African American Adolescent Male Summer Literacy Institute

Keeping the Legacy

2009-07-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

Brother Author Goodman gives his views on love. He is truly a poet for generations to come. See below:

Slayton, let me know if you want to join this year's institute. Week 2 begins on Tuesday. Kendale Johnson from Kenwood is one of this year's brother authors. You can visit this year's blog at www.aaamsli2.blogspot.com

Keep writing, young brother, keep writing.

The best kind of LOVE
By Slayton Goodman
07-03-09
This girl had a nice attitude and beautiful curves
I mean this girl could make the word beautiful a verb
They say every kiss begins with “k”, but so does every kill
Because love is a dangerous thing that will have you feeling so ill
It’ll have you feeling so sick’ wish you can be done with it
Wish you never made her cry and then just quit
But NO it’s like a drug because you can never get enough
And I’m so sick and tired of all the bull stuff
And the type I hate most is teenage love
Because the type I fear most is teenage love
But they say fear hurts but I feel no pain
And they say no pain no gain so I am staying the same
Because I can never decrease but I will never win
Never give my heart and soul to any of these women
And I learned a valuable lesson, always put myself first
Because when I give my all in a relationship I get hurt
I call this the best kind of love because it gets better before it gets way worse
And that’s the end of this verse, end of this curse
Because in the end love is just a word
-take a bow, exit left stage, I’m done playing this role

Critical Consciousness from a YBA

2009-03-28T00:06:00.000-07:00

Social Slavery and Dirty Politics
By Slayton Goodman –Feb. 08 09

They gave us the sour lemon and we made lemonade
Soul food the food from the soul of a slave
They gave us what they didn’t want and we reversed it
And after all this time now we prefer it
Tell J.F.K. what he did was not in vain
I won’t stop spreading knowledge until blood freezes in my vein
Evil politicians have raped our brains
Laws do disappearing acts like David Blaine
But when I show up in court they stay the same
Innocent until proven guilty doesn’t that sound insane
I think America is great because of diversity
I think America is hate because of lies and thieves
And I support Blagojevich
Ask the politicians can they stomach this
A terrorist gun held to the victims head ready to pull the trigger
He is also a black man therefore he is also a………figure
Of common discourtesy therefore he is also a………bigger
Threat to society along with the other ignor-
ant people that can’t see
That anything is questionable politically thinking
When you look at a porcupine all you see is the needles
Look at my skin tone and my attire and all you see is the evil

Poetry from the Youngest Brother Author from the Institute - Returning after 7 Months - Welcome Back YBA

2009-03-27T23:58:00.000-07:00

Shattered Glass
by
Deonte Jones

Sometimes when dreams are broken, they are nothing
more than shattered glass. When your heart is broken,
you feel like shattered glass. When you get jumped,
your bones feel like shattered glass. This might not
sound all that bad, but think of how the glass feels.

Darkness
by
Deonte Jones

A lot of life is spent in darkness.
Some people may not notice.
Night is full of darkness.
It might be morning, but most of the world
is still dark!!!

The Never Ending Hallway
by
Deonte Jones

Life is like a hallway. It feels like it
never ends. But when you cut that hallway
in half, you see it’s very short, which is just
like life. So live your life like there’s no
tomorrow because tomorrow’s not promised.

My Inauguration

2009-01-25T17:36:00.000-08:00

My Inauguration

by

Alfred W. Tatum

I never felt so low being locked down
I say Barack on stage
Before being forced back into the cage
D.C. felt so close, but out of my reach

I started reflecting on all I had done
to please the girl who no longer remembers my name
as she now teaches her son about OBAMA
the real man who stands next to a real momma

My mattress swallowed me as I sat on the cot
My soul began to rot
As I tried to disappear because of the shame inside
My calls felt so idle – no more throwing up the Ws for West Side

Then I remembered someone talking about God’s loving grace
Maybe it can sustain me until I get out of this place
44 months to go, isn't that ironic, before my release
Into a different society with a Black Man calling for world peace

I can’t wait until the daylight
So that I say good morning to the next Brother
Who I suspect felt the same shame
Barack has given me a new face
It’s up to me to restore my name

Barack has give me a new face
It’s up to me to restore my name

No more iniggeration
My inauguration starts today
This, to God, I pray.

Yet Another Brother Author Has Returned

2009-01-25T17:28:00.000-08:00

Untitled

By: John Galloway

I Never Had the Best Choice Of Buddies Or MANY Friends
Some May Call Me A Crybaby But In The End It All Depends.
Daddy Never Gave A Damn,
But I Would Always Kill For My Child To Have Another Meal.
Still Worried About WHERE I Will Go Wrong
and Will They Put “JUST ANOTHER N***A” Over my Tombstone.
A Whole Bunch of Sad Songs and Flower Bringing,
with a funeral full of little cousins I Never Be seeing.
Trying in School to Be the Best
Praying to God for A cure For M.S.
I Guess It Fells Good To Get Some Of This Off My Chest
But My Soul Must Consume The Rest.
Scared of the Fact That I may not Graduate
But The suit and Gown Is Something I Will Always Anticipate.
So Much Spitting On me I feel Like another Dog
but it will Feel Good to Be the Underdog.
The Flows So Hot I’m Afraid to Touch It,
Been holding it so long I get Blisters from it!
We still live In a Recession;
the country isn’t making no progression.
I’m Still Black,
N ***AS Still sell Crack,
Most Pitiful N***AS Still
Looking for a purse to snatch
or kill a mother over One
Now what’s The Gansta in That?
Still Older People Trying to Lecture us
But When Girls Get pregnant all They Blame is us.
Police go over board to restrain us
because the N***A in us don’t Want People Putting Chains On us.
So When I die I Want to go to Heaven
because now isn’t A Gift
So Why Do We Call It the Present.

Using the Written Word as a Beacon II

2008-12-11T20:03:00.001-08:00

Slayton Goodman
Jan.15, o9

You Gave Me This Stage

My soul locked in a cage you set it free
My life was on a path to destruction
You gave me this stage so I must thank thee
For the giver of my construction

You gave me this place you gave me this stage
You gave me the spot light so now I see
When I needed help you came to my aid
I was lost until you directed me

No one is able to label or misjudge me
No longer view as a stereotype
I am not what you think so don’t trust me
You gave me this stage you gave me this Mic

My soul bleeds on new revenue
My soul deep but I would had never knew

One
by
Alfred W. Tatum

January 16, 2008

One voice, one pen
There are 300 million Americans
I want to speak to them all
But, I am just one voice, one pen.

I am not even sure what I want to say
Will they listen anyway?
I am just one voice, one pen.

No microphone
Just a pen and pad when I am all alone
I am just one voice, one pen.

Then I think about the poet
Who wrote for me without even knowing me.
I am among the 300 million
Did he reach them all?
Did he just reach me?

I wonder if he felt like
One voice, one pen

Maybe I can become the next poet
Maybe the next storyteller
As I continue to sit alone
With one voice, one pen

I probably won’t reach them all
Just one like me who’ll heed the call
The call coming from
One voice, one pen

What I could have been/ Apology to myself
by
Slayton Goodman
Jan.0 4,2009

If when you lie you’re not speaking but just saying words
Then why is it the words you only say hurt the worst
They say be yourself they say come from the heart
Well it’s hard to be yourself when you don’t know who you are
MISFIT; OUTCAST these are compliments to me
They let me know I don’t have to dwell on what I used to be
They thought I was a gangbanger because I hung out with the thugs
And I didn’t learn my lesson the first five times I was jumped
I didn’t learn when I was hit in the eye with a golf club
I’m young, I haven’t been through a lot but I’ve been through enough
Sometimes I wonder about what I could have been
Then I decide to never use the word love again
I think about all the times I sin
And wonder why I’ve been forgiven again and again
Stupid mistakes from the past haunt my future
NOTE TO SELF: sorry for what I did to ya’

I was just thinking
Slayton Goodman 12-11-08

Thoughts running through my mind which one will hit the finish line
When you lie you’re not speaking you are just saying words
Fear is not a reason for holding back, but an excuse for holding back
A nigger, a nigger, not me
I’m not a nigger but a Negro
Nor am I a nigga for I don’t respond to ignorance
A trigger shall be the end of my demise, look a young black male he must be a thug
A man so insane thoughts run threw his brain
He is just a church boy with an evil genius’s brain
Christianity first
Loved ones next
Then knowledge and people not being able to call me a nigger and be correct
Wait wait wait wait! Oh never mind it’s too late
I wonder what people will think when they read this
He’s no poet, he is just writing down random things is that poetry
Why are you still reading it if it’s not
Who answers a question that they asked
Who are you to judge me?
Correct me if I’m wrong but power doesn’t come with fear but respect
I’m such a hypocrite
I try to stay non violent but if that boy say one more thing I’ll ………………………………..stop and think

Deep Seed

by

Alfred W. Tatum

December 11, 2008

There is deep seed within that needs to be watered
Hidden between the crevices of stifled imaginations and endless wanderings
Sitting there waiting for a sprinkle of human understanding and compassion
Ready to blossom at moment’s notice

My seed was waiting and then it arrived
I have never felt so alive
I thought I was the wellspring to joy
Until I discovered that my own seed was dry
Between stifled imaginations and endless wanderings
The deep seed has now surfaced
Life begins, truly.

