Chapter 2 : Poetry -------------------------------------------------------------------- People : ---------------------------------- Author : Kuwasi Balagoon Author : Albert Nuh Washington Author : Anonymous Text : ---------------------------------- Poetry your honor your honor since i’ve been convicted of murder and have taken time to digest just what that means after noting what it means to my family and how it affects people who read the newspapers and all i see now that i’ve made a terrible mistake! and didn’t approach this trial in a respectful, deliberate or thoughtful manner didn’t take advantage of the best legal advice and based my actions on irrelevant matters which i can see now in a much more sober mind had nothing to do with this case i must have been legally insane thinking about: the twenty-five murders of children in atlanta since Wayne Williams’ capture the recent murder of a man in boston by the police the recent murders of two in chicago by police the shooting of a five-year-old little boy in suburban caliph the lynchings in alabama the mob murder of a transit worker in brooklyn the murders of fourteen women in boston feeling that this is evidence of something and that there must be a lesson in all this—i thought murder was legal with no questions the leaves are changing to sheaves of fire rust ‘n indigo in waves And all at once And one by one different in their deaths like all times and loved ones and memories of places faded from lack of presence and fallen from the attention of today to lie like a quilt on the earth and winter and change to the rich pungent ground that feeds realities to come with no questions. secretary watts[49] Secretary Watts saz that Native Americans have suffered the effects of socialism and with his rubber stamps and memo machines leaves mining companies the rights to dig up and poison whatever space they have left and it’s no big deal But when that cracker saz something saz something about the “Beach Boys” the turd president and his wife and the white house staff makes him apologize right away after all what’s the meaning of the 4th of July spring comes spring comes and mail trickles in and trickles out as if written in blood winter’s talk hangs unresolved and useless as smoke and well-reasoned routines are questioned with a runaway mind that doesn’t stop to sleep and has come to expect the bare minimum for the sake of an argument that will only make sense when it is a fight spring comes shiny gray and coiled in a box big ben[50] Benjamin Ward Likes to entertain and be entertained on the rocks, in his office likes to mix a little business with pleasure likes to loosen up before he hurrahs the boys at police ceremonies with a few drinks and mop his brow and shift his weight from foot to foot at press conferences and stutter and entertain everyone who watches the news This is no uncle tom or some neocolonial fixture of a city that suddenly found itself third world and unable to stomach a Minter or Alvarez as school chancellor and as i picture him at the podium i can’t help but hear Michael Jackson singing Ben or maybe i only hear the recording is it live or is it memorex? the mayor, his honor no less, who couldn’t stand Back Minter or Brown Alvarez loves Black Ben and saz, everybody makes mistakes Ben saz, he’ll never drink again will cut the playboy routine mops his brow, shifts his weight to the right he’s asked, if he will resign mops his brow, shifts his weight to the left “Not today,” he musters a mumble and his owner, looks at him, “Oh, come on Ben” and i can almost hear him say, he’ll never come again his honor explains, these are just a couple of instructions in an otherwise flawless career as commissioner of department of corrections, NYC commissioner of department of corrections, New York State and now as the city’s Top Cop police commissioner This is no handpicked uncle tom The first black police commissioner of New York City where more kids showed up to the airport to meet Menudo in 84 than showed up to meet the beatles in 64 was appointed! This is the one responsible for the Michael Stewart investigation This is the one responsible for bringing the murderers of Willy Turks to justice This is the one responsible for investigating police brutality charges in Harlem This is a symbol for how far a black man can go in the United States. A man mentioned in the Centurion! making this videotape with his honor like Michael Jackson did with Paul McCartney “say, say, say, what you want” how am i doin? Why are people complaining to koch about the police? This in 1984—not 1964 Why are people complaining about racism? ain’t whites in Staten Island complaining about police brutality? and Big Ben is checking into it and being the top cop he knows about those things how many times have you heard of cops blowin somebody away because the cop thought that the play gun the child had was real or that the comb or bottle or whatever made a bulge in a black teenager’s pocket was a gun or knife? but black cops, like Big Ben have better vision than white cops i don’t know if they do better on the firing range but when have you heard of a black cop blowing a white child away because he thought the toy gun was real? And how many times have you heard of a black cop mistaking a comb or bottle or bulge in a white teenager’s pocket for a gun? Is the ratio of these types of mistakes the same as the ratio of black to white cops? how many times have you heard of white cops shooting black cops? OK, how about the other way around? don’t whites