Revolution!

When all life hides itself and the world continues to spin... it is what it is; never stopping unless it is stopped. Naturally we flow. Unnaturally stuck at times, we wait patiently with the force of life's rotation, revolving revolution!

        By: Blackulah ©1998 (Artist, poet, scholar, social worker, dreamer)   

I AM.

I am from corduroy 70’s matching shirts and pants, from Pilipino and southern style food that mom and pop used to make, and running home when the street lights came on.

I am from the family owned apartment that used to be a fire station years before I was born, and before New Yorkers owned it, who moved from the rough streets of Jamaica, Queens to transplant themselves into the fight filled streets of Oakland, California.

I am from the narrow streets of White, Korean, Samoan, Mexican, Black, and diversity that riddled my blocks, the shrubs and bricks that lined my apartment complex.

I am from streets filled with kids that played double-dutch and jumping my bike through the double-loop to either be entangled or emerge in one piece without a scrape, and half community raising every child, from my sweet aunty Janice who pulled me to her level and kissed me because I was a black sheep filled with love, who got in trouble because my uncles saw my father in me, the man they didn’t like so much. 

I am from the isolation that watched ants run on concrete in the street, rolly bugs that curled up once they were touched, and the Boykin line that is said to be Russian, and theorized as Viking, because all of Europe claims the name. From the Hutton line that is British in origin, and many names that spell out German, West Indian, Native American, Africans that have no name because they were sold by every ancestor that I can name origins.  

I am from the weekend gatherings that youngsters in their 20’s had watch themselves while they partied and had run the streets as notorious youth whom owned the streets because we were seriously numbered and outnumbering all the other youth.  

From “take care of your mother, sisters and brother while I am away at work, son”, and “Nigga, getcho’ ass over here when I call you!”, as Uncles would put it”

I am from standing and kneeling in Catholic churches that I would walk miles to put a robe on and hold the bible for priests in, and the Orthodox Muslim convert father who made me and my siblings watch nature channels, like National Geographic, and named us African names to make sure we knew our origins, even if we were filled with mixed blood, because society doesn’t give a shit about your blood, so long as you have brown skin.

I'm from Native American and African PTSD, European trauma, Viking rage and Oppressed Irish roots. The Philippine’s conquered by Japanese, Spanish, and American greed’s and lust. 

I am from the lumpia, Louisiana and Texas foods, from the Manhattan and Philadelphia families that ran from home to come to California. From my favorite uncle, Lenny, who stayed in the back room of my grandmother’s apartment, due to mental illness for years, isolated from everyone, due to his feelings of not feeling loved. But he loved me, and made sure when to protect me from abuse. 

I am from a father who worked away from home at a youth authority, to come home and treat his children like inmates once a month, if we were lucky. 

I am from a group culture that saw, but didn’t hear their children; no matter if they spoke the truth, the hierarchy was more important.

I am from the burned food on the pot after it has served the hungers, and the smoke that was captured in pictures before it was taboo to smoke in front of children. Still we call it love that was blind to current standards, I am from it all.

I am from two merchant sea-men grand-fathers who traveled the world while their families awaited their return, and their wives jealously waited for letters, as their children yearned for their attention. I am from the matriarch that allowed men to pretend they ran the families, as they cried about mistreatment and social norms didn’t support their tears before they dried.

I am from milk cartons that displayed the first face of Calvin, and the freedoms that kids enjoyed evaporate into video games and cellular phones.

I am from the numbing economy that one could once support a family on, to everyone working to make ends shake hands, so they can feed their mouths.

I am from coon, from nigga's, from marginalized, from shackles and whips, from savage ships that crossed the oceans to take land, from savage ships that pirated the seas, from savage ships that delivered men as they did rice, from guns and from rape, from peculiar fruits, from beatings and spit in the food, from cowboys and Indians, from cops and robbers, from Black Power movements, and Occupy, from judgments and pimps, from gangstas and thugs, from scholars and kings, from chiefs and captains, from whores and from ladies, from gentlemen and from young children who dreamed a reality that never came to save them... 

I am from the bottom of the pyramids that lit the skies of Egypt and housed the pharaoh’s dead bodies before they were raped in death of their sacred after life belongings to be displayed by European rich men.

I am from Turtle Island, the place her original inhabitants now must open unrighteous casino’s to enjoy stability financially, as they are permitted to live on below standard reservations awaiting true justice.

I am from this reality that reminds me of what I am grateful for, though I struggle to accept it, life.