It's Four Months Later and the Brother Authors Continue to Put Their Voices on Record

2008-12-07T07:12:00.001-08:00

Winter snow
By Slayton Goodman
Dec.6, 2008

Snow shoveling my favorite chore
Winter my favorite time of year
Let all rivalries be no more
Let us join in Christmas cheer
I don’t need to wait anymore
For the first snow is almost here
Nothing I want to do more
Than spend time with the ones I hold dear
Our savior born on this day
The greatest gift of all time
So let’s go celebrate
Winter time on my mind

Brother Author Slayton inspired the poem below. I continue to find power in his words.

In a Barren Field

By

Alfred Tatum

Out in the wilderness is a flower
That speaks to us with power
Among the weeds in a barren field
Among The weeds in a barren field
Yet in still
He speaks to us with power
Only if we can find a way to listen to that flower
I hear you young brother
I will pass your voice on to others
I will pass your voice on to others
It is your voice of power
That gives me the hope of becoming a flower
Among the weeds in a barren field
Among the weeds in a barren field

On the heels of thoughtful writers

2008-10-14T20:06:00.000-07:00

Brother Author, Slayton, continues to marvel with his thoughtful words. He is truly the voice of this generation.

By Slayton Goodman
Nov. 15,2008

The kiss of an angel

I was kissed by an angel
Her lips were sweet and soft
I was kissed by an angel
She was as beautiful as she was harsh
I was kissed by an angel
It was a beautiful feeling
I was kissed by an angel
All my wounds started healing
I was kissed by an angel
With no warning of what happened next
I was kissed by an angel
And it was the kiss of death
Death is not dying for God’s children; it’s more like moving on

Posted by Armand

Black president

It's been a long time coming
Yet here we are
A black man
In the white house
MLK the dreamer
OBAMA the dream

2008 history was made

Posted by Slayton Goodman

10/14/08

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

Using the Written Word as a Beacon

2008-09-13T06:57:00.000-07:00

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

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...../_==o;;;;;;;;_______.:/
.....), ---.(_(__) /
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...//___//
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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

Keep It Coming Brother Authors

2008-08-15T05:24:00.000-07:00

Several of you have continued to post your writings to the blog. I am grateful. We have entered a new phase of our relationship together. We are still challenged to put our voices on record. Our charge has not changed because the institute has ended. I look forward to your writings in the coming days. Let's shake some stuff up!

Love poem
by Slayton Goodman newest post
August 21, 2008

Wow I’ve never had a girl treat me the way you do
I’ve never felt better than when I’m with you

It seems like you always know what to say
And never trip when I make a mistake

Your beauty is astonishing
And I promise to be a gentleman
Treat you like no one else can

Because I care for you
And when you need me I’m going to be there for you

I want to be the one you think of when you hear the word love
We’re going to stay together no matter how much they hate us

August 21, 2008 9:04 AM

Checkmate
by Alfred Tatum
August 11, 2008

He taught me how to play chess when I was younger
To make all the right moves
The rooks, the knights, the pawns, the bishops
I could castle and use my bi***(oops, I mean my Queen) to protect myself
All of these thoughts flashed in my mind when the car pulled up besides us
it’s 12:05 am, I am eighteen, sitting on the passenger’s side
No where to move, no strategy
I thought about learning chess when I was younger
The young man in the other car lifts his hands – checker hands, tic tac toe hands
I was no match for him
I thought my scholarship letter would save me – it was my next move
my buddy screams first
I’m hit next
checkmate – game ov..

Slayton's Post

FREEDOM

I’m like a homeless man looking for change
Hoping it comes in a short time range

We are imprisoned by our own brothers
Robbing, stabbing, shooting and killing each other

Free me, don’t include me in your violent ways
Living in ignorance so long I don’t know how to behave

Why can’t I just live in peace?
I’m not a slave yet I’d give anything to be free

August 14, 2008 7:51 PM

Jamil's Newest Posts

“Even when nobody’s with you, you still hear a voice”

I’m sitting here in the dark without a
Voice
Every one left me standing without
A choice
A choice to redeem myself with simple
Goals
Goals to challenge myself in victory where
Every body goes
But who know where I end up
A chance to survive in the world
Because it’s rough
So you got to be tough especially in
My neighborhood where I had
Enough
Enough! I said to the little poor
Black child
He was spook and had to lay low for
A while
Wow! I thought to myself as I
Wondering what’s was that sound
I heard of mines
How I would respond to it
What's my next line
Who’s there, it turns out to
Be nobody
It was just me and a person that
Wouldn’t defy me
Is it God? Is that the voice?
He telling me that I do have
A choice
A choice to make more choices
A change to make changes
To turn a fairytale into reality
Yep that’s the key
That’s what missin
When you feel all alone
There’s always a little voice
If you just
LISTEN!

August 12, 2008 4:56 PM

“So Crazy”

What makes a man so crazy?
Is it you?
Is it you that makes a man feel?
So blue
Is it you that makes a man
Speaks another language
That every time he speaks
He speaks the truth

But as simple as it may seem that the
Blue the man felt torn green
Rather it something you done that
That man thought was so mean

I mean what’s makes me so crazy
Is for someone I call my lady
Makes me feel all lazy
Some please save me…!!!

Is it all right for a man to
Feel so crazy
I don’t know
Is this why the lord made me
To use the gift God gave me
To love, care
And support those that
Charge me
Wow! That’s crazy!!!

August 12, 2008 4:58 PM

"Rarely Comes Around" - Young Brother Novelists

2008-07-23T11:59:00.000-07:00

When reacting to Brother Author Grigg's first chapter, John Galloway mentioned this type of writing "rarely comes around." What a compliment! Griggs took us on a neighborhood journey that began with a loud punch. Some mentioned the shock value and the surprise he invoked as he read from the Voice Chair.

We were also enthralled by the words of Brother Author Holmes. His writing continues to be powerful. Please post the first three chapters of your novels in this section.

My raw chapters are below:

Until next time,

Brother Author, Dr. T.

Khalil’s Letters

Alfred W. Tatum

I wanted to reach out and grab the bullet the moment I heard the bang. Too late. I am doomed, I thought. I heard the screams. I am now running scared. I tried to convince myself that a killer is not supposed to have feelings. We are supposed to hate, hate everything. Right now, I hate myself. Nobody wants to hear this. I am a killer. I killed someone else’s son, someone’s brother, and someone’s nephew. I killed somebody who looks like me. In a way, I killed myself twice.

I did not start off this way. I don’t know what happened to me. I am not writing this note for your sympathy. I think I deserve to die for what I did; I killed. I took a life. The only thing I can offer in return that is fair is my own life. The penalty for taking someone’s life is giving my own life. All of my fourteen years have come to this point - wasted. I am telling my story because I want you to understand me. I would rather be riding a bike or learning a new language, something foreign. I would like to see different parts of the world like Central America or China. I would like to have a Chinese friend. For some reason, I think Chinese kids are cool. They write with those funny symbols and eat with chopsticks. I wish I could hear music from a piano roll off my fingertips.

Please no pity.

Do not start feeling sorry for me.

Too late for that.

Just read the letters and try to understand me.

Chapter 1

Letter # 1 from Khalil Upchurch the 3rd

Science

April 13. 2007

Dear Reader,

i have two parents who love me. They always bought me new clothes and my favorite gym shoes, New Balance. Although everyone else loved Nikes, i loved New Balance. i had a pair on the day i pulled the trigger. Clean. i always keep them cleaned. i am afraid to think about the blood-soaked stain on the boy i shot. i always keep my stuff clean. I know you say that this is not the profile of a killer. And now someone became blood-soaked because of me. i saw the picture on the Internet the next day. He lay there slumped over in a pool of blood because of me. A lady was screaming in the background. The boy’s name is Justin, Justin Harris i found out he was younger than me, thirteen.