carry combs and bottles or otherwise have bulges in their pockets? don’t black cops accidentally discharge their weapons So now you know who the guardian society guards cause niggers know the law and the law is If you are black you can’t be white and you can’t be yourself Other speakers have takened a nip before addressing a convention and entertained friends on business hours but what else does that nigger apologize for? i remember i remember her asking me if i thought her shoes were pretty while limping beside me down the avenue in a din of pain the cops turning the block for the second time slowing up traffic to glare at us to see how we would react, like dobermans the beer cans and wrappers on the sidewalk the shadows of the young trees the slight friendly breeze of the night of holding hands the expensive shops filled with non-sense and wondering who could afford such folly you know, it’s the little things … life is rough Life is rough when your attitude is bad the routine you’re going through seems a curse everything is boring there is no reason to do the things that are possible and the things that there is good reason for … appear impossible A voice in the back of your head tells you, “so and so” is full of shit and “so and so” wears different contentiousness and murkiness and swarms into a swirling mass down the drain of a thousand years like rust and gravel dust in the painted desert that looks like a place but ain’t really nowhere and every offered niche a place for a mole or labrador retriever or longhorn steer or some position not applied for in the dung heap you’ll stick in. the klan marched the Klan marched through a town with an economically deprived New Afrikan and Chicano community accompanied by police who followed the Klan demonstrators around and beat a Chicano woman for being a Chicano woman, and clearly opposed to racism and beat a Chicano man after following him around cause he was there but it wasn’t really the Klan it was just Austin the Klan has been active a beating here a murder there “the good ole boys” and you say that you will deal with the Klan but first we got to live together that is not so. We don’t have to live together. We won’t be living together. when we try, you do the living and we do the dying, for 400 years so we will die together like Sundiata, Zayd and Twyman or like those working-class armed agents of the state in Nyack until our survivors understand and make suitable rearrangements cause it’s not the Klan it’s Austin it’s Amerikkka mother of pearl sky Mother of pearl sky crystalline phantom trees sheering wind harvesting the residue of feelings past and depositing them into the icy void of space, that is permitted because there is no one inclined to wonder where questions fret and pace by seashores empty since labor day watching the reruns of reflections etched through the eyes to souls that shudder only when undistincted a kind word, for being left alone which can be distinctive like footprints that spoil the snow rain Rain, rain, rain all day Wash this stinking town away down the river and out to sea every home and every building and everybody Rain rain rain all night so we can see things in a different light grab the inner tubes and logs save the people and drown the hogs some solo piano or guitar Some solo piano or guitar and sun filtering through the curtains she hasn’t picked out yet in some little ticky tack or old abode stacked in the crowded heights like a chamber where all the ghosts can stretch their arms and yarn and settle in the folds of blankets and unpacked clothes giving us their blessings assured in our resolve when she awakes, after sleeping like a baby happy to be alive and awake and to see me and i’ll be myself filtered through the roof The rain filtered through the roof collected in some unseen crevice and fell in cadence in some unseen spot like some lost drummer summoning phantoms having taken refuge in the night and fusing themselves with those of us who were wet and dark and listening we’ve got to We got to stop meeting this way looking for an apartment and negotiating with supers, who want two months security rent and an extra month’s security to nod in our favor going from building to building and giving up and dropping by to see what your mom may have the inside scoop on Cleaning the hoods of cars with our jeans as she climbs out on the fire escape and explains that all those bastards are full of shit and we wander the streets stopping for coffee and plans till finally you can’t wait and i have to go We got to stop meeting in clubs that the police close down because they see people leaving at six in the morning, on weekdays, giving them the finger and the owners have smoked up the graft and had to pitch in with Mr Big, Franz Fringey and Tootsie Roll for cab fare to turn angles in the bronx where he forgets the name and systematically rings all the bells until someone who doesn’t even know him hits the buzzer and then goes back to sleep leaving those harlequins to roaming the hall until i get up that evening to pick up Sunday morning’s paper having a late start on living like other people or sort of other people don’t part every two weeks or go for years making do with dreams and reflections or hunger until the mind waters and pours through the eyes to only be blocked by masks they jog and come home and watch T.V. when the world is stale When the world is stale and springs brings warnings instead of promises and old acquaintances drop out of sight for reasons of their own and new