Father Time–white man, white hair

Uncle Sam- white man, white hair

Santa Claus- white man, white hair

Moses- white man, white hair

The Forefathers- White men, white hair

Baby New Year- White baby

Jesus- White

Mother Nature- White Woman

Helen of Troy – White Woman

Lady Godiva- White Woman, White Horse

Mother Nature

White knight, white noise, white lies, white diamonds, Snow White, White House, and the ever popular white rose.

White velvet cake, white tea, white rice, white truffles, white potatoes, white onions, and oh yes blonde roast coffee

White peaches, white pumpkins, white wine, and White Christmas.

White christmas

White is the ultimate authority, they set it up that way, so that ain’t nothing good until it’s white.

Look at chocolate, dark, sweet, cream, milk–but no that wasn’t enough they had to go and make

that white too, and white chocolate isn’t even chocolate!



You don’t see chocolate vanilla do you. I knew they wouldn’t stop at milk. They may as well say,

here drink this, white it does a body good.

Racism is everywhere and its not subtle.

Another poem from It Ain’t Just the Size

I was going to marry the mother of my daughter.

I was working a regular nine to five.

I had just got promoted to supervisor and everything.

I came home early one day and there she was, smashing the homie.

The whole time I was fucking dude up, she was saying

“you’re always working!”,

“you’re never home!”

While I was choking old dude I kept thinking “that bitch just didn’t love me!”

I was hurting him, because it was hurting me.

When I was in county jail, she kept visiting me saying “I’m sorry”, this that and the third.

She even told me how much she really needed me.

When I got out I went over to her house and there she was,

pregnant by this other dude and he was kicking her ass and shit.

It almost made the GPS bracket worth wearing.

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We have the biggest best military,

We have the smartest people,

we are dropping bombs,

using troops,

laws,

sanctions,

aircraft carriers,

x-rays,

body scanners,

pat-downs,

we have all these cameras and  computers, but no matter what we do, it seems like bad

things are supposed to happen.

We headline all the bad things and bury the good ones.

We focus on war, violence and the mistreatment of others.

We keep spending and spending,

We burn with hate, live in terror and spread fear

–that can’t be right

–that can’t be right

—it just can’t be.

Somebody somewhere throws a rock and it changes the lives of everyone, that’s crazy.

And by bad things, I am not just talking about war and terror.

Whether you believe in evil or light and dark forces or not,

you have to admit that a lot of things that happen seems senseless.

It seems, that every time someone give into vices, it is somehow connected to something larger

something that pushes us towards an avoidable end.

Towards happenings that had to happen and couldn’t have happened any other way.

It’s just too easy to do the wrong thing.

I guess that’s how you know that it’s wrong.

Is this the way thing are supposed to be?

Are we already in hell?

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When You Are Left-Handed like I am there are certain benefits, but over my lifetime I have come

to accept the fact that being a leftie is an anomaly.

Because we live in a right handed world we get injured more and a lefties life span is 10-years

shorter than a righties.

In ancient times we were celebrated for being different, special.

From the moment we are born most of us try to go out in a blaze of glory.

That’s why our love- making is dope,

our art is unique,

our mathematics are on point

and it’s hard to block our shot, hit our pitches or catch our balls.

We are not trying to change the rules to benefit us and if I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t even know.

I know that I live in a right handed world.

I do not dream of the day when lefties will take over.

We do not have our own flag, society or leadership.

I know that I may not see 70,

hell I may not see 60

and according to the ladies I am going out in my own blaze of glory.

And you know what? I’m cool with that.

And I have to follow the rules

why don’t you?

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I can’t even explain it, women make fun of other women all the time. They nit-pick, tear down and

just search for something not to like. Some of them are down right messy sometimes. We are

supposed to work together , not nurturing hate. That’s why I feel more comfortable around men. I

had enough of people  distorting my relationships.

I remember being chased home from school being made fun of because of my clothes or my hair.

So you turn to the church, but they preach that you aren’t worthy.

Your friends tell you that you aren’t worthy.

At home you hear that you’re not worth.

The television shows you as not worthy.

The man you picked says that you’re not worthy.