I am from a multitude of growing pains that teach me to learn and ask me to focus on what I am here for.

I am from this all, and will return to the dirt when all I am from is dead, dying, reborn, and no longer a part of my physical experience.

I am from the dirt, as the plant breaks the ground and reaches for the sky that reaches back.

I am from the country. The catching of lizards that were captive pets that my brother and I fed crickets to. The same crickets that sing when we called for help as adults. 

I am. 

By: Atiim Chenzira aka Blackulah ©2012 (Poet, Rapper, Singer, Writer, Activist, Teacher, Social Worker)

3rd Graders Poetry for MLK Jr. (Teacher: Rachel Stower)

Martin Luther King Jr.: The Special Man
By: Brandon R

Martin Luther King Jr., he was a special man.

He even fought for blacks go to white schools.

He didn’t want to fight with his hands.

He started to change the world.

Now our friends can go with us to school.

Martin Luther King Jr., Martin, oh, Martin Luther King Jr.

A special man.

Now he made blacks and whites equal.

Oh, Martin Luther King Jr. was a special man!

January 13, 2012
Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Anthony C

Martin Luther King Jr., he had a friend.

His friend’s mother said not to play with him because he was black.

As years past, Martin Luther King Jr. said that black people and white people should be treated the same as each other.

Black and white people should always be friends to each other.

Martin Luther King’s Story
By: Haidy I.
January 13, 2012

First, Martin was not free.

Then, he wanted to change how the world was acting. 

Next, Martin did what he wanted to do.

He did not want black people to not be like white people.

He wanted white and black people to be friends. 

He never gave up.

He kept on trying, even if he broke the rules.

He never gave up.

He kept on trying.

He wanted everybody to be happy because he loved everyone.

Last, he got what he wanted, and he was happy.

Martin Luther King’s Speech
By: Kimberly F.B.
January 13, 2012

I dream that the world would not be white people to do more stuff than the black people.

It’s sad because Martin Luther King died and someone said to kill him.

MLK Jr. married a little woman but MLK Jr. didn’t care about her height.

He went to his friend’s house but his friend’s mom said they couldn’t be friends because he was black.

I feel happy that people went to his funeral.

Martin Luther King’s Sad Story
By: Honesty E
January 13, 2012

One day Martin went to play with his friend but he couldn’t because his friend’s mother said he was black so he couldn’t play with him anymore. Martin was sad. He was strong. He was brave. He was a wonderful man. He told everyone his dream. His dream was to make everything equal and fair. He had a wife and three wonderful kids. One day Martin went to the park with his kids but he couldn’t go to the park because the white people said that no black people could go to the park. Martin fought with his words and everybody listened. And they started to change the rules. One day Martin was in his hotel room but suddenly, an escaped prisoner shot him. He was a nice man, so everyone came to his funeral. Martin Luther King Jr. was a nice man. His grave said “Free at Last, Free at Last. I’m Free at Last!”

Martin Luther King
By: Fatima C.R.
January 13, 2012

He was born in a house. 

He liked words, like bounce.

Martin Luther King was a nice man.

He did what he can to fix the world.

He loved his enemies.

But he hated the bad things they did.

He didn’t care about money, like pennies.

And when he was born in his house, 

He was cute like a little mouse.

Martin Luther King was shot.

They caught who did it.

Martin Luther King said that black and white people should chat together. 

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Andrea A
January 13, 2012

MLK Jr. was nice. 

He did not give up.

He fought for us with his words.

He went to college and met a nice woman, named Coretta Scott.

They got married. 

A year later, they moved to a new house.

They had kids. 

And they were happy.

But there was one problem and the problem was he wanted to change things. 

And he did.

He stood outside of his door and somebody shot him.

January 13, 2012
Martin Luther King’s Story
By: Abel

Martin is a man of kindness.

Martin Luther had a special dream.

Martin Luther King wanted to make everyone free.

He never would give up no matter what happened.

He then got married.

He went to a march.

Then the saddest thing happened to him,

he got shot.

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Raul P.C.
January 13, 2012

It was sad when they shot Martin Luther King.

When he was a man, he never gave up.

He started to change the world.

He married a woman. 

Her name was Coretta Scott.

Black and white people should be equal.

Martin Luther King Jr. had a little girl.

The little girl wanted to go to the park but it was just for white people.

Martin Luther King Jr. was a special man.

Martin Luther King’s Big Words
By: Victor D.C.A.

Martin Luther King was a good man 

And he used big words with his mouth.

He wanted people to play together.

And drink water from the same water fountain.