ones who need help for problems of their own saturate your every waking moment with noise you find yourself raking coals of friendships past turning over in your head designs of better days or at least adventures rather than the endless sitcom lock step They march in formation lock step in cadence so that their bodies don’t betray their fear by jerky-hesitant motions. Head straight on order by order so that the folder cannot confirm under-certain eyes. They make noises “hut, two” to think “hut, two” and whatever they are told instead of possible death. And they think of dying anyway even though they are used to thinking whatever they are told. And they think they should be honored for this. And they shall be increasingly with grenades. refused i remember being refused by a lover and being put up and being put up with by a friend and making myself scarce to make it easier walkin the streets in the cold thinking that it’s really gonna take some doin wondering which nut would crack first? when could we do another raid? ‘n start from scratch and git back to basics and how could i find who i needed and looking at my watch while checking a frozen muck and walking into the happy cheery juke joint ‘n ordering a double ‘n another and looking up and seeing an acquaintance and leaving ‘n going back—to where i was put up with walkin into the darkness feeling the warmth spread like an invisible glow of a kerosene lamp and thinking, how amazing with so many problems and no answers to what to do next but here, a simple chemical, could make me feel so much better! i laugh at hypothetical warnings and sap rap about the virtues of feeling miserable carefully folding my clothes and dropping them on the floor twirlin my feet ‘n body, in a quilt ‘n charcoal sofa i heard my host announce that a friend who was supposed to be there already should be coming at any time they called 3 hours ago and “i didn’t know what could have takened so long?” and “could stay up to open the door?” These are the times that try men’s souls and as the cloud ascended to my head from the fire in my belly and made the darkness sweet ‘n heavy and reflections from the street lamp and objects aimed at though caprice inhabit images in a whirlpool, lighter than the gross planet at many points where, making yourself go is a pre- requisite for getting nowhere i remember thinking as much in paraphrase and what a time to be called upon to muster an extra effort, just a little reframe, reprieve, a break from consciousness for a soul who had had it with reality All in my head and unsorted And i remember explaining that i was … rockland Up in Rockland they like to believe that they can get up in the morning in their mortgaged banes eat breakfast at McDonalds drive down to Hill Street sit on each other’s desks drinking coffee pack their state-issued revolvers, bulletproof vest, heads and tales in state-issued cars and ride around Harlem, the South Bronx, the Lower East Side, Bedford Sty, Brownsville, Jamaica looking for trouble, shaking down suspects, chasing “Niggers and Puerto Ricans” around maybe git some overtime and drive back up to Rockland, across the tappan zee bridge to manicured lawns, fresh air, space, HBO Eat pizza, soak up suds and shoot the shit about the “Animals” and go back to the jungle as if nothing had happened and nothing will happen Up in Rockland county they like to believe that they can go on some shift at a crowded concentration kamp count the blacks, latins, Indians, an whites who for some reason couldn’t get a job and add up the total complain about the fuel they feed the “inmates” watch them take them to Kangaroo court maybe get some overtime and thumb through a couple of cunt books and Gang up on some “Animal” and drive back up to Rockland, across the river, Aw! feeling better already, unwind, loosen up, curse “fucking scumbags” & “go back to work” maybe taking a coupla weeks off in the Caribbean As if today was yesterday Up in Rockland they like to believe that they can come to the city collect rents, make their commissions, sell their tax credits, do the wall street hustle take in a couple of shows, a couple of drinks, some entertainment on the company card and drive back up to Rockland, across the tappan zee bridge, surrounded by loyal cops and firemen, a boat on the river, year-round swimming and tennis at the spa the good life maybe invite the boss over to dinner, cocktails and maybe when the economy is better, God Up in Rockland they like to believe that they can count money indefinitely with no interruptions because the Criminal Law and Natural Law are the same, because the guys on the legal tender look like them, and either made a killing in slaves or Government And plus the cops, punch drunk viet veterans would rather die than look for a job they are really strange up there Not that there ain’t merchants, paperboys, waitresses, gas station attendants, nurses, teachers, housewives, bartenders Nuclear plant workers, domestics, students, unemployed, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, laborers—if i was a laborer, and you were in labor, and you had a daughter of mine, would you let them enthralled her But whoever hears of these folks, or us, we could be the same for all we know but they could never be the same in Rockland they like to believe they could. From : TheAnarchistLibrary.org Events : ---------------------------------- Chapter 2 -- Added : January 25, 2021 About This Textfile : ---------------------------------- Text file generated from : http://revoltlib.com/