I'se wild Nigger Bill
Frum Redpepper Hill.
I never did wo'k, an' I never will.
I'se done killed de Boss.
I'se knocked downde hoss.
I eats up raw goose widout apple sauce!
I'se Run-a-way Bill,
I knows dey mought kill;
But ole Mosser hain't cotch me, an' he never will
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Part of an old folk song: Run, Nigger, Run!
Run, Nigger, run! De Patter-rollers'll ketch you.
Run, Nigger, run! It's almos day.
Dat Nigger run'd, dat Nigger flew,
Dat Nigger tore his shu't in two.
All over dem woods and frou de paster,
Dem Patter-rollers shot; but de Nigger git faster,
Oh, dat Nigger whirl'd, dat Nigger wheel'd,
Dat Nigger tore up de whole co'n field
Run, Nigger, run! It's almos day.
Dat Nigger run'd, dat Nigger flew,
Dat Nigger tore his shu't in two.
All over dem woods and frou de paster,
Dem Patter-rollers shot; but de Nigger git faster,
Oh, dat Nigger whirl'd, dat Nigger wheel'd,
Dat Nigger tore up de whole co'n field
Song: We Raise de Wheat
We raise de wheat,
Dey gib us de corn;
We bake de bread,
Dey bib us de crust;
We sif de meal,
Dey gib us de huss;
We peel de meat,
Dey gib us de skin;
And dat's de way
Dey take us in;
We skim de pot,
Dey gibusde liquor,
And say dat's good enough for nigger.
from Frederick Douglass'
My Bondage and My Freedom, 1853
Dey gib us de corn;
We bake de bread,
Dey bib us de crust;
We sif de meal,
Dey gib us de huss;
We peel de meat,
Dey gib us de skin;
And dat's de way
Dey take us in;
We skim de pot,
Dey gibusde liquor,
And say dat's good enough for nigger.
from Frederick Douglass'
My Bondage and My Freedom, 1853
Monday, June 1, 2009
I Am More Than My Hair
I am more than my desire; more than I even aspire to be
more than they told me I could be, I am me.
Magnificently Black and proud to be
A malignant cancer on their self esteem,
For in my natural mane they find crowns
of memorabilia of raped and drowned queens
who once won the respect of even the Asian,
who sells me hair in indoor flea markets
for gain through Barbie-styled caricatures
of what I am told to be, to be - American
Despite what they might perceive,
whether, or if, they care to care
I am more than the dollar defines,
more than the thick swells between my curvy lines
I am more than my thick lips, more than my skin, however dark or fair
I am more than a consumer, I don’t need a costumer
Why can’t they comprehend this? I am more than my hair!
I have my crown and my convictions, I don’t need extensions
Don’t give me horse hair. There is nothing synthetic about me.
I am human. I feel, I bleed, I shout, I cuss, I eat, I drink,
They doubt, I learn, I love and make love or even pay attention
to the mind games they play with distorted images of me on display
But I am more than what this capital scene is made of
Human hair? Human Hair? From a real live Asian gal?
Why you come in here to try to get me down about my kinky crown?
Oh Lord, the despair!
Who lied and told you we need to cover up our hair?
This Black girl finds no pride in hiding ‘neath a crown of fear!
You must be trying to sell me dead locks
‘Cause I ain’t seen no bald headed Asian gals running around here
by Jessica Holter
more than they told me I could be, I am me.
Magnificently Black and proud to be
A malignant cancer on their self esteem,
For in my natural mane they find crowns
of memorabilia of raped and drowned queens
who once won the respect of even the Asian,
who sells me hair in indoor flea markets
for gain through Barbie-styled caricatures
of what I am told to be, to be - American
Despite what they might perceive,
whether, or if, they care to care
I am more than the dollar defines,
more than the thick swells between my curvy lines
I am more than my thick lips, more than my skin, however dark or fair
I am more than a consumer, I don’t need a costumer
Why can’t they comprehend this? I am more than my hair!
I have my crown and my convictions, I don’t need extensions
Don’t give me horse hair. There is nothing synthetic about me.
I am human. I feel, I bleed, I shout, I cuss, I eat, I drink,
They doubt, I learn, I love and make love or even pay attention
to the mind games they play with distorted images of me on display
But I am more than what this capital scene is made of
Human hair? Human Hair? From a real live Asian gal?
Why you come in here to try to get me down about my kinky crown?
Oh Lord, the despair!
Who lied and told you we need to cover up our hair?
This Black girl finds no pride in hiding ‘neath a crown of fear!
You must be trying to sell me dead locks
‘Cause I ain’t seen no bald headed Asian gals running around here
by Jessica Holter
Much Too Much
I haven’t even begun to live life and it’s already too hard for me
Tryna do good, be right, you know, hold on to my Christianity.