And he wanted people to sit anywhere they wanted to on the bus.

Black people and white people could sit together.

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: David C.

Martin Luther King Jr. was a very kind person.

As the years went by, he was thinking about what he wanted to be.

Until he was 17, when he wanted to be a minister.

He married Coretta and she had three children.

One day his son told his dad, he wanted to go to a park. 

And Martin said “Only white can go, but we will go”

I feel sad about the life he had.

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Jamai P.

If I had a dream like Martin Luther King it would be…

Everyone in this world should follow the rules.

I want to be just like that man 

because he did whatever he could.

He fought for black and white kids 

to go to the same school. 

That’s why he is really cool.

When I get older, I want to be just like him.

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Rosario G.

The black people were not allowed 

to play with white people.

The black people were slaves.

Martin Luther King Jr. asked, 

Why the black people can’t play with the white people?

Martin Luther King Jr. said,

white and black people should be together.

Martin Luther King Jr.
By: Luis R.

I feel sad for Martin Luther King 

because he couldn’t play with his white friend.

When he knocked on the door, his friend’s mom said 

He couldn’t play with Martin anymore because he was black.

Then he went to a park with his son, but the white people said “No black people allowed.”

Then he told his dream to people.

His dream was that black and white people would get together. 

He told the people, “Do not hate the person, hate the bad things they do.”

MLK Jr. had a Dream
By: Itohan O.

Martin Luther King had a dream 

that everyone could play together.

He also said to love bad people,

And hate the things they do.

When Rosa Parks had to go to the back of the bus,

I felt bad for her

Because it doesn’t matter 

if you are sitting in the front or back.

You might grow up bad if your family didn’t love you.

I will feel sad because family supposed to love each other.

When black and white people couldn’t be together, it made me feel mad and sad 

Because no matter what skin color, you can still be friends.

MLK Friends
By: Tran N.

A long time ago, black people and white people can’t be friends together.

Then Martin started to fight with his words.

Then his house was on fire and he still didn’t give up.

When people went on buses, 

White people get to sit at the front 

And the black people had to sit in the backseat.

January 13, 2012
Martin Luther King Jr.’s Story
By: Jose R.M.

Martin Luther King Jr. couldn’t play with white kids.

He started high school at the age of 13.

When he was all grown up, 

he became a minister.

Rosa Parks sat down on the bus 

and the driver told her to move to the back.

But she didn’t move.

So she went to jail.

Black people boycotted the buses.

MLK Jr. got shot. 

50,000 people came to his funeral.

My rocky start

Gravity is pulling my ankles, stretching my bloody and tired fingers...

After falling miles to catching the cliff, a beautiful muse kisses my neck and assures me that I will be fine, but... but she is just an illusion of safety. 

I must fall.

I must let go.

Fear smiles as I struggle with Mortality, and deny myself the ground that awaits below. 

Rock bottom is the beginning of the sky. 

Releasing the muse and cliff as the fingernails rip with one more tug from Gravity, Reality embraces me in the final seconds, and calms my mind, soothes my heart, and guarantees only a few more breaths.

Like awaiting birth from the womb. The darkness as my eyes are closed is temporary. 

I jumped and now am afraid to die. I had Faith, but she left once I frolicked with Doubt. I had everything I needed, and now I need this... this disastrous meeting with Life and Death to know myself again. 

I pray that I am reborn even greater, stronger, smarter, more intelligent, and as solid as the rocks from my Mother, as I merge with her bosom to end one process and begin another.

My rocky start. 

By: Atiim Chenzira aka Blackulah ©2012 (Poet, Rapper, Singer, Writer, Activist, Teacher, Social Worker)

I AM FROM CHATCHKIES

I am from Chatchkies, Malomars and Swig Jewish camp.

I am from the the scraps of clay left on the messy ground after a cold Saturday morning pottery class.

I am from my backyard, its snapdragons and plum tree.

I am from “The Top of the World” and the weeping willow under which I sang “Killing Me Softly” to man audience of my sister and panda bear Sergio.

I am from Passovers and silly baby talk voices that meant a cute animal was near, From Gary Hilton and Carol Flaxman.

I am from the go-to-college and “eat bagels 'til you die.” From clean up your room, Inspector Daddy is coming and gladiator versus contender wrestling matches with my big sister.

I am from Jewish humor, Hanukkah gelt and dreidel tournaments, and yearly competitions to find a hidden afikoman that I rarely ever won.

