Dreams on you
Armand Miller
9/25/2008
As I lie down to sleep
I see you in my dreams
Dreams Of Pain
Anger
Sorrow
Death
Why do my dreams torment you so?
Because you torment me
In case you didn't know
SO be kind to me
I beg you please
Or the next time
When you die
It won't be in a dream
Tonight (9/18/08), I was able to welcome my son, a young African American adolescent male, into the brotherhood of Brother Authors. His first submission is below. I am a proud father of a young Brother Author.
Complex People
by Amal-Sundar Tatum (11-years-old)
9:05pm
September 18, 2008
As I look into myself
I see that I am a very deep and complex person.
But then I realize
We all are deep, deep, deep, deep beings.
But some choose not to harness it,
But to relinquish and destroy it.
But when we realize this
We can become what nobody has ever imagined.
We as a people can become great.
The following poem was inspired by a Brother Author who continues to post on the blog. His words continue to be my beacon for hope. Thank you, Brother Author Slayton. I place his poem first.
Slayton Goodman
SEPTEMBER 12, 2008 7:15 PM
Untitled
click clack pow
officer down
click clack pow
innocent child
click clack pow
someones brotha
why don't we stop killing each other
..._...|..____________________, ,
....../ ..---___________----_____|]
...../_==o;;;;;;;;_______.:/
.....), ---.(_(__) /
....// (..) ), ----"
...//___//
..//___//
.//___//
14-Tear-Old-Poet
by
Alfred W. Tatum
9/13/08 8:55am
His voice
Rings out with truth
Rings out with care
Rings out with caution
His Voice
Becomes my beacon
Becomes my battlefield
Becomes my bridge to understanding
His Voice
Appears unexpectedly
Appears right on time
Appears like a gift to a wanting mind
The Voice
The Voice
The Voice of this young poet
Is full of tears
And he has only lived 14 years
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Black chains
These chains mean more to me than mere jewelry
But I do admit they look real cool on me
But they represent my past generations pain and struggle
Not that I’m a modern day thug on a hustle
The way I dress has nothing to do with who I am
You can’t look at me and tell whether or not I’m a sophisticated man
They wore chains and were forced to pick cotton
I wear chains also to let you know I haven’t forgotten
Carry myself with pride and dignity
I bet you couldn’t tell if this was a rap or poetry
I carry my rhymes with a deeper meaning
You can’t see me smile because it’s too dark to see
-pitch black
By, Slayton Goodman
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