It is something about a young person being dead that is not right. A kid will be placed in a coffin because of me. As the car i was in drove away, i glanced back and saw his face slam into the concrete. He did not try to catch himself or turn away. His body simply titled forward and picked up speed as it dropped. My body jerked as if i felt the thump of the ground. Bam!

Just yesterday, i was in class looking at a periodic table of elements. i could tell you about all of the earth’s precious metals. AU is the symbol on the periodic table used for gold. It has an atomic number of 79. Most of my friends only know that water is called H₂O, but they do not know that it is made up of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen giving it an atomic number of 3.

i started learning about the periodic table at a science camp held over the summer at the University of Illinois at Chicago. It was only fifteen minutes away from the south side where i live – the same south side where i killed. i killed somebody over the atomic number 79, a funky gold chain. Gold and iron clashed. The symbol for iron is FE and it has a chemical property of 26. It is called a transition metal. Iron has a silver color, the color of the barrel of the gun.

My granddad, Khalil Upchurch, Sr., was born in 1953. He was a follower of the Black Panther Party that started in Oakland. He wanted to join the Chicago chapter of the Panthers when he was sixteen, but my great grandmother would not let him. She was afraid he would become angry like my great granddad who felt he was mistreated after returning from the army. My great granddad wanted to buy a house on the far south side of Chicago, but he was denied. He believed it was because he was Black. Chicago, under old man Richard Daley, who was the longstanding mayor at the time, was not quite ready for integrated neighborhoods. So, Daley allowed the Chicago Housing Projects with hi- rise buildings to be built. The housing projects were affordable housing with concrete walls that lifted people toward the heavens. The hi-rise buildings would become full of poverty and violence by the time I was born in 1993.

My daddy, Khalil Jr, who was born in 1973, became an activist in the neighborhood, teaching boys about baseball and history. He formed the Jackie Robinson youth league. Before every game, he told the boys, “We will win this game with our heart, but we will win in life with our heads.” Then he would say, “Let’s go get them, Malcolm or Let’s go get them Marcus, or Let’s go get them Huey, or Let’s go get them Jackie. He was referring to Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, Huey Newton, and Jackie Robinson. He learned about these people by reading the books my granddad had around the house. Everybody would call my granddad if they needed an answer to a question. He was the Google man before Google came along.

My dad was an avid reader. He read all the time. He graduated from UCLA after earning a science scholarship. He always dreamed of going to California as a child and living off of California oranges. He met my mother there. She also earned a college degree in science. They loved science. They brought me a biography about Percy Julian for my tenth birthday. He was a well-renowned black chemist who won Chicagoan of the year in 1950. I could not believe when I read that Percy Julian received more than 2 million dollars for his work in the 1960s. I was convinced I wanted to become a scientist after reading that.

My dad put me in the science camp each summer. He always told me that the real revolution is in the test tube. He drilled in me that I needed to know about science because the world cannot get along without it. Dad told me that science is in the food we eat, the air we breathe, and in the medicine used to save lives. He told me that everything is made up of chemical properties, and that my future lies in one of those properties. The mural on my wall, my shower curtain, and the curtains in my room were all periodic tables. By ten, i knew all of the elements. I could spell them and pronounce them. Some of my favorite properties are:

Potassium (K) chemical property 19

Hydrogen (H) chemical property 1

Aluminum (AL) chemical property 13

Iodine (I) chemical property 53

Lovium (L)

If you noticed, the elements have symbols that spell my name. L is not a symbol found on the periodic table so I made one up – lovium. I think love should be on the periodic table so I called my new element lovium. i knew more about the periodic table than my seventh-grade science teacher. Now, i can only think about two elements, gold and silver. My parents were right. My future will be determined by elements from this table.

i know you may be wondering why i am writing with a small i. It is not a mistake. My dad always told me that i have to earn the right to write with a big I. He told me that there is power when a person earns the right to name himself. i am afraid that i will never be able to name myself. Others will name me. Murderer. Convict. Delinquent. Thug. Monster. None of these feel like they fit me. I am still my mother’s “baby boy.” That’s what she calls me.

i used to be called the science boy by the other students in my class because i won the school’s science fair every year since fourth grade. Last year, I won with a project on the human brain. My granddad started calling me brains after that. I could tell you about medulla oblongata. It’s located at the base of the brain and relays nerves signals from the brain to the spinal cord. My favorite part of the brain is the cerebrum. The right side of the cerebrum controls things such as imagination and 3-D forms. It is divide into two halves. The other side of the brain, the left side, controls numbering skills, posture, and reasoning. i am a left-side-of-the brain kid. i can not draw a picture if you paid me, but i can solve the most intricate puzzles.

My dad always talked about intricacies and labyrinths when he was in a tight fix. He would tell my mom that cooking was intricate because he did not want to do it. i like his chili though. He puts the largest tomatoes in what he calls his homemade-super-duper chili.

i wonder when i will be able to eat his chili again. i wonder if anyone will ever call me a teacher’s pet again. Murderer, convict, delinquent, thug, and monster do not seem to fit me. But, the law of physics tells us that for every action there is a reaction. That’s the left side of my brain working again. i am getting scared now.

I’ve heard stories about what happens to boys when they get locked up. The mistreatment. The light of youth is dimmed forever with no hope of being lit again. i know that sentence may sound too poetic to be written by a fifteen-year-old, but my dad always talked like that since i was young. He would often talk about the light of youth when we watched the news and a story about a young boy doing something he should not have been doing was talked about. He would tell me that it is not normal for young boys to be locked up.

i have an older cousin who is praised for doing time. He seems to have a special place reserved for him in the holiday conversations. Going to jail seems like being at the bottom of a slave ship again. Chained together. Angry. Unable to spread your wings. Having to wait for someone else to give you permission to look at the sunrise or breathe the outdoor air. Walking only seems like a privilege to those who have their footsteps controlled.

That bullet has choked my future and suffocated my dreams. How can i be so stupid to fall so low so fast? i know i am rambling, but i am scared. i can hear my uncle now, “Well you did the crime, do the time. Nothing you can do about it now.” He’s right, but I would like for him to show more concern than just saying, “Well you did the crime, do the time.”

i am worrying about what my uncle is saying when I should be worrying about the other boy’s uncle, his mother, and his father. i wonder what the funeral was like. i wonder what they dressed him in. His family probably did not dress him in a suit and a tie because he was too young. i wonder if he wore a gold chain. i wonder what other people said about him at the funeral. How did the pastor explain God taking a life so young? I’ve only been to one funeral in my life. I know the family rides in a limo and sits in the first row as people pass by to view the body. i wonder if his mother was crying or screaming? How can you describe the life of a thirteen-year-old in an obituary? I can only think of one way – Gone too soon. I can imagine a poem that someone may have written for Justin. I am using his name like I know him, but I do not.

Gone too Soon

Justin was a bright star that no longer shines

He made us laugh with his smile to be remembered for all times

He was our young prince with dreams to explore

We will miss you Justin forever more.

Chapter 2

Letter # 2 from Khalil Upchurch the 3rd

Different

April 14. 2007

Dear Reader,

My mother and father always wanted me to be different from those other boys. Every time they told me that I needed to be different I felt liked I was being choked by my own skin color. I really did not pay too much attention to what they were saying when I was younger. But, their words started to bother me when I started middle school. It seemed like they were trying to sever me from myself. How was learning science being different from those other boys? For me, it was one of the same. How was reading about the brain or the periodic table different from those other boys? I started hating feeling that I was somehow different because I was extremely smart. It seemed like they wanted me to be ashamed on being who I am and what I look like. They would not even allow me to wear braids in my hair because they did not understand why I wanted to look like all the other boys in school. They wanted me to be my own man. Dad always said, “we don’t need more stereotypes, we need prototypes.”

My teacher even made a comment about my being different. He said, “Khalil, you are different from a lot of the other boys in here. What did she mean by different? Did she mean that I was better because I earned better grades? Does God judge us by grades? She told me that I should be very careful with the company I keep.” I felt a sense of pride when I first heard his comments. Then, I thought about how young people are trained early in life to create divisions between themselves because of superficial notions of achievement. Why can’t an A student hang out with a D student? Why can’t a student who lives with both parents with college degrees hang with a student who lives with his grandmother because his parents are not working? It seems like my parents and teachers were promoting these distinctions in my mind. Be different, Khalil. Be different. Be different from what?

