Bum Rush the Page: A Def Poetry Jam

The Way We Movethe way we move, funk groovebeat the rhythm out some pavement,our elegant violent attitude, quickslow motion movement in quicksandin somebody else's shit house shanty townshingly jingly chains clamped on our neck,hang to the floor scrape spark and clinkand we make music out of this cool behind darkshades, taught to fear the sun, hiding inbeauty parlors and bars draggy face withhatred and ugliness, and it only comes when you don'taccept the natural gifts, the fingerprints of ahigher order of peace and simple logic, what makes usphenomenal is that we can sleep walk inharmony, never breaking a sweat 'cept in factoriesor bars, prisons we even build systems for, ourown street logic and survival, but this is not wherewe're meant to be, not on the operating table ofextinction or at the broken doorstep of finalitystumbling drunk confused scagged out on whitenessand greed and stupidity into the bleeding face of ourdead father, and we are not supposed to movethis way, slow mumbling suicide in quicksand and defeatwe must refocus, we must see againTony Medina (New York). . . And the Saga Continuesfor Gary Graham From Guinea to Haiti to BrooklynAnd back From Guinea to Haiti to the BronxAnd back From Brooklyn to the Bronx to LAAnd back From Philly to Haiti to the New Jersey TurnpikeAnd back From village to hamlet to BoroughAnd back From LA to Orange to Newark to GuineaAnd back From PR to the Bronx Brooklyn Queens GuineaAnd back From Soundview to no view of the anguish of . . .Mother Mother why have you forsaken meBless me father for they are winningAnd my mutter is cryingBless me father for my mutter is cryingAt the sight of my dyingSave me Lord from being vanquishedSave my mutter from this anguish From Harlem to the Bronx to Brooklyn Queens Newark San Juanand the nation's highways I languishIn my blood and tears of my mother's anguishAnd backCall the name . . . Call the names I sayyou know them better than IShaka Sankofa Malcolm Ferguson Patrick DoresmondAbner Louima Amadou Diallo Kevin Cedeno James ByrdMatthew Sheppard Anthony Baez Michael StewartEarl Faison . . . etc. etc. etc.And the list gets longer week by weekAn African got lynched todayJuneteenth 2000From Texas to Chicago to Watts to NewarkAnd backFrom PR to Cuba to the Dominican RepublicAnd backAfrica calls from the bottom of the AtlanticAnd back From Ghanaian fields smooth black skinTurns purplish under lash under waterAnd backCan you hear them gurgle . . . AbnerrrrrCan you hear them scream . . . AmadouuuuuuuuCan you hear the windpipe snap . . . AntonyyyyyyyyapBlessed be Blessed be Blessed beDear Lord have mercy Lord have mercyHave mercy on mebless me father for Ihave sinned . . .with my mind I daily will demiseof the western ways and all of its compatriotsBless me father with a bottle of scupernog orWild Irish Rose to soften the blowof this monster's breath upon my neckAnd backin harlem in havana in charleston in Porto Princethe saga continues . . .blood blood I sayblood in the rectum bullets in the gutin the head the chest neckAnd backA rope a nightstick pepper sprayOr a lethal illegal injectionfrom the Statethe state of tex ass where seldom is heardan encouraging word and the sky is cloudyall yearhow 'bout florida or new jersey or new yorkthe city so nice they kill you twiceNext stop Ghana to the Congo to ZimbabweAnd backTed Wilson (Orange, NJ)