But sometimes I’m just ready to give up
Let up and rid the struggle(s) shut up
in my bones.
Dull, almost dead is my optimistic tone.
Seems to me that the harder I try
The more I wonder why?
Wanna do right, but the world keeps shutting my out
Separate yourself from the world, yeah but I’m ready to SHOUT
‘cause It. Ain’t. That. Easy.
Believe me.
A devoted Christian am I
But these last few months all I can do is break down and cry.
Trying to do so much while keeping in touch
With the spirit.
Can you hear it?
I’ve gone deaf, I think
‘Cause I haven’t heard a word and I’m on the brink
Of falling.
I’ve been calling
Hoping -
Knowing that He’s listening.
But receiving…nothing?
Hello? I’m in pain.
Surprised I’m still sane
Can’t keep up with this game
It’s turning me lame
And I’m forgetting my name
Righteous.
The world is much too much.
These are the times that I most desire my crutch
Strong when I’m weak
But where is He?
Thought You wanted to mold me.
Why should I suffer with such a silence.
Did I not give You my heart?
Did I not give it all up to You from the start?
I am tired, weak. I’m draining.
I wanna be for You but I can feel my spirit fainting.
So save me O Lord. Come to my rescue right away.
Rest; tranquility is all I ask. Please, give my spirit to lay
That I may worship you with an ease,
That you might take away my pain, and instead give me peace.
Your Servant, Your Image, D.
by Dorlette Pierre-Louis
Tryna do good, be right, you know, hold on to my Christianity.
But sometimes I’m just ready to give up
Let up and rid the struggle(s) shut up
in my bones.
Dull, almost dead is my optimistic tone.
Seems to me that the harder I try
The more I wonder why?
Wanna do right, but the world keeps shutting my out
Separate yourself from the world, yeah but I’m ready to SHOUT
‘cause It. Ain’t. That. Easy.
Believe me.
A devoted Christian am I
But these last few months all I can do is break down and cry.
Trying to do so much while keeping in touch
With the spirit.
Can you hear it?
I’ve gone deaf, I think
‘Cause I haven’t heard a word and I’m on the brink
Of falling.
I’ve been calling
Hoping -
Knowing that He’s listening.
But receiving…nothing?
Hello? I’m in pain.
Surprised I’m still sane
Can’t keep up with this game
It’s turning me lame
And I’m forgetting my name
Righteous.
The world is much too much.
These are the times that I most desire my crutch
Strong when I’m weak
But where is He?
Thought You wanted to mold me.
Why should I suffer with such a silence.
Did I not give You my heart?
Did I not give it all up to You from the start?
I am tired, weak. I’m draining.
I wanna be for You but I can feel my spirit fainting.
So save me O Lord. Come to my rescue right away.
Rest; tranquility is all I ask. Please, give my spirit to lay
That I may worship you with an ease,
That you might take away my pain, and instead give me peace.
Your Servant, Your Image, D.
by Dorlette Pierre-Louis
Something Wrong
Was
Running away from everyone in hopes of helping myself
Now lookin around, I've no one, so instead I've hurt myself
To become a diamond, a rock must endure the fire
So how could I have expected better
when I refused to go through the weather?
Family & friends now lost in hopes of emotional wealth
But perhaps I should have realized my error when I began to lose myself
Confused - my spiritual well-being now more derranged
Lonely and afraid, I no longer force my own corrections, but sit and wait for change...
by Dorlette Pierre-Louis
Running away from everyone in hopes of helping myself
Now lookin around, I've no one, so instead I've hurt myself
To become a diamond, a rock must endure the fire
So how could I have expected better
when I refused to go through the weather?
Family & friends now lost in hopes of emotional wealth
But perhaps I should have realized my error when I began to lose myself
Confused - my spiritual well-being now more derranged
Lonely and afraid, I no longer force my own corrections, but sit and wait for change...
by Dorlette Pierre-Louis
The Addiction
The addictiondoes not
have hold of you
it has
no hands
no arms
no legs
it has not
ambition
delusion
confusion
The Addiction
does not need you
does not love you
it is not anxious
or
nervous
it is not some guy
or girl you met in a club
out
to possess you tonight
It does not want you
The Addiction does not feel
Addiction does not feel
That is you.
Projecting.
Embellishing.
Testing and pushing
your loved ones away...
You, locking the door
so you
so you can have privacy
so you can have your way with it.
Bind it
Bend it to your will
The Addiction does not have hold of you
it has no hands.
It is you
who will to not
let her go.
by Jessica Holter
The Psalm of Life
What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!--
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!--
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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