget

In Celebration Of Black History, Vol. 2

Just as I believe there should be a moratorium on the "I Have A Dream" speech being remembered as the only aspect of Martin Luther King, Jr., I believe that maybe the concept of Black History Month needs to be revisited and/or extended to remembrances and celebrations throughout the year, because the shortest month of the year is not fit to cover all the achievements that are worth honoring, let alone all the other months of the year, because those achievements are beyond numerous. But I may be alone in that assessment--who knows?

Be that as it may and until that happens, I hope to devote the next several entries this month to the celebration of Black History. First off, I would like to point you all to my entry of February 20, 2006. It sums up some thoughts that I had/have on the subject and after rereading them, they still hold up. Secondly, I would like to suggest(recommend?!) as a way to celebrate, going out and renting the movie, "Killer Of Sheep", by Charles Burnett. It's a film that was originally produced in 1977, but without any considerable distribution, until last year, where it received practically a second life after being released in select theaters across the country and as part of a special-edition dvd box set and was considered by several critics, including Time magazine, as one of the best films of the year. It currently is one of the films listed in the archives of the Library of Congress. It's one of the most realistic portrayals of a black family ever filmed--in a lot of ways, it reminded me of growing up on the south side of Chicago during that same period, even though it takes place in south Los Angeles. The film is like a montage of beautiful black and white photographs come to life and some of those images are very stunning, poetic and poignant. Talk about black history.

Thirdly, speaking again of black history, I think that on this eve of Super Tuesday, we are on the verge of making history, not just in terms of black, but possibly as a nation, by potentially electing a black man as president of this country. I submit to you that my support is for Barack Obama and for reasons that go beyond the fact that he is black, though I do honestly take that into account. For the first time in a long time, we have someone who inspires us as a country to move forward, to exemplify progress, and put a new face on this country's leadership that we have never seen in the history of this presidency. Not to mention the inspiration that this gives to scores of young children who will be able to see that anything is possible and that attaining one of the highest positions in the world is not a pipe dream. I finish this thought with a quote from the L.A. Times' recent endorsement of Obama--"In the language of metaphor, (Hillary)Clinton is an essay, solid and reasoned; Obama is a poem, lyric and filled with possibility".

Fourthly, and in closing, I will be posting one of several poems in each entry this month that celebrate some of my heroes, people who inspire me to dream and aspire to greater aspects of humanity and to make my own history. People like Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and the subject of today's poem, which I wrote 8 years ago, Langston Hughes. I hope that this, along with the other poems to come, will inspire you as well, to make your own history, no matter who you are, for we are all in this together. 'Nuff said.


The Negro Speaks Of Langston Hughes


I've known the blues;
the eternal tom-tom of joy and laughter;
pain swallowed in a smile.

I know, because of Langston;
His words drunk deep into my soul,
like fine cherry wine;
words which flow down like waters
into the wellspring of my being;
flow like the blood that courses
through my veins.

I've known jazz;
the sound of the "A" train racing to Harlem;
the heartbreak of Lady Day;
the za-ba-doo-bop of Satchmo.

I've known blackness,
because of Langston,
of what happens to a dream deferred;
of cotton fields and the Mississippi;
of spirituals and folksongs;
of beauty and ugliness.

I know of poetry,
becuase of Langston;
for you can't be black and a poet,
and not give the man his due.

I know
when the Negro speaks of Langston,
He speaks of America;
of black folks
and white folks;
and even the brown, yellow,
and red folks;
when the Negro speaks of Langston,
He speaks of himself.

