IN MEMORY OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

No personal journey is complete without a defining point. There has to be struggle in our lives in order for man to appreciate what it feels like to conquer life’s unexpected challenges. So we rejoice after the accomplishments and seek shelter, as the outstretched arms of indulgence stands by unafraid. Which in terms, manifest itself in an illustration of a captive lifestyle set free. However, the answers haven’t always presented themselves.

Over  the  past     few  years  I’ve  struggled  every  way imaginable. So many different trials and tribulations continue to have their way with me.  I truly believe  that  adversity  seldom  attaches  itself to  the  consciousness  of  a man who has given up  on  life  And  for  the most  part ,  equality entirely overstates the stereotypes , which  limit  its  vision  too  narrowly  when  compared with  the complex  properties  associated  with  the  commingling  of  a variety of  people. So I conveniently confide in a theme  that protects me under a color of universal law, that I inherited  through the  pain of  my  ancestor’s  grief.

There is a distinct difference in my mind governing tradition and the truth. Yet, we have a problem understanding the answer to most of our problems lies with our misguided youth. Too often are we manipulated by society’s external perceptions of what’s deemed to be right? But  to  what extreme  would  you   be   willing   to  travel, to  extricate  the  secrets  that  binds us  together  in  a  separate, but  equal,  state  of  perpetual  ignorance .

I for one, will never feed into its scheme, by blaming the very thing I have been  taught, or become infected or enslaved because  I’ll never  be betrayed and end up lost. But by force of wind, I sometimes forget the right thing to say, so in the privacy of my shelter I often kneel then close my eyes and pray. Asking God for a reason or at least, a glimpse into the cause. While I sit here doing time… doing nothing at all. There are times I pier into the night and end up walking through the dark alone aimlessly. Shall I be forced to testify on that which I recall, or be threaten by a distant call to be free?

This poem is dedicated to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., for his service and commitment to fighting for what he believed in.  It is entitled: “BURY ME FREE”

BURY ME FREE

 

DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. PHILANTROPIST

Dress me

In a suit of armor

Worthy of my grave

Comfort me

With the attention

Undeserving of a slave

 

Don’t judge me

DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR., HAD A DREAM

On my defiance or

For my relentless pursuit

Or despise me

For the hate that caused

Another Black man to loot.

 

Just give me

DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., head of Southern Christian Leadership conference speaks to thousands, during his I HAVE A DREAM speech.

My due respect

You don’t have to be afraid

And remember me

To be something more

Than another figure betrayed

 

All I ask is to be happy

In the last days

Of my quest

And shower me

With the blessings

Of your undying wholesomeness

 

DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., BELL 1975 MEMORIAL GARDEN EXPANSION PROJECT

Don’t spite me insufferably,

On some street corner

In the hood

Just “Bury Me Free”,

In hollowed ground

Beside the Brothers who understood.

IN MEMORY OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR

BURY ME FREE

Antonio Moses

BATTLE CRIES

In the mist of dawn and aging night it falls. Scattered secrets erupt after skeleton’s in our closet and monsters from our wildest dreams surface. Infidelity has shown both sides of its face and tainted views dampen the curiosity, pouring out hurtful word and damaging images on the floor. Confused we often fall. In a world of raging storms, in the garden where temptation was born, we somehow lost our innocence. Strangled by hypocrisy, we exist, not at all aware of the happiness we missed. My heart tells me one thing, but the walls whisper another. Their words are like a memory drifting through leaves, obscured with lies intended to disfigure and destroy. So where do we draw the line? Or better yet, can the love we lost be found? Are we destined to reclaim evenings which cause us so much despair? Hasn’t enough words been said about that one night love affair? Who am I trying to convince, the jury is out. The scars of war often remind me, love can sometimes be your biggest adversary.

GHETTO PHANTOM

Lapse with me as we set sail through the murky waters of the Ghetto. A place far far from the world most of you care to know. On the hairy edge of time between glory and shame. Calamity sets the stage in this saga and the number one hit song, “Sirens” by Red Dawgz is featured on the sound track. So brace yourself as we journey into parts unknown.

Seven shots ring out! Another one bites the dust ____ this ain’t no dedication. “Just say no!” Is a hook in need of a long vacation. In the mist of the chaos, greed lay claim for the constant drive-bys and ignorance wears a badge of honor for black on black homicide. Stevie may Wonder but it’s plain to see that the Ghetto Phantom has been running free. J’s wander the streets like demented hospital orderlies, they have become drowns of capitalism and greed chasing the wrong fix.

Strangled by pseudo opportunities leave me in despair, this vice-grip on inequality makes me want to pull out my hair. Must I drop caps to lower case? The penitentiary is filled with our faces, rats, roaches and free base. The insanity is, “mind blowing decisions” have to be made

Elementary

 

My basis

Of reason is reason

Inexplicable but undeniable in fact.

And while I’m awake

This duality of consciousness

Tends to always bring me back.

 

When the fundamental principles

From which a concept is conceived

Needs help,

That is the exact moment

An idea makes and attempt

To present itself.

 

But to what conclusion

Is there to be offered

Without a proposition attached.

It is in deed

A successive theory

If it survives one crucial fact.

 

This feeling surfaces whenever,

A thought is transformed

Into an objective reality

Which ultimately springs

From different roots

To create it’s own philosophy.

 

And since anxiety

Is often invoked

In the fanstasy of a wish,

Then the perception

Of what I conceived

Can manifest itself…in this.

Adrift

I am a piss poor excuse of what a Black man is suppose to be. Spending the best years of my life, locked away in some bland penitentiary. God knows I wanted to be a man holding on to something more than a picket sign in the street. Or hopelessly searching for a testimony or a catchy line in a speech. Now the media would have you think that I’m some kinda’ right-winged activist. I didn’t walk ten miles to school but I’m going to tell this story the way I see fit. So far the Revolution is nothing more than an institution made up of different schools of thought, that Black leaders will use against whomever will stop long enough to get their point across.

Using a handful of simple expressions to convey the years of shame and loneliness, reduced to a biological form that exist with absolutely no purpose nonetheless. Too often have we given way to the agonies of life and despite the uncertainty of the load, we seldom think twice. I don’t have to apologize on this day for being born Black. Aren’t there enough perpetrators in this world who have already done that? And since evidence is predicated upon one’s admission of the facts, I should be the last person in the world that anyone of you should attack. But in the end we are nothing more than actors in a play, in search of a script that defines each of us in our own unique way.