I wrote about being different last semester when Mr. Carusso, the language arts teacher, gave us a writing assignment. He told us to write a two-page defining-moment essay. He told us that a defining moment is an event, experience, or occurrence that stays with a person for the rest of his or her life. He told us that his defining moment occurred the night his mother died from an incurable disease when he was in the seventh grade. He was forced to become independent at an early age. There was no one to pick him up from band practice after school and no one for him to rush home to talk about the good or bad things that happened. His dad worked all the time, eventually becoming an alcoholic. Mr. Carusso told us he started hating the world and hating God. He even started hating himself. Then, he met Dr. Barnett, a language arts teacher, who was also a real writer. She just didn’t talk about nouns and pronouns in school and gave kids assignments, she actually wrote. She had three novels and a book of poetry published. Mr. Carusso told us how she encouraged kids to use words to become the architects of their own existence. He began to write his way out of the feelings of hate he was having. He told us he did this all the way through college. He told us that it is because of Dr. B. that he became a language arts teacher.

I did not have a true defining moment at the time of the assignment, but I do now. I am now one of those other boys that my father was trying to keep me away from. I am now one of those other boys that my teacher was talking about when he told me to be careful about the company I keep. I am one of those other boys because I decided to become one of them because everyone told me to be different. I pulled the trigger, but society is the real murderer.

Here is your real defining-moment essay, Dr. B:

My defining moment was being born in a society that judges young people who are just trying to find out who they are. This society separates us by race - our black students, our white students, the Latinos and the Asians. This society separates us by gender - boys line, girls line. It places us in different classrooms. You go to honors so you can become great. You go to special ed. so that I can give you permission to fail without anyone bothering me about it. I was born in a society that tried to make me feel different because my parents are smart and I am smart when I just wanted to be. I stopped it all with one shot. I know this is not much of an essay, but the story is still being written and this time I am the architect. Damn you society. Damn you.

Chapter 3

Letter # 3 from Khalil Upchurch the 3rd

H₂0

March 10. 2008

I feel deeply depressed for the first time in my life. There are screams and noises in my head that I cannot shut off. Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0.

I grabbed the pillow and squeezed it against my head as tightly as possible. Yet, my mind ached and ached and ached with a thick darkness. I felt washed away with the waters of misguided fortune. I am becoming unglued, disconnected. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. My nerves are rushing and rushing and rushing. Man, what have I done to myself? Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0. I have become a predator. We talked about predators and prey in my fifth-grade science terms. The predator was strong and always on the hunt for a meal. The prey was the weak one. I feel like both the predator and the prey. I preyed upon an innocent boy, but I also preyed upon myself. The predator relished in his victory. There is no victory for me. Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0. Drink water when you are thirsty. Drink several cups a day. Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0. Two hydrogens and one oxygen make up water. One oxygen is not enough to breathe. I cannot breathe. Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0.

I read today that five American soldiers were killed in Iraq by a suicide bomber. What does the suicide bomber know that the rest of us do not know? Was he on some type of spiritual mission to end the war? Or, was he some time of lunatic full of hatred? I know that I was not on any spiritual mission when I pulled the trigger. I am now drowning in remorse.

Dear God, please find it in your heart to forgive me.

Am I a lunatic? Water. Water. The chemical symbol for water is H₂0.

Anonymous Jonathan Holmes said...

My rules accordingly
The start
Born, live, die, that’s the process or what they claim. The way I see it is born lots of fun in between and then you die, if you can help it. I was labeled the devil seed I just think I’m having fun. Most people go the life looking for love or salvation or thinking fate is the deciding factor I beg to differ. You don’t believe me I’ll show you that it’s not only true, but that your one of them.

Born
I was born under the rule of President Reagan, in the hood bumping 2pac and the Wutang Clan. I was dragged to church by my grandma and went to sleep most of the time. I never really learned anything other than every religion was against each other, and that the whole world was in war. Church opened my eyes to the arena known as fakers. The deacon outside smoking, the choir director was gay, and the pastor was cheating on his wife with Ms. Jenkins, an usher who always leaves her top button undone. People shouted all over the place but always ended up at the club that night. My grandma seemed to be the only real Christian in that church to me. I never found myself actually believing God I knew he existed but I didn’t think he would acknowledge me.
I saw many things as a youngin’ death was everywhere like ants a picnic, it stayed around. Most of my friends were drug dealers and though I was like five I did a lil running myself for a quick buck, smoked a joint like twice. I got caught once my grandma said, “D-rod you’ll never make it if you keep this up.” My real name was Darnell Roderick but everyone called me D-rod for short, that’s what my dad called me before he got stationed in South Korea. He was in the navy, he always believed in the American dreams. He was there for the first three years of my life then one night he tucked me in and was gone the next morning. He trusted in this country more than he did his own mother surprisingly I’m living with her.
I know my mom she lives several blocks down around the corner from the crack house. She’s very skinny; light skinned, and was always high. Usually, there was dried blood under her nose, most likely from the dealer smacking her. Truthfully I don’t believe my father is my father from what I heard my moms gave her self up for drugs many times before. I did kind of look like him though.
I hung out with one usual crew more than the others, my boys Roc and Mace. They were true ride or die guys. When I was real little around two, I remember my dad standing outside sharing a beer with Mace’s dad and Roc’s uncle talking bout the old days and real music. Al Green, The Isley Brothers, Lennie Williams, Lady T, James Brown, and George Clinton now known as the president of funk were their favorites. Roc, Mace, and I stayed in the house pretending to be the power rangers or the super friends. I was usually Aquaman because I wanted to be in the navy like my Dad. Happiness was supposedly there but I see things differently now.

********************
Six years old
The fun begins I just stole from the corner store about four blocks from my house, we were running down the alley down the block from Roc’s house. “Snatch n run,” Mace yelled as we quickly grabbed a few things. Roc had grabbed a few bags of “Flamings Hots” and some “Now Laters”, the blue ones. I stole some gum and two fifty cent juices. Mace racked up. He had a two liter Sprite, four ninety-nine cent bags of hot fries, and a honey bun all stuffed in his black book bag. Mace wasn’t fat, in fact he was real skinny and didn’t eat much. Don’t know why he took so much.
“Oh come on D-rod that’s all you could get?” said Mace.
“Everyone don’t got no book bag like you,” I replied.
“Yea whatever I got sticky fingers,” teased Mace. “What u get Roc?” Mace asked.
“I got some,” said Roc.
“Wow.”
Mace and I were surprised, Roc was the chubby type, but because he was always playing football he was able to keep up.
“Really thought you would get more,” Mace and I joked.
“Man forget ya’ll, got more than you Rod,” Roc fired back.
We all laughed. My mom staggered towards toward us about three garages away.
“Hay Smooch,” My mom said with her eyes blood shot and low.
“Hi mom,” I replied annoyingly. I hated that name Smooch not only was it embarrassing in front of the guys, but when she called me that she usually wanted something when she called me Smooch. Like usual she did.
“Got a few dollars baby?”
“Na ma spent it all at the store.”
“Don’t be lying to me to boy,” her voice got louder, and she grabbed my arm.
“I don’t ma,” I snatched my arm back.
“Ok,” she replied her voice lowered.
“How bout you two,” she looked at Roc and Mace. They were both snickering about my nickname, Smooch.
“No ma’am,” Roc answered nudging Mace to pull him together.
“Na,” Mace answered
“Ok,” she said squinting at them suspiciously. “Bye baby boy I’ll see you around, gimme a kiss.”
I didn’t want to kiss her, not in front of the guys, plus didn’t know where her lips had been, other than crack pipe who she probably shared with someone else. I couldn’t refuse my mom though. Muah, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and tried to make it quick so the guys wouldn’t notice. It was no secret everyone knew my mom was an addict. She lived in this neighborhood her life, like my father. My father was always the influential type and my mom was the head cheerleader prom queen type girl. She always wanted to dance on Soul train known as one of them seductive fast girls. All these things seem to substantial roads to where she is now. Can’t say I love her or appreciate her. She’s just a woman who gave birth never bought me anything not even a happy meal.
We were walking to the block now. Mace and I stayed two houses down from each other Roc stayed around the corner.
“Man, I ain’t trying to go to school tomorrow,” Mace cries.
“Yea man that’s real,” I reply. Roc shook his head in agreement. Truthfully I kind of like school. STOP. BRAKE, that’s example number one liking school but saying I don’t like it sounds like living by someone else rules. You ever done that before I’m sure you have?

July 23, 2008 1:12 PM
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Anonymous SLAYTON G. said...