© 2000 Joseph Powell

The Other Side Of Satchmo

I just finished reading a great collection of writings and essays by someone whom I would have never associated with as being a writer, especially one as brutally honest as he was in the detailing of his life, his career, and his relationships. That person is Louis Armstrong, the famed jazz trumpeter and pioneer. We all know the gravelly voice, the perpetual smile he always wore, and his amazing way with a horn, but in "Louis Armstrong:In His Own Words", you get to see a side of the man that was rarely visible in my lifetime or awareness of him as a performer. And it made him that much more human and accessible. He shared a love of writing--he speaks of always carrying a typewriter with him everywhere he travelled, so that he was always typing in between sets and shows, whether it was his thoughts, an essay or two, a review, or responding to the scores of letters that he got from friends and fans alike. He spoke of his youth, growing up in New Orleans with his mother, May Ann, and his sister, "Mama Lucy", and his evolution as a musician; his appreciation of his mentor and "father figure", the great Joe "King" Oliver; his sojourn to Chicago, along with many other fellow musicians of his time; his marriages and relationships with women; his estimation of other musicians that he worked with and who came after him during the bebop era; and the love and adoration of his fans over the years that he so deeply appreciated. You also get to read his reactions to some of the negative feelings towards him as it pertained to his involvement in race relations in this country.

Like Charles Bukowski and James Baldwin, two writers who I strongly admired and strive to be like in terms of speaking the truth, he spoke plainly and honestly, sometimes bluntly so, about whatever was on his mind or was going on in his life at the time, over the course of his 71 years. Like Martin Luther King, Jr., he was more than the images we are used to seeing. A flesh-and-blood human being--flawed and contradictory, yet talented and profound in ways innumerable to mention. His life would definitely make for a great film, which with the plethora of biopics that are prevalent these days, should be strongly considered. He represented and represents everything I love about jazz and black history and what it means to be a man, a black man, a human. If you are a fan of jazz or even a fan of Louis Armstrong; if you love a good autobiography or series of essays; or if you just want to be inspired by a good life well-lived, I would strongly recommend finding a copy of "Louis Armstrong: In His Own Words", at a local library or bookstore. As he would have said, I am red beans and ricely yours. 'Nuff said.

Celebrating MLK

I think there needs to be a moratorium on the "I Have A Dream" speech as a remembrance to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. As if this one speech defines this man. As if this is the only speech he ever gave in his life. He was much more than this one speech and he certainly wasn't killed because he had a dream of racial equality. We need to overcome, as a nation, our short-term memory of the man, who fought, not just against racism and prejudice, but against poverty, the Vietnam War, and other injustices. A Baptist preacher, a husband, father, son, friend, activist, most likely a real down-to-earth brother who felt just as comfortable talking to people in barbershops and street corners, as he was talking to heads of states in oval offices and boardrooms. In other words, a human being of flesh and blood, who was a voice of the common man, as much as he was an international leader.

In trying to come up with things to write about for this blog, I came across the following article this morning, which much more eloquently says all that I'm trying to and wanted to say in this post. And I hope those of you who read it will come to feel the same way. If we truly want to honor Martin Luther King, Jr., let's remember him beyond the 2-minute soundbites of "I Have a Dream"; let's remember him as he wanted to be remembered--as a "drum major for justice". Justice in all of its forms. 'Nuff said!

http://www.alternet.org/story/74337/?page=entire

It's Nice To Have A Family

Today is the fourth anniversary of the relationship that I have with the woman who is now my wife. We were recently married three months ago in a family commitment ceremony that included her teenage daughter. It was a very personal event, attended to and by many friends and family members, which made it very special, very spiritual, and very emotional. Nothing in life ever comes easy and this was a case in point, in that it almost never happened, due to unforeseen circumstances, including being ripped off by the “owner” of a desert resort we had planned to use for the event. But , as they say, God works in mysterious ways, and gave us a day that will not soon be forgotten and blessed us with people who made it a day worth celebrating.

It’s good to be a part of a family—to be needed and relied upon, and to have people who can be relied upon as well. Especially after coming through a situation where I was no longer needed and made to feel that I was worthless. But in a followup to what I said in my poem, “Mofo’ Risin’”, featured in the May 16, 2006 entry of this blog, I have found a woman who thinks that I am much of a man and can be much of a husband; and not only that, but I have also found a child growing into a young woman, who sees me as a father, even more so than her biological one. All of which, needless to say, came unexpectedly. But isn’t that what a blessing is? An unexpected gift. Well, in that case, I have been doubly blessed and continue to be so and hopefully will for a long time to come.

