This morning feels so lonely
It’s been ten years to the day
Since you left my life
and still it cuts like a knife
All of my life you were my best friend
Never taken for granted the times we shared
Feels like a storm is brewing ahead
Pouring like the rain are these tears I shed
Thought I heard your voice yesterday
Thought I had seen a familiar face
Lord knows the pain I feel inside
Haunted each night by the void in this empty space
One that can never be filled
A mothers love can never be replaced
As I stare at the sky
I scream to the heavens god tell me why
How can I mend this broken heart of mines
All I do is pray for a sign
No use explaining the moment is gone
When I look in the mirror I’ve done nothing wrong
I need to realize it’s time to move on
Need to show you your lessons are not in vain
Need to show you the strength that you gave
Now I stare at that sky
One last question as clouds past by
No need to answer so don’t make a sounds
Inside i’ll feel it , Have I made you proud.
One African male barefoot sunk down into the Virginian sand
With his shackled hands he stepped out of the ship
Called the White Lion, followed by those of his kind
And as their skin glistened in the Land of Liberty sun
The crowns of their heads looked like black cotton spun
While their eyes saw peculiar wonder at this new land
These 20 Negroid souls were the source of a young river
A very new river, their life force opens up to, the Black River
This Black river leaping with life, dread, uncertainty, and stark reality
That their ride was not for leisure, no pleasure involved
But they were the background for the slavery scene
And this was done back in late august of 1619
The bed of this river was deep and full of black misery
But, there was promise in the babbling brooks of uprisings
One, led by a slave named Jemmy in 1739 who executed
White owners and placed their heads on the front steps of stores
Until he was caught, captured, and killed
It was Nat Turner who was bursting with prophetic dreams
He rallied the rebels to set the demise in place for sixty whites
But in the end, he was hanged as his body rocked and spins
And a purse was made of his dissident skin
Ms. Tubman drove the train across over the river’s roughest surges
To safety’s abode, they called her feat the Underground Railroad
Although slowly, freedom finally embarked at the mountain’s crest
Shining the sovereignty light down on their upon their Negro faces
The Emancipation Proclamation made the declaration that,
“All persons held as slaves….are, and henceforward shall be free”
These were the words written by Lincoln in 1863
This Black River was robust and strong finding ways to flow
Flourish and farrow by giving birth to little streams
Black streams, black baby streams
And this was the secret in spite of various plans
To damn it up, despite all attempts to dry it up
Many years, many miles, many waves and many trials
Of this Black River that kept fluid and unbroken
Until out of one of those streams arose a sleek black panther
Who sprung out of the river and landed powerfully on all fours
He sought to end oppression of his people
He fought for equality in education and civil rights
He brought the revolutionary war cry
He thought he could end police brutality and criminality
But it was cointelpro that infiltrated this black man’s organization
Ceasing all efforts to build a nation within a nation
Although not in order of appearance
I must talk about two channels that were narrow and deep
They were opposites, but also a confluence
Two people who were life’s finest students
But one was educated in the Harlem streets
And the other in a quality American university
They both mark a place where two waterways joined
I am talking the Niger Martin and Nile Malcolm
While the Niger sought to end all atrocities peacefully
The Nile thought it was best to be a fearless militant eagerly
Uneasily, they both left this world too soon and too violently
Speedily, this river streams across spans of times
And times of times
Then, it gracefully keeps a current that builds a people strong
It allows the people to sing civil rights songs
It gives them the strength to fight back Jim Crow wrongs
And take it when they lost Black Wall Street
Keep fighting, keep fighting, and keep fighting
Until ghetto journalist in timberlands and jeans
Walked out of the city projects
With poetic rhymes and sick beats
Teaching the world that black men are king
When no matter what they tried,
THEY STILL BREATHING!
While this Black River is still running and moving
Fluently streaming right up to the White House
Dropping slave ancestor’s brood
And they aren’t staying in the guest house
No, this is the blood that built it
And this blood is now part of the continental quilt
Make room for that black face on the wall of all 43 other presidents
Make room for the gown that the first lady wore at the dance in the museums
So that we can keep this river turning
Keep it growing and flowing
This Black River
This Black River
This Black River!
Got many more miles
The truth is, I’m tired.
Not a day passes that I don’t cry.
I’m at my ropes end with the knot unraveling fast.
One minute I smile, the next I scream.
Forget the American dream, I just want to survive.
I count my blessings, thanking God for them all.
At the same time, I see myself quickly losing them all.
What have I done to deserve this?
We all have sinned and fallen short.
Was my sin deserving of the punishment?
Don’t I deserve happiness and love, stability and health?
Right now, I sincerely doubt any of it even exists.
Here I stand alone in the storm.
There is no shelter for me as I struggle to even breath.
Depression and despair is all I feel.
God, dear God, I beg you to help me through.
You promised to never give me more than I can take.
I’m not about to break, I’m broken.