NON TITLED

By Slayton Goodman
July 22, 2008

CHAPTER ONE : INTRODUCING DRUGS
“Come on, do it. Everyone else is.”
“I don’t want to.”
“ Man I thought you was cool.”
“I am cool.”
“Then come blow with us.”

This is the conversation I had with my friend Charles, 22years ago. Sadly Charles dropped out of school at the age of 17. I haven’t seen Charles in twenty two years when I was 16 years old. He was 1 ½ years older than me but he failed both third and sixth grade; not because he was dumb but because he got suspended from school to many times.
I still blame myself. That day was pretty ironic usually the older one is the bad or good influence; in that case it was bad.
I remember when I was introduced to marijuana or weed as it is usually called in the streets. It was about 23 years ago in my freshman year. A group of boys I used to hang out with were in the bathroom, when I walked in they immediately asked me to take a puff. As much bad things as I was told about drugs my reply was “No. I don’t do drugs.” But then they said “Weed is not a drug, drugs have to be cooked so if weed is a drug so is cigarettes; weed is only illegal because the government has not found a way to make money of it; if they could tax you for it then weed wouldn’t be illegal.” - I am not a hundred percent sure about that but I still believe that to this very day.- I said “You make a very good point”
And that’s when I grabbed it and tried it for the first time.
That’s when my life went all down hill. I admit I was addicted to marijuana. I was hungry all the time, I got lazier and lazier, I forgot a lot of things, and worst off my grades went from b’s and c’s to d’s and f’s and sometimes I would get lucky with a c or two. I didn’t know at the time but my life was about to change and it gets worse before it get better.

CHAPTER TWO:TROUBLE A BREWING
“Why aren’t you doing homework?”
“I finished all my work mom.”
“Well that was pretty fast. Did you double check your work?”
“I triple checked.”

Other than lying to my mom, my life started slipping. I was told that I could make big money selling “weed”; and I took the offer because I started running out of weed money.
The biggest drug dealer on my block was a man named Jamal Douglas, but every body on the block called him J.D. After finding out about how I can make money, I had to learn from J.D.
“First rule is to bring me the money and that’s when I give you your cut.” That’s what he told me then he handed me a gun to fend my self from robbers. He gave me a bag and said “Welcome to the family, if you snitch you die, if cops ask you know nothing.” The bag contained a bunch of “dimes and nick’s”. dimes is slang for a 10$ bag and nick is slang for 5$ bags. Since it was my first time he assigned one of his “vets” to look after me make sure I did it right. Unlike some drug lords, J.D. found that working in groups made it more safe than leaving a teen alone on the corner with over 100$ worth of drugs. But the police are more likely to suspect a group of thug looking African American males in a rough area standing on the corner than one thug looking kid in a rough area.
It was a cold winter day, about 6:00 p.m. A couple of cars pulled up and two or three boys would walk up to the car, then return within the next minute with a little more money in their pockets and less drugs to sell.
Then it was my turn to go up to the car and make a sell. The boy that J.D. told to look after me said “Come on lets take this one.” I slowly walked towards the dark green 1964 Cadillac with tented windows. The other two boys ran up there to the window and said “What you lookin’ fo’.” The man in the car replied “I’m looken fo’ some blow.” One of the two boys said “ Awwh this my uncle, what up man a I can get you 4 fa’ da’ 5.” His uncle said I’ll take that, and watch out seen some “dics” (detectives) around here.”
I was already paranoid tell me there was dics around made it that much worse. But after a couple more repeats of that, I started to get more comfortable with the process. I run up to a dark blue Ford this time they said “A man you do the talken’ so that you can get mo’ used to it.”
I ran up to the car and said “W-w-what you looken’ fo.’”
He said “You sellin?” “Yeah.” He grabbed me and said “Get’em”
Two more guys hopped out and chassed the other six people that were on the corner.

July 23, 2008 1:15 PM
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Anonymous Kendrick M. Washington said...

Ask the Lonely Bird...

Present Day:
November 22nd, 2005
8:14:23 a.m.

It’s funny how good people always turn bad the moment that things fall apart. I wonder how it feels to have no friends. I wonder how it feels to be left out.
Keith.
Keith Urban.
That was his name.
Though that name should sound frightening, it’s not. It’s just some name, of some guy we thought that was weak. Turns out, Keith has a way with his hands, in a bad way.
While we all were laughing and joking at him, we were too busy not noticing all the tricks he had up his sleeve. No one was nice to him. It was only certain occasions that I was nice, but around the Seniors, I was cruel as they were.
We laughed at his ridiculously hideous glasses. We laughed at his 1960’s wardrobe, clothes old, pants not touching the ground. That was a big deal to the Seniors. They hated people looking ugly. So many times they tried to boost up his wardrobe, but all he did was say, “No thank you. I like the way that I am.”
That really made the Seniors mad. Once they got the urgency that Keith rejected them, they started this really big rumor about Keith, one that wouldn’t erase the history of all students memory. The rumor was that Keith was on welfare.
This really pissed Keith off. The Seniors were playing a game only they were playing. And when Keith asked them to tell everyone that the rumor was false, they simply laughed in his face.
And that was how the rivalry between the Seniors and Keith started.
Keith was a Junior, just like I was.
Juniors weren’t allowed to interact with Seniors, unless given permission. They claim that we are not up to their “standards”.
But somehow, I ended up being friends with most of the Seniors.
Anyways, Keith and the Seniors wouldn’t cross paths.
Keith ignored them.
The Seniors tried their best to ignore him.
But somehow on Homecoming Day, Keith and the Seniors crossed paths. And, to make this story short, it wasn’t nice.
Usually, Juniors wasn’t allowed to go to Homecoming without an invitation. I somehow got an invitation, and when Keith asked for one, they laughed at him. Yet again.
I kind of felt sorry for Keith. But I wouldn’t dare say that out loud. I had already earned my rep; I didn’t want to risk it over defending some kid that I usually taunted.
I quickly snuck a guilty look at Keith.
Looking at Keith is like looking at the ocean. So bland, so distorted. So, unwelcoming. You look at Keith, and you see a face full of angry pink zits, and you just want to escape. I wonder, is that what we all will look like in a couple of years?
Will we be overrun by a new generation that will be laughing at us?
Anyways, Keith didn’t like that everyone was getting invited (including new Freshmen, and Sophomores).
Keith was going to plan something against Brad, something that I knew of but wasn’t really going attention.
I knew that it would happen someday….
Just know that they happy Homecoming Dance ended up in mystery and thick red stuff that isn’t punch. And I didn’t stop it.
I’m not a good friend.

Homecoming Morning
January 21st, 2005
9:43:23 a.m.

Let’s go back. Let’s erase all the words, all the details, and the word Keith. Let’s go back to homecoming day.
Balloons surround Heavenly Meadows College Preparatory High School. Our school colors are red and gold, like Harry Potter’s, but his house colors are more maroon and gold.
As soon as you walk up the old, dusty stairs, you are being greeted by some overzealous Seniors. As they chant, “Happy homecoming to you”, or, “Today is one of the big days of our year”, I nod tremendously, knowing that the words I dare want to say is, “I hate you for being older than me.”
I can kind of understand why the Seniors are overwhelmed about Homecoming. I mean, after all, this is their last year at Heavenly Meadows.
I notice two of my friends. They are Seniors.
Malorie MithChell, and Brad Dunthorne walk up to me, and we usually do this long handshake. Something only Seniors, and certain Juniors know of.
That’s the thing about Heavenly Meadows. Our school is broken up of social groups. So if you don’t get in where you fit in, there’s no need in showing your face:
1. Cool Seniors
2. Seniors
3. Cool Juniors
4. Juniors
5. Jocks
6. Average Juniors
7. Cool Sophomores
8. Sophomores
9. Cool Freshmen
10. Teeny-Bopper Freshmen
11. Nerds
12. Losers
13. Anti-Social Crowd
14. Nobody’s

I’m visioning that I fit in the Cool Juniors/Juniors group.
I’m cool with most of the Seniors, and friends with most of the Juniors.
Everyone in the school is cool with someone….
Everyone except Keith….

July 23, 2008 1:15 PM
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Anonymous john f. said...

