Poetry / Welcome To My America
Welcome to my America
a land given to me without choice in my youth
a land that created a man
and shaped my views.
My America with its bleeding wounds
suffered in battles
fought along shores and slave driven cotton fields
blood shed for freedom
for those taken far away from home
crossing many seas.
Welcome to my America
where blood bathes the memory of the soldiers of the sixties
when dogs teeth left imprints of courage
and water hoses drowned bravery of men and women
whose lives were taken before they were born.
My America
where Presidents owned their workers
while writing the law of the land
unable to see us as men
while travelling at nights to the bosom
creating
out of many we are one.
Welcome to my America
where eyes watched Negroes closely
degrees too numerous to count
won’t change the reality
still hampered by the slave mentality
can never be free.
My America
where Negro boys are confused
some can’t follow the rules
want to be gangster
chopping off their brother’s hands
sending their White brothers and sisters to other parts of the land
creating their own island in America
guards watching closely
preventing infiltration.
Welcome to My America
where Aids travel amongst the innocent
unborn
life taken away
scorned
path chosen without being asked
given a task before feet can walk
wanted to be seen for who you were created to be
not for the tainted blood that pours through veins
hopefully.
My America
where your sexuality can be a liability
loving your own species
conflict
judged by those whose homes are held up by crumbling stones
take your chance
let the Lord sort it out.
My America
that ignores the cry from dying souls
lives taken by genocide
their blood not diluted with the flowing black gold that streams from the land
not my America’s fight
nothing to gain.
Welcome to my America
who watched the South African Jesus locked away in prison
his genius taken away at a young age
stolen while he was in the cage
his people hopeless
Apartheid didn’t incite rage within his soul
he was resurrected and sailed the shore
South Africa blood dried
great minds buried
past not forgotten.
My America
where water dressed up like a girl washed away soul
caused by their sin is how the story goes
neglect from the master
conversations that cooks Negro meals
secrecy around kitchen tables
well hidden.
Welcome to my America
not the land of my birth
but a land that gave me milk and honey
dripping with promises
a land that tomorrow shines brighter than yesterday
a land joined together by blood stains hand
blessed with corruption and imperfections
a land not of my birth
a land I can’t disown
my America
my very own.
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Nicely written. The imagery was strong and the entire piece flowed very well.
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I found this piece very moving. There was emotion flowing off the page. It was a delightful read that gave me goose bumps. The reader can really feel what you, the writer, wanted to convey.
Protest!
i think the biggest sickness pervading america is a deep, thorough limpness, or lack of conviction—i do not mean apathy, but rather we do not care about the “things we care about” with the same desperateness, gravity, or vividness as people of past times did, in practice. we are no longer willing to travel that last necessary mile to take our needs, some of them even vital, to the place where they cannot be ignored, subverted or worked around. this is an indictment not only of america, but civilization on a whole. look at the american revolution, look at the french revolution, look at red october, look at the nazi seizure of power…all of these are moments where the people physically not only significantly inconvenienced themselves (and their wallets), but put their lives in danger for what they believed in. america needs to take itself back from the hands of federal-industrial complex touted self-image and excert the real power, take back america.
the black community is in a vicious cycle that they alone cannot break. it will recquire intervention on a societal level, where they are asked “is this what you want for yourself? for your children? are you willing to work to ensure not only your future or your child’s but for that of your grandchildren? america will remain divided as long as petty social markers such as “BET” and “the Black Community” serve to seperate one arbitrarily ‘different’ group from the mass.
oh and by the way, your poem is superb. not a flaw in its composition. i found the form to be very conducive to its message and tone.
please, keep writing about this. any talk is good talk.
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