Please save me before I drown.
We all must live in our truths.
The truth is, I’m tired.
Kamille Kamala is a spiritually centered, politically conscious person. Because these two traits act as a humble anchor to the fantastic person she is, Kamille is able to successfully run the Lyrical Lounge, a lounge that specializes in providing a voice for all kinds of writers, specifically poets. Be mindful that she has successfully ran this lounge since 2009…a huge feat in the SL community. Kamille has also hosted an array of symposiums, including the Women 2 Women Symposium, a symposium that stimulates discussion on women’s rights and health-related issues. A valuable member of the SL and RL Community, Kamille works effortlessly to insure that the arts are not ignored by members of the SL Community…
Another day, another dollar
Another cop murdering innocent blacks
And it makes me want to holler
Another bound, another loose
Another Found hanging ON another Noose
Just another Negro kid’s face ON
Another evening news
Another shot in his back
As he lay for hours on another street
Another psychological attack
Another fatally shot 14 times by police for disturbing the peace
Another elderly woman punched in the face
By MI-LI-TA-RIZED police
Another I CANT BREATHE
And from this earth, another leaves
Another choke-hold illegally
Another leniency needlessly
Another NOT charged
Calls for Another nationwide march
And another plea for justice yet we witness
Another take part
In its misuse
And collectively we are tired and disgusted
Because we been oppressed since Roots
Instead it’s another confrontation
With another BB gun in Walmart
Just construct -ing more and more black frustration in our spirits and in our hearts
Black men faces used as targets in another shooting range
Yet we still asking for change
On another day and in another year
And yet all we getting are tone deaf ears
Another unarmed soul
Another case put on investigative hold
Another black truth UN-told
And there we go with another one tased
Another black red and green flag raised
Another head slammed on pavement
And they keeping us in mental enslavement
With these false police reports
And these fork tongued news anchors
Telling their mass media lies
Covering up the blood stained concrete images
Created with another black body as it lies
Staring into space are another set of lifeless black eyes
In another dimly lit stairwell
By another accidental gun discharge
On JUST another day
We are screaming Black Lives Matter
But to them we are screaming Black Lives Chatter
And this we don’t need
We don’t need to bleed no more
Not another drip
We don’t need
Another Dontre Hamilton
Another Eric Garner
Another John Crawford III
Another Michael Brown Jr
Another Ezell Ford
Another Dante Parker
Another Tanisha Anderson
Another Tamir Rice
Another Jerame Reid
And NOT another Sandra Bland
And this aint our promised land
And I say fuck the Klan and their confederate flag front man
But what we need is another hope
Because the one we been carrying, well its broke
And to be loosed from the rope of racism around our necks
And get them DAMN police in check
We need not to be plagued by brutality
Because of our racial sect
Dare we ask for equality from our inequitable country?
And yes we belong here
We are the only involuntary immigrant nationality
And we aint going nowhere!
In another one of your dreams and on another night
See we need a strong team, to BRING a fierce fight
You are like the hot desert touching the sky
with the Earth dancing teasingly in arid waves,
Your colors entice the sands like Spanish fly.
All around you, at your feet, like slaves,
Your smile brings a sunset of comfort to the burning.
When the earth and sky come together with fire
spreading content to those who dare discerning
and promising The Oasis of Desire.
The clouds become part of the connection
…a touch you can not see, but you know it exists
for all of the evidence of advection,
and happy sounds in the midst
of the world serving her Master.
Until, finally the moon shows her face
and you disappear, raster by raster
under the cover of her embrace.
Daphne Wallace can be seen around the Grid hosting for various venues. However, there are layers to this woman…she is a poet that prides herself in creating works that reflect passion and reflection, and also enjoys everything SL has to offer. She is also one of many writers on The SL Parade Staff, acting as a Contributing Writer in our Poetry Department. If you are interested in submitting any creative works…rather it is poetry, short story fiction, or even a diary-based entry, please feel free to contact The SL Parade!
Mine ~ For Kyle
His arms so strong and dark
hold me and i feel the strength
His face so kind and welcoming
shines on me and I feel the warmth of the sun
His eyes so deep and mysterious
look at me and I know love.
Alone on my beach
When my heart is heavy
When I need to rest
Alone on my beach
Is where its best
Best to think and cry
Best to wonder why
Best to say goodbye
Alone on my beach
No more worries in my mind
I am strong I will not cry
One day I will find the man
One day he will take my hand
He will smile and say come my love
You were waiting for me all along
Dolly Warden is an SL Model and diligent advocate of fairness, truth and justice. A recent participant and finalist in the 2015 Sweetheart’s Pageant, Warden will be one of The SL Parade’s Contributing Writers, so please look for more writings to come!
I looked at the tomato
I remember buying it at the corner
It was perfectly ripe
I remembered my father saying…
These were made by God
and God had really outdone himself
with a tomato
I bit down into it
as the juice and seeds
squirted across my face