I'm from Ukraine before it was called Ukraine, a war-torn, anti-semitic Europe, from linguini's and clam sauce and American-cheese quesadillas. From the paralyzed body of my father's father, the cigarette smoke that finally killed my father's mother and the broken trust of my sister that shattered us all into fragmented pieces.

I am from cheesy family videos, hikes in Yosemite, “Show me the Way to Go Home” car songs, and old red velvet boxes full of shiny plastic costume jewelry... the kind that we would drape around us like hugs from great-grandparents who were long gone, who we never knew, whose stories we never heard and whose love we never got the chance to feel.

By: Lauren Stower aka Ms. Luna ©2012 (Teacher, Activist, Poet, Photographer, Revolutionary)

I AM FROM

I am from a baby blue Volkswagen, Tollhouse cookies, borscht and schav, kippers and Grandma Reggie's rugelach.

I am from so many homes and places... up the hill, on the water, down around the bend, ending in a peaceful vineyard under the shining sun.

I am from the garlic and onion, the orchid, cinnamon and vanilla.

I am from a matzoh ball eating boisterous family singing songs on the way to Jones Beach, being crunched in the car between Charlie and Jeff with my feet on the big middle hump, fighting my brothers for the last egg salad sandwich...pretending to shoot strangers with our finger guns to see if they will shoot back, sleeping in the well of the rear car window on the way home.

I am from a past filled with mostly wonderful memories...feeding deer at the Catskill Game Farm or helping Uncle Dickey get water out of our sinking canoe at Kiamesha Lake where the Flaxmans, my great-grandparents owned a bungalow colony.

I am from the deep rooted culture and traditions of New York Jews, of good-hearted immigrants who carried regret and sadness but yet were full of light and love. From songs taught to me in classic Yiddish ("Ofen Pripitchik") to lessons on why you always bring bakery when invited to someone's house.

I am from tzedakah (charity), and old wives’ tales (bubbe meises) such as never to swim after you eat...which was hard because we were always eating.

I'm from the tiny Mongolians with a last name meaning China (Jen Jen or Chien Chien) who found safety in Odessa on the Black Sea, and from the beauty of Austria.

I'm from a Jewish mother who taught me to bold enough to do crossword puzzles in ink, and from the laughter of family hearts games passed on through the generations. From produce carts on the Lower East Side, and Flaxman's unpainted furniture’s, a sweet and eloquent paternal grandfather who was valedictorian of his Cornell graduating class, and a rough and tumble grade school educated maternal grandfather who went from owning a produce cart to being the Treasurer of the New York Liquor Authority.

I am from a time and place that exists no more, where egg creams were 10 cents and two movies a quarter. Where you hopped up on the spinning leather stool and picked out more candy than you could hold for five cents. A time and place that now sounds like it couldn't have possibly existed. Where we didn't worry about the sun, the pesticides, global warming, gangs, or media overload and when everything was closed on a Sunday.

I am from Natalie, who is from Dora, who is from Ida.

But mostly I am from the children who came from me because they are the best part of what makes me who I am.

By: Carol Flaxman ©2012 

Embraced

Tight hugs in expensive cars

expensive embraces ephemeral

flashes of light blinding headlights

stealing my sight and my will

to give much more to these amorous sinners, counselors, leaders of the race to the sun.

i've entered late, i've sealed my face to the moon

looking back on my own old drop offs

like medicine like memory

like i might explode with love or pain

these self-same tie-tighteners, these gown-zippers

so very married to ideas i'm afraid to entertain

such post-cards,

such hallmark couplings in shakespeare's straw

potent and brittle like the tears on my cheeks,

crashing their weddings and their funerals

all excuses for more pointless affection.

these salacious, affectatious beatnick reveries

make me meaningful,

make my arms full -

as arms are meant to be.

Written by:

John William Davies,

A Bakersfield, CA. Poet

Finally!

I've spoken illness'...
Spewed sludges of pain, dripping, seething, lava...
Pulling out this... this nasty, fowl, awful stench of deceit filled...
See Me!!!! Please?
Don't LEAVE ME...!
"Abandon Ship!!!!"
No!
Don't go......... please..... don't leave me.....
I'm worthless spills out in gobs of self loathing, pitty......

To pulling the hose out and washing the filth from this concrete heart of mine.
Sipping tonics of renewal while inhaling DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Purging the programs of self-defeat.
Scrubbing off the scabs of the past, and finally..... FINALLY!
Filtering this clouded brain of creativity.
Humble gifts of awareness bow my head and darken my eyes...
Squeezing the nipples of Life with my lips to drink again from her bosom, experiences that have matured into sweet wisdom.