Chapter 1

Stolen life

Bang! Bang! Bang! , We started running faster towards my cousin Kel’s house, they chased after
us, He fell when we were running, and the guys who were chasing us were running fast as they could towards kel, I went back to get him but it was to late they caught him, the started punching, kicking, and spitting on him, I started running so fast that it felt like the breath from my body was being snatched away, Bang! It was too late I couldn’t get there in time
They ran before I got there I went chasing after them furious but they hit the corner, and they were gone. I went back try to see if he was ok, but he didn’t answer when I called his name, I felt his chest to see if his heart was beating, but it made not one thump.
Scared I didn’t no what to do, I knew Kel had a cell phone in his pocket, I went to get it, it was covered with blood, I wiped it off with my shirt, in called uncle June, he answered I told him what happen… no….! And I heard the phone drop to the floor.

5 days before…

Today was Friday and on Fridays me in my boys go to a pizza place after school called Nino’s , we go there because … well… cause’… we just like pizza, I always order a large cause I like to take some home wit me. We all go home but not me, today was the day I go to my uncle and them house, when I got there me in my cousin went straight outside side my cousin was 15 and I was 13, but he acted like I was his age, and he always hated on me because I was light skinned and he was dark, I didn’t know why cause’ all the girls in the neighborhood loved him. We to the corner store on 87 St. to get some chips with cheese and some pop, when we got it we saw these dudes my cousin made fun of at school walk in, they didn’t like my cousin and they all were in a gang called Geedee’s, I thought my cousin was stupid messing with them anyway, but he went on talking bout them “boy u look like a fat nigga name Bob”, I laughed then he kept going he didn’t care cause he was taller than all of them, he was 6’2 and they were all 5’3, 5’6. when we left I heard one dude say “ I got his ass”. When we was down the street this girl walk up to me in was like “u fine” my cousin push me towards her and told me to Mack her down so I started walking with her and she asked me my name and I said “martell”, with a deep voice I knew I didn’t have, so she laughed and asked me do u really talk like that and I said “naw” and then I asked her her name she said “truth” I said that’s a nice name, hours went by and we were still talking, and then she asked me the question I hate the most “did u ever have I girlfriend” I stood there in silence waiting for another question, then she asked me “can I be your girlfriend” and I was about to say yes but it came out as “I don’t know” and then her mom called her in the house, I said same time to tomorrow and said “sure”. I felt so stupid walking towards my cousin kel who had been playing basketball at the play ground when I was talking to truth, but then it was 9:40 “so how did it go lil man” he said, I told him “it went alright” I didn’t want to tell him that I made I complete fool of myself, but we kept walking and when we was walking des dudes started talking bout, “a lil dude come back here I got something for you” and they all started laughing. Me I didn’t pay no mine but here goes my big mouth cousin kel’s house “shut up” then I said stopping him from walking “is you trying you get us killed” he was like “they ain’t gone do nuttin.” And then all a sudden they started chasing us, we started running to the house as fast as we could jumping over garbage cans flipping them over so they could trip over them, but they kept on charging towards us then all we heard was….
Bang! Bang! Bang! , we started running faster towards my cousin kel’s house, they chased after
Us, He fell when we were running, and the guys who were chasing us were running fast as the could towards kel, i went back to get him but it was to late they caught him, the started punching, kicking, and spitting on him, I started running so fast that it felt like the breath from my body was snatch away, bang!!! It was too late I couldn’t get there in time
They ran before I got there I went chasing after them furious but they hit the corner, and they were gone. I went back try to see if he was ok, but he didn’t answer when I called his name, I felt his chest to see if his heart was beating, but it made not one thump.
Scared I didn’t no what to do, I knew kel had a cell phone in his pocket, I went to get it, it was covered with blood, I wiped it off with my shirt, in called uncle June, he answered I told him what happen… no! And I heard the phone drop to the floor.

July 23, 2008 1:19 PM
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Anonymous Anthony G. said...

In The Middle
Written by Anthony Griggs

AHEAD, behind, Or In the Middle?
In front of the loser and behind the winner, what position are you in?
Its called in the middle. Doing well but not well enough, you have a feeling that there is more and you want it and there is less and you don’t want to get close. Once in a whole, this Pangaea like neighborhood was once a leveled plain field. Separating into two then three parts there was much loss but even more to gain. Most dwell on the clam before the storm we enjoy the clam after…

Narrator-

CHAPTER ONE

NOISE…. BUMP, BUMP, BUMP!
They were at the block party. Foot working, jukin and everything else .Every one was just having a good time. Nobody fighting, cursing, acting a fool. It was quite amazing how every one gathered in the middle of the complex, turned on the radio started up the grills and got busy. The smell of burnt hamburger patties blew through out the small set of buildings. Lawn chairs and tents stood empty as everyone was up dancing, or trying to tell Mr. Wilkins how to cook hamburger patties.
As night approached some people from the village came over with some firecrackers. We thought it was cool. They came and ate and every body was just chilling. All of a sudden police sirens start coming from down the street. People broke out running grabbing their lawn chairs, tents, basketballs, footballs and Mr. Wilkins trying to wheel a 3-foot 50 pound barbecue up three flights of stairs. Every body had a crime under their belt. Mrs. Dean from 411 stole some earrings from K-mart, Tate from 315 was in to dog fighting and Little James from 510 beat up a boy and took his tricycle and Mr. Wilkins had over $300 in unpaid parking tickets on his 1998 ford Taurus. Everyone had secrets so when the police or five-O came people were out.
Julian and his friends Lester and Caleb ran from the police like it was a game. They had a plan. They would split up run through the park, on to the basket ball court with no nets and all meet up on the second floor of 410 the building where no one lived yet. When they met up they decided to hang out in the park till curfew as the were walking two large men suited in blue stepped up to them.
“Where you to headed? It’s getting kind of late for some boys like you to be roaming around here causing trouble”
“Man we anit doing nothing” Julian replied
Lester jumped in, “Yeah why you cops always assume black kids out after 8:30 at night is causing trouble. You know when you assume you make an as….”
“Wait; wait before you get us arrested”, Caleb shouted “Officer we weren’t causing any trouble we were just going to the park to meet a couple of friends”
“Yeah, Yeah whatever” the second officer offensively stated “I want you guys in the house in less than an hour if you know what’s good for you, We’ve been getting some complaints down at the station that some kids been around here making a bunch of noise an lets just say you fit the description so in an hour want you guys in the house”
The guys didn’t even bother to stay out any longer they shook up the New Brook Way then they went home.
Walking in the house Julian took off his shoes said hi to his mother and brothers and went off to his room. Opening his window to feel the late summer breeze he knew it was someone from the right and to, to white side that got mad about the block party. The Village was bad but not… ok the village was bad every thing about it was bad. The look the smell it was just a bad place to live. Killings, drugs and violence it was just horrible .Despite the reputation that the village or “The Ville” had any problems they had they stuck it out together. Like when Tank jr. got shot. You might not believe me but every thug and gangster from The Ville got strapped and went out
Looking for Tank jr.’s murderer .Tank jr. was the son of Tank one of the biggest drug dealers in the city. Before the “Ville” was known as the “James Wheeler Apartment Homes” that ran along East Jackson St. It got the name “Village” Because in the 1990s people began to murder like animals; hunter and it’s prey .As time got on things never got much better so the name kind of stuck. On the right side of the New Brook homes it was The Morgan Blvd. Condos. They were newly built and were the talk of the town. Who decided to take on this reconstruction process? People saw how their neighborhood was changing before their eyes. The Leasing office had promo signs all over the city and they read ….

Morgan Blvd. Condos

CONDOS STARTING FROM THE MID – 300s
TOWNHOMES STARTING FROM THE LOW- 400s

………….............YOUR NEW LIFE WAITS……………………

On the sign it was two white couples walking a white dog in a remodeled black neighborhood. . On one side thousand-dollar condos and town homes and on another side the worst place to possibly to live in Chicago, Julian finally realizes, of all his time living in Chicago he is in the middle.

CHAPTER TWO

The New Brook way was a common hand shake used by younger male tenants of the New Brook Ave. Apartment homes. This hand shake was used to identify people who lived in the complex and people who didn’t. If you were an outsider and you tried to act down, you would be busted. The complex consisted of 30 three-story buildings. 300-312, 400-412 and 500-506. Julian grew up here just as well as many others. Julian was 14 going on 15 with a bad attitude. He was smart but in school he never really applied himself. That’s always how the story goes but with Julian it was different for some reason.

July 23, 2008 1:27 PM
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Anonymous Jonathan Holmes said...

My rules accordingly
The start
Born, live, die, that’s the process or what they claim. The way I see it is born, lots of fun in between, and then you die, if you can help it. I was labeled the devil seed I just think I’m having fun. Most people go through life looking for love, or salvation, maybe thinking fate is the deciding factor, and I beg to differ. You don’t believe me I’ll show you that it’s not only true, but that your one of them.