Below are poems written specifically for the aforementioned ceremony. The first, “Blessed Union Of Souls”, is a poem I read during the ceremony. “Family Snapshots” are poems that were read by the bridesmaids during the reception, as a surprise to my wife. There were actually six poems, the sixth being the poem, “Face”, featured in the Dec. 1st, 2005 entry, “A Portrait In Words”. As with all my poetry, I hope, the words speak for themselves and hopefully convey what I intended them to, which is my heart. And as always, I thank you for your time. ‘Nuff said!



Blessed Union Of Souls



Dearly beloved,
We are gathered today
To celebrate
This blessed union of souls;
This blessed union
Of a man
To a woman and child;
Of a husband to a wife,
Of a daughter to a want-to-be,
Hoped-to-be,
Promise-to-be,
Father.


Witness, if you please,
The pledges of love here today;
A thing of beauty
That will be a joy forever.
Acknowledge, if you will,
This blessed trinity,
This family;
Assure and affirm them, with
Your loyalty and devotion
As they commit to each other
Their loyalty and devotion;
Assure them of your presence
In their lives--
That they will be upheld
By strong arms of love and support;
That the ties that bind
Will never be severed.


Affirm them in their uniqueness,
Their beautiful blend,
Their wonderful eclectic mixture
Of color and spirit,
Of love and peace;
Again, I say, a thing of beauty.


Behold, Toni, Joseph, and Santi,
These three,
These precious three
As they become one,
As they become a symbol
Of what God can do.


So elevate,
Appreciate,
Celebrate,
This blessed union of souls,
This trinity of love and devotion,
This family.


© 2007 Joseph Powell



Family Snapshots



Snapshot #1


I've traded in my tears of solitude
for the love of a good woman
and a child who chooses
to call me father---
I am doubly blessed,
though I never expected it
and never knew how to look for it;
yet I receive them
as I would a precious gift,
beautifully wrapped,
presented in love,
not to own, so much,
but to cherish
and enjoy in their splendor.




Snapshot #2


She calls me husband
And I will do my damnedest
to aspire to be that;
And going in,
I know I will fail
and fail many times,
for I am not perfect;
but it is not perfection
I seek,
at least,
not in her eyes;
what I seek,
is to be
what she calls me---
husband.






Snapshot #3


I will call her wife
And I will do my damnedest
to help her to be that---
not on a pedestal,
not walking behind me,
but partner,
at my side,
for life.

I will seek
to allow her beauty
to shine,
as the precious ruby
that I have found;

I will make room
for her voice
to be heard,
for her voice
will not be contained.

I will call her wife---
partner at my side,
partner of my life,

I will call her wife.





Snapshot #4


Her name is Santi,
which means peace--
And peace is what
she brings to me;
but I will choose
to call her
daughter,
for that is what
she is to me;
though she is not
of my blood,
though I was not
present
at her birth,
and I did not
watch her grow,
as one would watch
seeds and buds
grow into flowers;
I will still
call her
daughter
and be present
as that flower
continues to burst
into bloom,
bringing peace
to others.





Snapshot #5


This family you celebrate
here tonight,
is just one verse
of a larger poem
that continues
to be written;
you friends,
are other verses,
that when added,
will make that poem sing.

So ask yourself,
what verse
will you contribute?
What is the poem
that you want this family
to be?

And then,
go
and write it!


© 2007 Joseph Powell

2008--A Challenge

2008. A brand new year. Full of new possibilities, new challenges, new highs and new lows. There will be births, there will be deaths. Marriages( I know of at least three weddings that I will be attending this year alone) and divorces(hopefully no one that I know). Everyone is/has been making resolutions this year, as they do every year. Mine is simple and one that I have every year—that I devote myself to writing. Of course, I hope to become a better husband, a better stepfather, son, brother, employee, etc. But being a writer is what I’ve always wanted to be and something that I want to make happen, now more than ever. I am hoping to teach myself how to write a script; hoping to write a novel and not a few short stories; and maybe a song or two( I just received a guitar for Christmas and it only seems apropos that I lend myself to songwriting as well). Of course, there will probably be poems(my strong suit), but I do not want to limit myself this year.

