Black Poets

© 2/20/2002 Dennis L. Pickering What’s it mean for a poet to be black? Is it only a term for some to hack? Others lexis and stick them in the back With their knife of words they get from the rack. I speculate when will everyone know? That people do inevitably grow Into an equal colour on this bow And can compare all to be apropos. We are all the same color here on earth And are obliged to stay within life’s girth Because everyone has a matching birth Currently upon this most narrow earth. Every one of us is but colored “gold.” That color puts us in the place to hold Conditions, we are able to be bold And realize souls are all colored “gold.” I guess everyone just wants to lament About atrocities, also to vent Rather than resolve the situation Which has emerged for the duration. Poets are poets, it is trivial. Other races are not convivial. To “POETS” who broadcast the ideas, Present to everyone panaceas. A picture of what life is meant to be Right here within this consciousness tree. Keep others from being stung by the bee Of prejudice that’s only minded wee All of us possess for the duration Obligations for obliteration Obligations not depended upon Those we’re loyal to on this trip we’re on FINISPoets are Poets, no race difference. I wrote this because at a day enrichment program I attend, in a poetry group I attend there they had "Black Poets" day, week, or whatever. The poets we perused seemed stuck on a prejudiced theme also. Written February 20th, 2002 © on Feb 21 2002 03:06 AM PST, Dennis Pickering   17 • 0 • 9