Born
I was born under the rule of President Reagan, in the hood bumping 2pac and the Wutang Clan. I was dragged to church by my grandma and went to sleep most of the time. I never really learned anything other than every religion was against each other, and that the whole world was in war. Church opened my eyes to the arena known as fakers. The deacon outside smoking, the choir director was gay, and the pastor was cheating on his wife with Ms. Jenkins, an usher who always leaves her top button undone. People shouted all over the place but always ended up at the club that night. My grandma seemed to be the only real Christian in that church to me. I never found myself actually believing God I knew he existed but I didn’t think he would acknowledge me.
I saw many things as a youngin’ death was everywhere like ants a picnic, it stayed around. Most of my friends were drug dealers and though I was like five I did a lil running myself for a quick buck, smoked a joint like twice. I got caught once my grandma said, “D-rod you’ll never make it if you keep this up.” My real name was Darnell Roderick but everyone called me D-rod for short, that’s what my dad called me before he got stationed in South Korea. He was in the navy, he always believed in the American dreams. He was there for the first three years of my life then one night he tucked me in and was gone the next morning. He trusted in this country more than he did his own mother surprisingly I’m living with her.
I know my mom she lives several blocks down around the corner from the crack house. She’s very skinny; light skinned, and was always high. Usually, there was dried blood under her nose, most likely from the dealer smacking her. Truthfully I don’t believe my father is my father from what I heard my moms gave her self up for drugs many times before. I did kind of look like him though.
I hung out with one usual crew more than the others, my boys Roc and Mace. They were true ride or die guys. When I was real little around two, I remember my dad standing outside sharing a beer with Mace’s dad and Roc’s uncle talking bout the old days and real music. Al Green, The Isley Brothers, Lennie Williams, Lady T, James Brown, and George Clinton now known as the president of funk were their favorites. Roc, Mace, and I stayed in the house pretending to be the power rangers or the super friends. I was usually Aquaman because I wanted to be in the navy like my Dad. Happiness was supposedly there but I see things differently now.

Six years old
The fun begins I just stole from the corner store about four blocks from my house, we were running down the alley down the block from Roc’s house. “Snatch n run,” Mace yelled as we quickly grabbed a few things. Roc had grabbed a few bags of “Flamings Hots” and some “Now Laters”, the blue ones. I stole some gum and two fifty cent juices. Mace racked up. He had a two liter Sprite, four ninety-nine cent bags of hot fries, and a honey bun all stuffed in his black book bag. Mace wasn’t fat, in fact he was real skinny and didn’t eat much. Don’t know why he took so much.
“Oh come on D-rod that’s all you could get?” said Mace.
“Everyone don’t got no book bag like you,” I replied.
“Yea whatever I got sticky fingers,” teased Mace. “What u get Roc?” Mace asked.
“I got some,” said Roc.
“Wow.”
Mace and I were surprised, Roc was the chubby type, but because he was always playing football he was able to keep up.
“Really thought you would get more,” Mace and I joked.
“Man forget ya’ll, got more than you Rod,” Roc fired back.
We all laughed. My mom staggered towards toward us about three garages away.
“Hay Smooch,” My mom said with her eyes blood shot and low.
“Hi mom,” I replied annoyingly. I hated that name Smooch not only was it embarrassing in front of the guys, but when she called me that she usually wanted something when she called me Smooch. Like usual she did.
“Got a few dollars baby?”
“Na ma spent it all at the store.”
“Don’t be lying to me to boy,” her voice got louder, and she grabbed my arm.
“I don’t ma,” I snatched my arm back.
“Ok,” she replied her voice lowered.
“How bout you two,” she looked at Roc and Mace. They were both snickering about my nickname, Smooch.
“No ma’am,” Roc answered nudging Mace to pull him together.
“Na,” Mace answered
“Ok,” she said squinting at them suspiciously. “Bye baby boy I’ll see you around, gimme a kiss.”
I didn’t want to kiss her, not in front of the guys, plus didn’t know where her lips had been, other than crack pipe who she probably shared with someone else. I couldn’t refuse my mom though. Muah, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and tried to make it quick so the guys wouldn’t notice. It was no secret everyone knew my mom was an addict. She lived in this neighborhood her life, like my father. My father was always the influential type and my mom was the head cheerleader prom queen type girl. She always wanted to dance on Soul train known as one of them seductive fast girls. All these things seem to substantial roads to where she is now. Can’t say I love her or appreciate her. She’s just a woman who gave birth never bought me anything not even a happy meal.
We were walking to the block now. Mace and I stayed two houses down from each other Roc stayed around the corner.
“Man, I ain’t trying to go to school tomorrow,” Mace cries.
“Yea man that’s real,” I reply. Roc shook his head in agreement. Truthfully I kind of like school. (STOP, BRAKE, that’s example number one liking school but saying I don’t like it sounds like living by someone else rules. You ever done that before I’m sure you have? It’s cool you’ll see the changes later, PLAY.)
Mace continues, “School be so boring but you know what tomorrow I’m gone fight Tony. He think I’m scared of him when we get to recess I’m gone square em’ off.”
“Yea I got yo back,” Roc jumped in cutting Mace off. I shook my head. I knew how to fight cause my dad taught me but I hated getting whoopings from my grandma. She had a huge leather belt she called “Mr. Ice-cream” I hated that belt if I wasn’t so scared I would take and hide it or set it on fire, but I did have Mace’s back though.
We made it to Mace’s house and Roc said he was gone go on home so we shook and broke. I continued on home, just thinking about how to go about helping Mace tomorrow another day of first grade at Richard Wright Elementary.

Chapter Three
Richard Wright Elementary

The next morning I walked out the door to Mace house the regular fashion; I get Mace and then we get Roc. After picking up Roc who like usual wasn’t ready running outside with a sausage and cheese sandwich, Mace began planning out recess.

July 24, 2008 12:32 PM
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Anonymous John Galloway said...

THE JOURNEY OF A SUCCESSFUL BLACK MAN
BY JOHN GALLOWAY

JAMAL JACKSON
LIFE STORY
MAY 19TH 1990
I always find myself drifting off into space thinking of my mom and dad they never got along much they he used to always beat her and she would always cry and hug me for a long time, I never knew why until now I guess I didn’t understand because I was to young. She must have gotten tired because soon me and my mom ran away we never saw him again and she liked it that way we always talked about stuff and we have very fond memories she always talked about a perfect life we were going to have. The place we moved wasn’t even close to the good life it was much, much worse.

It was 1990.Me and my friends where all outside haggin out and talking when this kid walked up he said his name was ant he asked us about what crew were we in gangster disciple or vice lord we didn’t know what he ment because I just moved there but I knew that their were gangs but I didn’t know what kind we said no the little boy said you gotta chose a side or you get scraped we don’t take neutrons round here. He walked of and kept looking at us. Man! Dat punk nigga aint gon do nothing said Darrell he was a tuff kid wanna be because he had lots of cousins to fight his battles for him all the time .we hung with another kid named man main he was always joking about stuff. we all went to the store and got candy that night when came out a car pulled up and to boys got out and grabbed Darrel and started to punch him we tried to help him but one of the boys pulled a gun on us and shot at us we ran we felt bad for leaving him but we had no choice. Latter that night we got a call from a police officer to come to the station. What’s going on Jamal my mom said she took the phone.(hello?yes.yes ok.ok.bie bye)

Ronnie cater was his name the boy who shot Darrel he was a raggedy old dirty kid from the bad side of the chi. Darrel was in critical condition from a bullet wound to the chest he lost a lot of blood .they kept talking to us and asking questions and kept flashing lights in my and trying to intimidate me face. My mom told me to never tell them anything because they always lie about what really happened they got mad at me because I just sat there and sweated so they just sent me out of the room and slammed the door when I sat outside all I hear is yelling .BLA! BLA! BLA! BLA! I couldn’t tell what they were saying and I didn’t really care I was just scared not just of the cops but of everything
That day and what could happen tomorrow.
Ronnie didn’t stop looking at me with such aggression for the whole time we were there
You could tell he wanted to do something. The cop let us all go home that night. When we got home my mom asked me about what really happened I told her she lectured me on doing the right thing she told me that Darrell was o.k. and that he may never walk again. She said that it was no reason to want revenge .when I fell asleep i didn’t stop thinking about what to do to get payback and somehow

July 24, 2008 12:46 PM
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Keepers: Who Will Be The Keeper of Stories for The Young Brothers

2008-07-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

Deonte wrote and read a delightful story about the missing tooth, the tooth that goes poof. We all laughed together. Triston wrote about being in the dark, "a universal fear," he mentioned. There were short stories about Super heroes and Super Dreams. Although many of you felt challenged writing for young children, each of you made us excited with your first three-page teaser. I am looking forward to the rest. I am sure your Brother Authors are eagerly anticipating your unfinished, finished stories.

