Black Poetry : Gold Dust and Tobacco Spit

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by Legendof_1_Spirit, Apr 1, 2005.

  1. Legendof_1_Spirit

    Legendof_1_Spirit Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    All across the midnight sky
    time spreads its swift wings
    and chart a constellation of memories
    across the reflecting eyes of relatives
    weary captives played out in lifesong
    prisoners of the past present and future
    toiling between sunrise and sunset
    and sunrise and sunset
    in a relative cycle of exuberant joy
    and exasperating calamities
    spawning labor pains of obsidian saddness
    painted upon the brow of every
    motherless fatherless child
    and those who know failure as a lover
    ubiquitous and inescapable
    and those that wear depression
    as a gleaming suit of arms
    eroding dreams of hope down to
    empty hands clutching nothing
    left to live for...

    Into this you came striding
    hardened by the sharpened stare
    of colored hatred stalking
    lush Georgian backwoods
    in stark white sheets tainted with blood
    and the ashen smell of burnt crosses
    you
    a princess displaced upon the shoulders
    of a world that cryed freedom
    yet turned its lumbering back on you
    as cotton the king of the south
    embraced you in arces and miles
    upon miles of thorns
    tearing your clothes
    drawing blood from your fingertips
    once smooth and beautiful and ebon fair
    now cut and tattered from sugar cane cornfields
    fleshy rags clinging to young bones
    that lost their dreams to the dust

    Through this you came
    a now giant of a woman pushing
    long days from the first kiss of dawn
    to the incipient whisper of evening
    and still
    your work was not done
    because after long hours
    in fields you did not own
    under an oppressive sun stealing
    crystalline tears from the corners
    of your tired eyes
    you plucked pulled picked
    pennies by the hour
    by the pound
    by the bushel
    and dreamed of going home
    where freedom lay in your housecleaning
    food you prepared with overtaxed hands
    and rest was found listening
    to the rhythmic heartbeats of your children
    war drums
    taa-dom taa-dom taa-dom taa-dom
    providing you with the resolve to carry on
    as you rubbed your hands
    shiny bronze with vaseline
    and read scriptures in the sleeping silence

    I often wonder while watching stars flower
    into the night if you cryed when grandfather left
    pulled by the allure of alcoholic lust
    I often wonder what prayers you conjured
    within your heart when you
    sacrificed a meal for yourself
    to ensure all seven of your children
    ate a belly full of love that was all you
    had to give
    because poverty hung from your tender neck
    like a noose threatening each day to choke
    your determination and break your will
    claim you as another victim of despair

    I have dreamed of you
    who were like a mountain in the distance
    standing tall weathering countless storms
    courage strength and pride
    intangible as clouds crowning your weary brow
    and in those moments of fleeting memory
    I am young and in love with bananna bread
    homemade jellies and jams
    the smile and the light you always seemed
    to radiate when you consumed me in a hug

    In those dreams I am once again there with you
    in your living room
    hearing your voice speak of the good ol days
    inbetween tobacco spit and deep sighs
    that seem to ask how you got over
    How did one woman and seven kids
    push this far into the future and grow into a family
    of twenty-one grandkids
    in the heart of the Deep South
    where blackfolks often
    disappeared into nothingness
    only to be found years later if at all
    restless bones still searching for equal freedom
    an American Dream never promised to them

    I can still hear your voice boom
    beating back every other
    sound in the room
    “Lola Mae, get yo’self in hea and fix my TV my stories ‘bout to come on!”
    Still hear you rocking in your worn lazyboy rocker
    chair creaking everytime you bend
    grab your cup and spit tobacco juice
    Still hear the whip like whir of your scrap
    splitting air to touch us with a “pop”
    from anywhere in the room
    almost as if it was a living extension
    of your hand and moved effortlessly
    without thought and direction
    to find the child making too much noise
    still see the saddness that you wore at times
    just behind the blinds of your rich brown eyes
    a saddness that shines like gold dust
    in a panhandler’s pan
    a saddness so profound
    it haunts me to this day

    What pain you must have known
    I can not begin to comprehend
    but when I look
    all across the midnight sky
    and notice the slightest twinkle of the stars
    I remember you and they become the tears
    I never saw you cry
    And I realize that you will never die
    as long as I remember the gold dust
    buried within your eyes.