Still...

The tuning fork of Redemption vibrates through me.

By: Atiim Chenzira aka Blackulah ©2012 (Poet, Rapper, Singer, Writer, Activist, Teacher, Social Worker)

Off Road

In the middle of a road,

Faced by a fork and flames of pain in three directions, I know whatever choice is made will provide new steps.

No shade.

One road is flooded, another is rocky, and the third is paved.

“Take the road less traveled” is what a voice whispers to me.

My heart says, “Beat another path”.

Unchartered and filled with uncertainty, I count to three and go against all I am comfortable with to regain my sanity.

Fields of fear are unknown thoughts and feelings to experience.

One path of faith is made through the odds of a dark reality.

The light is STILL in the sky.

My ancestors have followed the drinking gourd, and I seek the face of their destination.

Liberation from fear…

Freedom from the fear of pain…

From uncertainty…

From failure…

From …

From the three choices and chose to walk into the darkness to find the light,

Off road on my own path.

AtiimBomaniChenzira/bLACKbOMANIã2002

I jump.

Later is a distraction.
Now... I am focused on now.
Now... I am looking at the future and I can't stop thinking about what I should be doing now to make sure it arrives the way I want it to.

Distracted by the later and filled with later nows.

Like waiting for Daddy to come home and awaiting a spanking...

Can I bend time to fast forward the now to later after the spanking or maybe I can bend it back and not do what I did to get in trouble?

The process is the path and the path cannot be tamed, nor can it be bent. Once you jump from the plane you better have a parachute that works. It should have been tested. It should work. If it does not work... then it wasn't going to work. Whatever the outcome... Now is out of your or my control. Plans are great, but control is a fantasy.

Now is now and later is a hope.
I hope and I work at doing my best and enjoy each step like it could be my last.

I jump.

Reposted from http://pluginamp.com 

Written by Blackulah on on June 13, 2007 - 11:35pm

Dripping with something...

Lost in a circle of feminine...

Dripping spit to shaking my head like a cartoon character...

Fast like my face doesn't exist...

Did I do that!?

Did I just say that?

Sitting in a classroom filled with energy that escapes my integritty...

I just want to taste the cream on the cake... but.

thoughts settle in into what I live...

I cannot taste...

the thoughts must be enough...

The feelings won't vanish...

The sites don't cease.

The intelligence splashes my imagination fills...

My poor imagination cannot take the overkill.

I sit up and focus.

I inhale and exhale.

I let my mind zoom into what I should be focused on...

I realize I am lost in a sea of beauty curling... like waves at the ocean in the morning before they arrive.

They are not here to walk their dogs.

I play in the water to release my week.

I dive back in and still I think...

If only I could lick the cream.

If only I could shift my theme.

If only I could have one night.

The smiles encourage but I don't dare.

In just one moment this all flashed by.

In just one breath.

In just one sigh.

A smile that lingers in my heart is greater...

I have to pause these thought for later.

But then... what will be?

For now I zero in on me.

No cream or cake or tastes or nibbles...

Just air to fill my lungs.

No kibble,

just bits.

I wipe my mouth and let it go.

Reposted from http://pluginamp.com 

Written by Blackulah on June 10, 2008 - 11:28pm

Moving Transition

I have dove into your eyes and bitten lips. While you were crossing eyes of making decisions, and arm crossing with intrigue. Put this here, and take that there, is all I hear. Brief smiles and inhales... Busy Bees buzz and birds chirp with harmonious song. Who are you?, the spirit whispers...What if? How could we? Am I there? Damn this feels good to the place that produces new cells and feeds blood oxygen. I guess I'll find out, for there is nothing in our way, my way, this day. I will catch you if you fall. Jump and see. I will hurt you, but when? When will you hurt me? My arms will close only to nurse my wounds, and I will have two more holding you and two others consoling and pointing to the stars. Past, Present, and Future will share a meal. Love will be cooking and serving us all. Welcome home.

By: Atiim Chenzira aka Blackulah ©2012 (Poet, Rapper, Singer, Writer, Activist, Teacher, Social Worker)

Realize

Realize

with real eyes

that the real lies

are in disguise

The guise is a lie

that play tricks on your eyes

So feel with your heart

Third eye gaze to part

the fake from the realness

The REAL eye can feel this.

~Atiimacleez 02:08:2012:11:59

By: Atiim Chenzira aka Blackulah ©2012 (Poet, Rapper, Singer, Writer, Activist, Teacher, Social Worker)