That was/is the reason I started this blog, as one of many avenues to challenge myself to write. It has not, unfortunately, been successful, and that’s something I’m hoping to rectify in this new year. To that end, I am challenging myself to submit to this blog weekly, whether it be a poem, random thoughts on my life and its mundanities(is that a word? Hey, maybe I’ll even create some new ones!), and events of the day(hey, it is an election year!). The length of each entry will most likely vary—sometimes a page, sometimes maybe just a line or two, but I will seek to make it happen, as if my life depended on it. And if there’s anyone out there who chooses to read this and stay with me on this, I welcome your encouragement, comments, and/or criticisms.

In closing, I leave with a quote that is one of many sparks to this newfound hope mentioned in this blog and hope that you too may find inspiration in it as well.


“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”


Used by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 inaugural speech

911 Redux(World Trade Center)

9-11 Redux

Echoes of F.D.R.
Ring in my head—
“A day which will live
in infamy”;
Ringing,
Like the phone
Which awoke
Me from sleep.
Asleep,
While somewhere,
Scores were dying.
And now I find it harder
To sleep
‘cause now I hear blood
crying from the ground.

People will ask,
‘Do you remember where
you were when?’
And I will say,
‘Yeah, in a state of shock,’
which turned into
a New York
state of mind,
wishing I could stop
the madness
that crashed into
the twin brothers
in this first year
of the new century
on the 11th day
of the 9th month—
a day whose numbers
are linked
with the number
for emergency;
a day when chaos ruled
and the news became
a liturgical obituary;

when my bloodshot eyes
were red, not from lack of sleep,
but from the carnage
that filled my TV screen;
when the local news
battled the world news
for body counts.

They say in space,
‘No one can hear you scream’,
But on this day,
I think I heard
The whole universe
Screaming,
A sound matched only
By the falling of teardrops
In a forest of humanity.

© Joseph Powell



World Trade Center(A Review)

The defining moment of our generation, the attacks of 9/11, are brilliantly reenacted in the powerful new film from Oliver Stone, "World Trade Center". There are those who say that it's too soon for a film like this or the earlier release, "United 93"(which I have yet to see), but five years hence, if we've learned anything from history, it's that we should never forget. And Stone does an amazing job of reminding us of the events of that day--from the shadow of the first plane just before it hits the first tower, to the courage and determination of the first responders to the scene at the twin towers; the confusion of what was really transpiring that morning, to the impact it had on the families of the police and firefighters who were doing their duty without realizing that they were diving into the belly of a fierce and relentless beast, from which they might not return.

Whatever you might think of Stone, his politics, or the controversies and conspiracy theories that tend to surround most of his films, this film is an exercise in brilliant, albeit straightforward moviemaking. In the words of Dragnet's Jack Webb, it's "just the facts, ma'am". In addition to making us relive the horrors of that day, we enter into the story of two of the first responders on that day, Sgt. John McLoughlin(subtly played by Nicholas Cage) and Officer William Jimeno(in a bravura performance by Michael Pena, recently of "Crash"). They were just two of an unfortunately small group of survivors from the destruction and we are made to feel that we are with them when they are eventually trapped beneath the rubble of the buildings. Actors are usually required to use every part of their body when performing, whether it's stage or screen(Cage is a perfect case in point in almost every film we've ever seen him in), and I believe it's a remarkable feat when these two actors spend the majority of this movie, trapped with only their faces mostly showing, are able to convey the tension and uncertainty of what those officers must have been feeling in that situation. Kudos also to the two strong actresses who play their wives, Maria Bello(of "The Cooler" and "A History Of Violence"), who plays Donna McLoughlin and Maggie Gyllenhaal(of "Secretary") who plays Allison Jimeno. These are two of the better female performances of the year thus far, not to mention fine additions to what are strongly impressive resumes and they capture the strength and conviction that these two women must have faced(and possibly what every police officers' wives face when their husbands go off to work on what is supposedly just another typical day). There is also fine work from some of the smaller supporting roles of family members and fellow officers, which gives us a sense of the fortitude and determination of the New Yorkers that were involved.

This is another of a long list of Oliver Stone's impressive films(which include "Platoon", "Wall Steet", and "Born On The Fourth Of July", which simply tells a story of real people in unique and sometimes very harrowing circumstances and how they deal with those and how it changes their lives. And as with those films, after viewing them, we are somehow the better for it, if for no other reason, that we are reminded of humanity's potential for good. Sometimes you can't ask for a film to do much more than that.

