In this episode, MANA's DR C reads poems on various subjects by contemporary authors.
Listen to DR C as she reads each poem. Feel free to follow along by reading each poem below:
A Black Woman
by Prophetess Shirley Barnett
from Poems of the Spirit: In God's Hands
Tall, slender legs of perfection.
Competent, impatient, unique in qualities.
A Black woman.
Wavy, tangled curls or braided extensions.
Smooth, silky skin of many complexions.
A Black woman.
Outgoing, talented, successful.
A statuette of goddess incomparability.
A Black woman.
Clever, cunning, artistic in nature.
A leader, dictator, philosopher with genius endowments.
A Black woman.
Loving, humble, kind-hearted.
Stunning, provocative, seductive, poised.
A Black woman.
Outrageously, dignified with infinite beauty.
A total package.
A Black woman.
For My Brother
By Lt. Col. Adrian Massey
from A Soldier's Poetic Response: A Slice of His Life
Emotionally arresting and deeply complained, he is burdened by his unfortunate rite of passage as a person of color in our country.
All of us experience it at least once.
He is just like every other American; he seeks economic independence and social peace.
He does everything he can to improve himself daily with occasional humanistic slipups.
But if he were perfect we couldn’t call him human.
He has a beautiful spirit; he is almost native; he is a young man of African descent.
There is nothing thug about him at his counterparts may stereotype him
but maybe the 50 Cent shirt he sports.
He is humble with a slowly hardening heart.
He is molded into an “angry black man.”
It is not his desire to be angry and untrusting but one nasty stare after another scorn him and harden his callous-covered heart.
One purse after another clinched out of fear, one head-to-toe stare after another, he is the invisible man in Ellison’s famous book.
What is this skin-deep ugliness, this crazy judgment and unresting
magnetic and foolish hatred of dark skin?
Skin is just skin. This does not define who we are as people.
He should not apologize for his skin. He knows his skin is beautiful; he understands its richness and value.
He can feel the heartbeat of those who come before him.
He will never get over this pain. He is healing from this every day; his spiritual immune system cannot seem to win.
Every day is a war within his soul to feel the way “Americans” call free!
Help Is On The Way
By Prophetess Shirley Barnett
from Poems of the Spirit: In God's Hands
Help is on the way for all God’s children now.
He is sending his loving angels to protect us and teach us how.
Many days will come when it seems as though we are alone.
But Jesus’s loving angels will whisper, “God hasn’t gone.”
When we feel down and depressed and wonder if He is near,
Jesus has an angel for everyone, and we will never have to fear.
We must keep our thoughts holy, and our faith in very high gear.
Jesus will soon be returning, but His angels are always here.
Look up toward heaven as He calls His angels away,
For Jesus will then be returning to take us home that day.
I Am A Poet
By Elesia Powell
from Sweet Ache: Poetry of the Soul
I am a Poet
I have avoided this declaration.
Afraid of not meeting
The expectations that
Inherently follow the title
A sharp knife
Words are the weapon of war
A skilled surgeon
A healer of wounds
Placing the balm of definition
Over uncertainty until the
Bruise is barely visible
I am a poet
The confirmation of the word
Establishes it.
Let Autistics Be Free
By "Queen" Anya Rutz
from Autism—Poetic Pride: A Collection of Poetry
There are many control freaks
Discriminating against me.
Against getting married,
Against medical weed,
Let autistics be free.
My will has made the control freaks almost gone.
I have forced them out of my life.
I can rise at dawn
With no commotion
And dance with happy emotions.
The control freaks are no longer discriminating
They are no longer around me to be hating.
There were thousands of them in the state.
The only thing they did was hate.
I am strong now.
I have a place where I belong.
Light Over The Rainbow
By "Queen" Anya Rutz
from Autism—Poetic Pride: A Collection of Poetry
When you’re down and feel like there no more point to life
You just keep walking that trail
Say to yourself, “No, I must not fail.”
When the ocean is having its heavy waves
And you cannot swim to the shore
When the rain falls and pours
And you feel like there is nowhere to go
Just look ahead and you can see the light over the rainbow.
Don’t stop dreaming
Don’t stop your believing.
Let it go
Let it flow
Let all troubles go
Let all struggles flow.
You can always see there is a light over the rainbow.
When you fall down, you can reach for the stars
Know that this is who you are
Be proud of who you are.
Let it go
Let it flow
Let all troubles go
Let all struggles flow
You can always see there is a light over the rainbow.
Lost Ships
By Prophetess Shirley Barnett
from Poems of the Spirit: In God's Hands
When the light shines from the lighthouse,
We should always know
The Lord is guiding His wandering ships
Who are lost and need a way to go.
They are continuously drifting
Through the raging storm.
They cannot easily find their way.
Many are destroyed and torn.
Can you captains see the path
That is shown you throughout the night?
Or do you sailors have blinders on
And refuse to see the flashing light?
How many of you will be lost at sea
Not realizing your path ahead?
Or will you follow the flashing light
That shows you an alternative instead?
Stop your wandering, all lost ships,
The lighthouse is very near.
It is guiding all God’s ships
To a promised land with a pier.
Sweet Ache
Surrounded by the beauty of lush valleys,
The tropical breezes blow large green leaves,
Exposing the fruit hidden beneath.
I choose the just ripe
Mango, papaya, and star fruit;
I slice them into jars,
The mango and papaya in the center,
The star fruit toward the outer edges of the jars.
I fill each one with coconut water and sugar.
I want it so sweet
That their teeth will ache,
Like my insides do from wanting you.
I seal the jars and tie them with a bright ribbon
Before I take them to market to sell.
I call it Sweet Ache,
Homemade love in a bottle
with all I have for you
Locked in these jars.
Only the tourists buy my treats.
The natives hear my solitary songs in the night and
Make wide steps around me.
My own voice returns as an echo in darkness,
Sweet Ache I call out,
Homemade love in a bottle.
With each jar sold,
I pray my aching will end.
I return to the valley with Sweet Ache lingering,
Along with the sugar that creases my fingers.
The rain falls on my zinc roof,
Each drop ringing a thousand small bells,
Just a little more sugar.
Sweet Ache.
Who Knows Me But God?
By Prophetess Shirley Barnett
from Poems of the Spirit: In God's Hands
Let’s face it.
There’s no such thing as homeostasis.
What is this complexity we’re chasing?
Who knows me but God?
Who knows me naked?
Who knows how I spend my time?
Who knows my addictions?
Who knows that I hate preachers, and believe mankind destroys religion?
Who knows my distrust of politicians?
Who knows my inner struggle with this war?
Who knows that it’s hard for me to say no to a Maker’s Mark and ginger?
Who knows that I pray all the time?
I even give thanks when I am drunk.
Who knows my anger and sadness?
Who knows that if I could be any instrument,
I’d be a sax because of how its soul sings.
Who knows that I am just like my father?
Who knows the appreciation for my mother’s love?
Who knows that when I was twelve, I sold fake crack, in Lemond Garden Projects?
Who knows me naked?
Who knows my passion for life?
Who knows that I’m in love with God?
Who knows that I love who I am?
Who knows that my favorite time of day is when I’m shaving? Let’s face it:
There’s no such thing as homeostasis
What is this complexity we’re chasing?
Who knows me but God?
Have you written a collection of poems, a narrative, or prose that you would like to self-publish? MANA can help. Contact MANA today at info@marketingnewauthors.com
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