Black Poetry : Black Mama Confession The Wash Woman Psalms

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by ASHANTA, Mar 19, 2005.

  1. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    I sit upon the Savanna River, I carry the cotton upon the mist of the heated summer, I cry unto the lord, forgive thee sins, I the servant of the holy cross, my Chilean that feel the rapture, of the devils in chapters, and the rain forest no longer gives me shade. I sit upon the hot pot, flames upon my knees, tears that rings of sweat, temptress of heat that burns de skin, Chilean crying un watched, the masters wife, who curdle her hair, and the white lace, slips I wash and put neatly upon her draw, I take in work of the masters friends, as my Chilean cry, I take deep breath, oh the forgotten mammy, in the heat of sun, a slave I’ se a nothing, less than the rodents that linger upon the woods. Crowing of the for gotten dead, to sweat in a world of darkness, I sit upon the shredded woods, blood in the name of Negro, enslaved by the mistress, I sit upon the rivers, my head covered with sweat,
    I creep through the back door,
    Continuing to keep a smile.

    Lord Nobody knows the trouble
    I have seen. Oh lord I cry out loud to thee.
    Lord Nobody knows my sorrow.
    My man in the shutter house,
    waiting to be sold, slave masters,
    raping my baby I hear the screams,
    from the shed house below,
    Lord where is the power of my man.
    I fight the battle all by my self.


    Beneath these old tired bones,
    I have cried in darkness, lord doesn’t leave me alone.
    The spirituals of your words, continue to allow me to go on.
    I mama of the slave masters daughter,
    I mama of the slave masters orders.
    I mama knew trails of slaves,
    Sitting master Mary’s Chilean before own.
    Yes’s, No sum’ all day long, Lashes on my back,
    When I have done nothing wrong.
    The house ****** all day long.
    Sunday meeting when master ant’s around.
    Cooking from sun up to sun down.

    Picking Cotton sun up to sun down,
    Working in the fields until my hands are blood and raw.
    Singing the old times blues, lord help me to make it,
    through another day. Waiting to meet Ms. Tub man
    At the underground railway mistress of slavery.

    My Chilean cry through the night
    mama, mama, where are thou,
    my black man work sun up and
    sun down, tears upon his eyes,
    as the master takes me to t he shed,
    white poisons that plagues my genes,
    I carry the master bastard within
    de’ womb, reminders of the rape
    I employed, my child the despotic
    of the mistress who sits upon her
    labor, my mama the black slave
    chamber, that hang my sisters
    to the trees, as she die in dignity
    fare of the master who carries
    the whip, my sons hang upon the shaded trees,
    the white horse that sings, upon the grave.


    My husband drag the mule and the bags of cotton upon t he night, he cry to the lord, take me now, he sits in humble as the scars upon his feet, the crying of the soul, dose not speak, I work the sun up and sun down, to build my bounty, to free self, oh what a bitter taste of life, but I continue to strive for a new life. I ‘se still work the harden grounds to buy my Chilean freedom, and to spare my man’s life, who am I the slave master sing, I still fight the wars of my Chilean be free. I ‘ se the washwoman, the mammies and the mother slave of the plantation.

    I the prostitute of the master, the incubator of his economic labor, the back door of his whore, and the **** of the masters parties. Many continue to cry my labor, frowned on upon my man, and shamed in the name of my lord, to dye a slave is better to live in disgrace.

    I continue to bare the cross, I the foot steps of the slave master, the devils child of disaster, the freedom bell has no tone. I continue to live the curse, my sons have no respect of my house, I walk in the darken space of hell, covered with the blood, lord help me from my self.
    A way down south in the Carolina
    Black folks had to walk through the back door
    Way down south in Carolina
    Black folk had to say yes maim and yes sir
    Where down in the Carolina black folks
    Worked sun up and sun down
    Way down in the south
    Black folk drink at the black folk fountain
    Don’t understand why black folk
    Had to drink from the black fountain
    When all folks drink the same color water
    And go to the bathroom like all folk do.

    Way down in the south
    Black folks pick cotton sun up and sun down
    Never could under stand why white folk
    Thought that black folk had a disease
    Why them folks thought that black folk
    Needed to be slaves
    Wonder why them folks
    Scared of black folks
    When they worked they fields
    Never could understand, we all
    Have the same color of blood
    I guess we will never understand
    Until we meet God at the mountain
    Where there is no color line
    we must not cross
    Black folks, white folks we all the same.

    Black trucks coming up the road
    Hooded masks, army of death
    Burning crosses upon our door
    Why white folk hate the black folk so?

    Night coming go to find my place
    Under the bed, when the Klan
    Come they hang me from the tree
    White folk rituals kill them
    Black folk if they get out of place.
    Hooded mask look like the boogie man
    To me, hiding from the hoods, that
    Glorified lying black folks from the tree.
    I’ se the history of the black liberation be free.

    copywrite 2003
    all rights reserved
     
  2. 1poetsought

    1poetsought Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Your period pieces are remarkable, Sister!
     
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    nobody knows thy troubles but thy father
    this was awesomely done sista flow on !
     
  4. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    keeping the soldiers of black strength alive.
     
  5. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    How you took us to that place, where only God and shear will kept our ancestors alive. Flow on sister.
     
  6. MzBlkAngel

    MzBlkAngel Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    this was awesome writing i enjoyed this peice of work thanks for sharing...Angel
     
  7. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    loyality to those who brought us across, there death shall not be in vain.
     
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