Celebrate yourself, love yourself, own your worth.

You hate on others when you see them changing their world

and you can’t change yours…

and that’s the bottom line.

 

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I’ve seen what a real father is.

My parents migrated to his country; they lived in New York’s barrios.

The Nuyorican hardships is what caused them to come west.

My father worked fourteen hour days for next to nothing and

mi madre worked her fingers and feet crooked to give us a better life.

In public, she still walks with her head down.

We are despised, discriminated against, but just as

things are changing for blacks, look at us…

We have quarterback professional football teams, we hosted late night talk shows

and we even have a wise Latina on the highest court.

I was the first in my family to graduate high school,

the first to impress whites, who thought I couldn’t read, with my English.

the first embarrass my parents with my Espanol

and the first to date a black woman.

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Momma Cried and Wouldn’t Stop Crying

There is a Santa Claus because momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. When we couldn’t pay our bills and we got put out that, Christmas momma cried momma and wouldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t even our house it was Grandma’s and I tried. I tried to be to be good, but I was just a kid full of questions and momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. That winter was the first time I wondered about my skin color because Grandma made us watch Roots.

It wasn’t so bad because my cousins were there, but it still didn’t feel like home. My brother and sister didn’t know why daddy left and momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. Momma tucked me in with smile, but I heard her leave that night. When I ran down the stairs in the morning I saw my name on some gifts. I ripped them open. I can remember having G.I. Joe in my hand; it was just when the Classic Collection came out. And I asked momma how did Santa Clause find me? And momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying…

MG Hardie

I read all those books in school I had to read because I didn’t have a television until I was ten and when I finally got one it was a black and white piece of shit, but it worked. I got a color one at 14 and it was like Christmas everyday. We lived in a four wall shack. I never had a room of my own sometimes I had to share my room with bichotes, Pimps and Prostitutas so we could make rent that month, which was cool because times were hard, but at least we were making rent, ya know.

All I could do at night was read and when I heard the sirens I would get my pencils and draw all the places my mind wanted to go. In my drawings I think I have traveled further than anyone but most of the time my stomach growled louder than my wildest imaginings.

MG Hardie

Grandfather was a World War II veteran
defiant and full of military rage.
I read about him once in a Paul Laurence
Dunbar poem
Beating his wings against a gilded cage.

He grew tired living on
trade winds and wine.
He was a lion king trapped by the
restraints of a
World ruled by shallow men and narrow
minds.

Those that trample birch trees and men
who glide over fields
Like my grandfather.
So when he reaches out,
he speaks with his eyes
Eyes that cry freedom
In a world gone mad.

Those eyes reveal distant rivers, valleys
and hearts forlorn
Unsolved mysteries, stolen legacies
ancient and strong.
Those eyes speak of the conquest that
was his and his alone.
Of distant ancestors who inhabited the
worlds great rivers…
Rivers long gone.

My grandfather’s eyes dance and sing of
home.
His passionate eyes,
Enchanting eyes
Courageous and Strong.

Those haunting brown eyes never spoke
to me.
But wrote a story about a war that was to
end all wars, and a song
about Peace.

His eyes are on the sunset now,
how soft spoken he is in the winter of his
years,
his body broken, but unbeaten.
His heart is filled with tears, joyous tears.

His eyes contain memories
forgotten by fires and trials of sin.
And there he stood like an eagle
Smelling of myrrh and sage ready to
Dance on the wind.
His eyes are now as still, still blue
waters
Serene, deep.
He will soon be at peace with God, at peace
with himself
And at peace with me…

 

 

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They tried to silence us in the fields
we could no longer beat our drums.
They wanted to strangle us into silence
by gagging us with hate.
But the voices of the drums are not lost
They are the pulse of our history
The beat passionately in out hearts
They speak to us through
The Blues of Billie
The Horn of Miles
The Pen of Alex
The Tenacity of Malcolm
The Dream of Martin
The Hope of Obama
The Future of Me.
I hear the echoes of strength
I feel the vibrations of survival
No…
We will not be silenced
We will not be defeated
We will continue to search for our voice.

And I will beat my drum… will you?