A Hopelessly Shameless Plug(Is There Any Other Kind?)

For those who may be interested in and/or looking for some good poetry to read, I am currently selling copies of my most recent chapbook of poetry, “Mofo’ Risin’ “. It is a collection of 17 poems that I self-published in 2004, mostly inspired by the aftereffects of a divorce I went through at that time and the process of trying to work through such a drastic life change. The book is on sale for $7 and can be purchased by contacting me through email at jobypoet@yahoo.com. Some of the poems I’ve published in this blog are featured in the book. Other excerpts can be found at http://www.musesreview.org/ and http://www.instantpublisher.com/, the site I used to self-publish the book. There’s also an excellent review of it at http://www.infoedit.net/. If any of you have enjoyed my work thus far in this blog, I would strongly implore that you consider buying a copy of my book. Thank you for your time and patronage and happy reading. God bless!

With Thanks To Edvard Munch

I just want to fucking scream. I want to scream until all the blues that are pent up in my soul comes pouring out; until all the murderous violence I feel inside bleeds out of my pores. I want to scream for all the stupidity I see in the world, both near and far. The stupidity of an endless war; of people still being judged by the color of their skin; of poor and homeless people living less than a stone’s throw away from the offices and homes of the wealthy. The stupidity of ‘trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime when you haven’t even got a cent’. Of a president who can’t see the forest for the trees that he’s mowing down to pave way for more of the same bullshit he’s been laying for the past 6 years.

I want to scream the truth! I want to scream for a better life—not necessarily of fame or fortune, but one of realness and honesty. To not be afraid of what I want to be or want to do in this fucked-up world. I want my poetry to matter, Mr. Gioia, wherever you are! I want to live my raison d’etre to the fullest possible degree. To still be able to create beauty out of pain; to celebrate love and faith and sex and all the rest. In other words, to be human, as humanly possible.

Mofo' Risin'

This poem, I believe, speaks for itself. It’s the title piece of my most recent chapbook, published in 2004.




Mofo’ Risin’


The beautiful
Fucked-up man
Has left
The
Building
And he’s
Taken his
Cross,
What’s left
Of his
Dignity
And manhood
And his
Creamy
Peanut butter,
Because
Only choosy
Motherfuckers
Choose creamy
Peanut butter,
Jif or otherwise.

And
he’s going
to devote
himself
to his
poetry
because
only real
motherfuckin’ men
write poetry.

And he’s
Going
to devote
himself
to being
a friend
to his friends
and being
a friend
to those
who need
friends
because
only real
motherfuckin’ men
are true friends.

And he’s
Going
To devote himself
To finding
A woman
Who
Thinks that
He is
Much of
A man
And can
Be
Much of
A husband
Because
Only real
Motherfuckin’ men
Know
How to be
Husbands
Even
If they
Have to
Learn
By
Trial and
Error
And by
Fucking up
And trying
Again
And again
Because
They never
Had a
Real
Motherfuckin’ man
To
Show them
How
To be
A real
Motherfuckin’ man
And how
It would
Take a real
Motherfuckin’ woman
To
Understand that
And
Give
A real
Motherfucker
A chance.

But,
In the meantime,
This beautiful
Fucked-up man
Will rise
Up,
Dust himself
Off
And
Move on
With his cross
To bear,
What’s left
Of his
Dignity
And manhood
Intact
And his
Creamy
Peanut butter,
Because
Only choosy
Motherfuckers
Choose creamy
Peanut butter.

Be on
The lookout
For him;
He might
Be
A good friend
To you;
He could
Be your
Next lover
Or husband;
Or
He might
Just read
You
This poem
And
Make you
A sandwich
Because
That’s what
Real
Motherfuckin’ men
Do.



© Copyright 2003 Joseph Powell

In Celebration Of Black History

My life is black history. The very fact that I exist. My mama’s son. Third of five. Didn’t know my father. Wanting to be a father. Wanting to be a man, wanting to be a writer—wanting to be James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, the entire Harlem Renaissance wrapped up in one. Standing on the shoulders of those who came before, who kicked down the door, so that I could strut right through, doing the funky chicken and the jitterbug, to Duke’s “A-train”, and Miles’ “Kind of Blue”.