    "written by the son, for a father who misses his mother"

    BCB/Legendof_1_Spirit
    10/10/04
     
  2. HODEE

    HODEE Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    What a journey! You have penned a timeless era

    Legendof_1_Spirit

    This is a great remembrance of the love of grandparents and those who raised us thru all the strife. I recall spit cups, tobacco snuff and those things that passed the time. My grandparent’s medicine that helped them pass the time. To day we have our cigarettes; our young have turned to weed. But if not for this verse you shared with us we all would have forgotten the need. To praise our ancestors, relatives high. To see the gold dust in their eyes. If you sat at the foot of your parents bed. Let your mother comb your head. You got stories of how it make it real. In a life that seems to be always filled. With the history of tobacco spit, and gold dust years. When ( family ) things were ( important ) considered.

    This flow gripped me from verse one. I have lived some of those years growing up and seeing just what you wrote here. My mother picked cotton, and told of her young years. I still chat with her today about all she has to give. We need more young children today listening to their grandparents , for the story to be passed. Our history as different as it may have been from our ancestors will give strength in time of need. If they only listen and take the time to know. Life would not be so hard ( on them ) sometimes and ( they ) you will gain a compass to help ( them ) you grow.



    :great: :great: :great: :great: :great: .. five greats for this.

    :hot: a must read...
     
  3. 1poetsought

    1poetsought Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Simply grand!

    Suffering succotash, how's he do dat?
     
  4. moham

    moham Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Legend of 1 spirit,
    This is the third work I have read written by you and I "must" say:
    you are truly talented and I feel you might become a true inspiration to me!

    About this poem: I think it is beautifully, expressively and fluently written.
    Everything just fits...from the words to the structure, layout from the memories to the emotions/feelings.

    Some of my favorite favorite parts:
    " spawning labor pains of obsidian saddness
    painted upon the brow of every
    motherless fatherless child
    and those who know failure as a lover
    ubiquitous and inescapable
    and those that wear depression
    as a gleaming suit of arms
    eroding dreams of hope down to
    empty hands clutching nothing
    left to live for... "

    " a princess displaced upon the shoulders
    of a world that cryed freedom
    yet turned its lumbering back on you
    as cotton the king of the south
    embraced you in arces and miles
    upon miles of thorns
    tearing your clothes
    drawing blood from your fingertips
    once smooth and beautiful and ebon fair
    now cut and tattered from sugar cane cornfields
    fleshy rags clinging to young bones
    that lost their dreams to the dust "

    "under an oppressive sun stealing
    crystalline tears from the corners
    of your tired eyes
    you plucked pulled picked
    pennies by the hour
    by the pound
    by the bushel
    and dreamed of going home "

    "because poverty hung from your tender neck
    like a noose threatening each day to choke
    your determination and break your will
    claim you as another victim of despair "

    I still don't know how to work with this Qoute thing, so I had to do point out my favorites this way... :)

    :heart: moham
     
  5. Khasm13

    Khasm13 STAFF STAFF

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    legend...this poem was simply breathtaking and quite refreshing...
    please continue to prose your thoughts and bring them to life...*thumbs up*

    one love
    khasm
     
  6. justus

    justus New Member MEMBER

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    *fading in with cleaned plate*

    Well touch me in the morning, then walk away...

    My goodness...you brought me from behind trenchcoats, fedoras, and dark corners with this poet ( I know, the shame,lol, but I digress...)

    THIS was so fantastically lush and tangible...voluptuous and homemade...yet so d**n sophisticated in its unfolding.

    Southern Soulfood on the best bone china indeed.

    In the words of Oliver Twist *ahem* "Please sir, 'an I 'ave sum mo're?"

    *fading out with best brimming & begging eyes*
     
  7. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    This work of art flowed ever so thickly across the page, because it was laden with piercing memories and descript visions that can make each one of us proud. Can't do this piece justice, let me just say, thank you poet.
     
  8. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    outstanding drop love this on here
    go head on poet flow some mo of dis
     
  9. gempis

    gempis Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Amazing odyssey that left me captured by the rich imagery. You took me there, poet, brought the vision up close. Mad props for this.
     
  10. Legendof_1_Spirit

    Legendof_1_Spirit Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Thanks Everyone!

    <floats in>

    Right now I'm a little under the weather and sleep is trying to over take me, but I wanted to express my sincere thanks to everyone who read and responded to my poem. I am honored by the responses and humbled by your praise fellow poets.
    I believe it is the goal of every poet to touch their readers and to inspire others through their expressions. This was a difficult poem to write because I had to look back, and by looking back I felt the void that my grandmother has left within my family's lives. But by writing this I reminded myself that we each gain immortality through memory. No one really ever dies until U forget them.

    Once again...Thanks for the read and the responses!

    peace&1luv

    <floats out>
     
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