My life is black history. Growing up in high-rise projects. Fat kid with four eyes and crooked teeth. The brain, the Professor, they called me. And sometimes it’s hard to hold your nappy head up, sometimes it’s hard to press on, wondering what it means to overcome, just trying to stay in school and keep mama from “whuppin’ your behind”. Playing in rundown yards and broken down cars, dreaming you were someone else, like the Batman, sometimes dreaming you lived somewhere else, anywhere but where you lived.

My life is black history, but the kind that is still ongoing, that still lives and moves and has its being. The kind that says I can, as one man, make a difference, again like those who came before, especially the ones who aren’t in the history books. You can’t tell me my history—the reason we aren’t in the history books, is because it would take more books than we know what to do with to tell our story-- his story, her story, my story. My life is a song of my people, black people, black and beautiful, black and proud. It is a love poem, to my mama, about my mama, in celebration of my mama—of all mamas. It’s also a love poem to my brothers and my sisters, and to my ‘bruthas’ and ‘sistahs’. It’s a thank you  for wiping my nose and kicking my ass, for giving me wisdom and helping me grow, for showing me God and how to dance with the devil. For the blues and funk. For poetry and the telling of our stories. For teaching me to appreciate myself without having to look down on others, regardless of race, color, or creed.

My life is black history, in all its glorious splendor. The man that I am and still want to be; the lover of my woman that I still aspire to be; the poet and writer, the preacher and the teacher, instilled in me, still yearning to display himself for the world, “for him who has ears to hear”. I share with you my life, my history, but you must accept it on its own terms and not what you wish to make it, for it will not be denied, like the shining of the sun or the brightness of the moon. My life is history in the making, my life is black history.

Death May Not Be Proud, But He's One Persistent Mofo'

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. It seems to be unavoidable. It seems to pervade every part of our national consciousness. From the recent hurricanes, including Katrina, to the war in Iraq. Even closer to home, I’m constantly hearing of deaths within people’s families, from car accidents and stillbirths, to others being ravaged by disease. It seems that as I get older, death has become more and more a part of my daily existence, whether directly or indirectly. In films such as “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” and shows such as the recently ‘deceased’ “Six Feet Under”, death is and/or has become a very palpable reality, not to mention that it has always existed in much of our literary and artistic canons for centuries.


According to life span estimates, I’m about halfway to my date with destiny(I’m 41 now), though with the overwhelming evidence of the precariousness of life, and the all but undeniable fact that estimates don’t always add up, I could be even closer than I may be willing to realize or able to fathom. I feel pain in places that I didn’t feel them in not even 10 or even, 5 years ago, the cause of which could be any number of things, not least of which could be attributed to old age setting in, but unfortunately, without the assistance of health care insurance at the present time, I’m unable to learn of the causes and reasons of said pains.


But it’s the precariousness that, for lack of a better word, upsets me. Because there always feels like so much that needs to be done, things that I want to do but haven’t yet. I still want to write the “great American novel”, write that really good script that will be turned into an amazing film, travel to other countries, etc. I know that I’ve accomplished a lot in the “short” time that I have lived, that others have not or will never be able to for a variety of reasons, and hopefully by accomplishing those things, I’ve affected people’s lives for the better. But as is seemingly wont in human nature, there’s a hunger for more. And I hope that when that time does come, when God decides to sever my mortal cord, I will be ready and have been able to look back on a life well lived and fully accomplished, that they will be able to say of me a statement(a quote by James Baldwin) that I’ve adopted as my motto and creed and hopefully have lived up to—He was ‘an honest man and a good writer.’

A Portrait In Words

Below is a poem I wrote for my girlfriend, Toni, shortly after we met nearly two years ago. The beauty of poetry is the ability to convey so much with so few words and though the picture I’m trying to convey would warrant a thousand words, I think the few words expressed here in this piece do justice.



Face



The sun rises
Just to greet your smile
And the stars
In the night sky
Want to know
How you make your eyes sparkle;

Me,
I’m wanting to know
How I came to deserve
Such beauty.

Copyright © 2004 Joseph Powell