It was great listening to you read children's stories this morning. I am having the time of my life. You are awesome, Brother Authors.

From Keepers, by Jeri Hanel Watts & Felicia Marshall

"But a good storyteller can make you care with how she weaves the tale...Them words are for the next Keeper."

"Keeper?" Kenyon asked.

"Yes, Keeper. Of stories and legends.

Post your children's stories here. Be creative and teach us something. We enjoy laughing and becoming smarter.

Until next time,

Brother Author, Dr. T.

Anonymous Anthony Ponder said...

My children’s story

Author: Anthony Ponder

Title: “Jacob… The Individual”

Young Boy go play.

Young boy go pray.

Stay in school graduate one day.

Dare to be different.

Don’t be what they say.

If loving you is wrong, then loving you is ok.

“Those are the words my mom told me Jacob,” said Jacob’s mother as she

tucked him in for bed. “Mommy, I really miss grandma,” said Jacob as he

laid there in the bed gazing into the dark brown eyes of his mother.” She

simply replied, “I do too son, and I know she is proud of me for carrying out

her wishes.” “I graduated, I dared to be different, and I pray for my family

and friends every night.”

“Mommy I want be like you when I…”No!” she stopped him before he

could finish his sentence. “Son that is the whole purpose behind me giving

you this long lecture.” “My mother dared me to be different and I took the

challenge, and I found myself.” “So, what you need to do is, dare to be

different.” “Step out and be like you.” Young Jacob laid there so overcome

with fatigue as it got closer and closer to his bed time. He tried to listen to

his mother lecture him on what seemed to him like nothing at all. “Go to

sleep young son, maybe when you wake up you’ll want to be like Jacob, the

individual.”

The next day Jacob woke up with a sense of urgency, because he felt as if he

had to find out exactly who he is. Jacob woke up yawning, “uhHHH!!!” he

began to walked up to the mirror in his bathroom, still wiping the cold out of

his eyes. He stood there for a while looking in the mirror making Manly

groans “Ahhhh…..gRRR!!!!!.......I AM the Man were the words that kept

coming out of his mouth.” Then his mom walked in and said “Boy what is

wrong with you!!! You up in here, acting all crazy.”

“ But mom I’m tryna be an individual.” “NOoooooo….You tryna get on my

Dog oN my nerVES!!” “Sorry,” Jacob said to his mother as he continued to

stare at himself in the mirror with the most pitiful face.

Then his mother walked up to him and began to talk to him in the most

comforting tone. “Son, look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” “I see

me” said Jacob “Exactly, You see Jacob, Not some man who grr’s, or make

pitiful sounds in the mirror.” “Son, you are a wonderful kid and you have a

lot of years ahead of you to decide who you want to be.” “So just be

comfortable in your own skin, and enjoy being a child.” “The day will cam

when you can call yourself Jacob…….The Individual.”

July 17, 2008 1:03 PM
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Anonymous slayton g. said...

Dumb word
By Slayton Goodman
July 15, 2008

Marvin was playing in his back yard with his friend
Danny. Danny was his best friend, they loved to play super hero team. Marvin and Danny pretended to fly and pretended to be super strong.
They fought invisible bad guys all day long.
Once they were playing and Marvin heard Danny say “take that you dumb bad guy.” Marvin was baffled, because he had never heard the word dumb before.

Marvin figured if Danny said it must be okay for him to say it. He used the word all the time. He never found out what the word meant

He liked the way the word sound and said it all the time. He walked down the street when he heard a barking dog he was startled he turned around and said “you dumb dog.”

Marvin was walking down the street and fell on a rock. He got up and dusted of shirt and said “dumb rock.”

When Marvin went to school the next day and his teacher gave a pop quiz. Marvin was not prepared for it.

He got an f on his quiz and “mumbled dumb teacher with her dumb quiz.”

His teacher said “what did you say.”

Not knowing it was a bad word he repeated himself
“I said dumb teacher with the dumb quiz”

His teacher’s face went red with rage she yelled “go to the principal office.”

He left the room wondering why he got in trouble.
The principal called his mom and explained to his mom what happened.

His mom came to the school and asked where he heard the word. He told her Danny said it when they were playing. He asked what the word meant she said “Dumb is an insult meaning the opposite of smart.”

Marvin told his friend what his mother said and with a belt to his back side he learned his lesson.

July 17, 2008 1:05 PM
Delete
Anonymous Jonathan Holmes said...

Super Hero Dreams

“Nap time,” momma said to Jordan.
“But Mom I wanna finish watching superman.”
His mother gave him a look showing that she meant business and he quickly got up.
“Ok.”
Jordan got up ran upstairs to his room, but was sure he was not going to sleep.
“I know,” he said to himself, “I’ll stay up here and play my own games. Then when nap time is over, I’ll go down stairs and watch more cartoons.” He thought it was the best idea he ever came up with.

He grabbed his cape and toys. He thought to himself, “I’ll pretend to be a super boy”. He jumped on his bed, stood up and pretended to fly jumped to touch the sky. He grabbed his toys and pretended they could fly too.

Jordan picked up his little dragon toy, but it slipped out his hand. If the toy hit the floor his mom would be mad. The dragon hit the floor, but suddenly it started to grow. The dragon’s neck shot through the roof, eyes turned red, and let out a loud RRRRROARRR.

Jordan was amazed but also afraid, not of the dragon, but what his mom would do. Jordan gave himself some courage and some confidence to. The dragon was shooting fire everywhere.
Jordan thought, “What do I do?”
He thought of all the ways to put out fires.
“I’m a superhero,” Jordan thought, “So I can do whatever I want.”
First, Jordan figured he’s going to have to put the fire out.
“So I’ll be a firefighter,” he said.
His cape transformed into a coat, fireman’s hat, and a water hose appeared in his hand. He turned on the water hose and put the fire out. The dragon began to shrink and it turned into a toy again.
“Whew, that was close,” Jordan said.

After the fireman’s uniform turned back into the cape, another one his toys, the evil Dr. Hydro grew and began to shoot water everywhere.
“Oh no,” Jordan cried. “Mom is definitely going to know I’m not asleep now.”
Suddenly, he noticed one of his favorite toys fell from his dresser into the water. It was his Captain Amazing who had also grew into a life size form.
“Help Help,” Captain Amazing cried. “I can’t swim!”
Jordan didn’t want Captain Amazing to drown. What would he do?

He gathered himself again and remembered that he, Jordan, could swim. He thought again wondered what to transform into. Jordan snapped his fingers and said “I know exactly what to do.” His pants turned into swim trunks, his cape disappeared, and a round orange life saver formed in his hand.
“I’m a lifeguard,” Jordan loudly exclaimed.

SPLOOSH. He dived in, treading through the water. Jordan began his breast stroke the way his swim instructor showed him. SPLISH SPLASH. His feet were kicking rapidly. Jordan quickly made it to Captain Amazing.
“Hold on to the life saver,” said Jordan. Captain Amazing immediately obeyed.

They made it to safety, and the evil, Dr. Hydro, began to shrink to normal size along with Captain Amazing. The water drained away and Jordan’s room was back to normal. Jordan heard his mom walking up the stairs.
“Oh no,” Jordon said, “I have to get in bed.”
He dashed to his bed very quickly and tried be light on his feet. He jumped into his bed and climbed under his cover. He felt his mom touch him gently. He opened his eyes and yawned.
“You look like you slept well,” Jordan mom said.
Jordan looked puzzled, “You didn’t hear all that noise?”
“If by noise, you mean snoring, then yes,” Momma said jokingly.
“So I was really asleep?”
“Mhmm,” Momma replied.
Jordan was so excited. He couldn’t wait for nap time the next day so he could have more SUPERHERO DREAMS.

July 17, 2008 1:09 PM
Delete
Anonymous Deonte said...

Missing Teeth
By Deonte Jones

My name is James. I can wiggle a front tooth and don’t know why.
Sometimes it gets boring and I sigh.

When I kept wiggling, my mom said stop.
When I didn’t listen, I got popped.

I asked why I could wiggle my tooth.
My mom said because it is loose.

What will happen to my tooth?
It is going to go poof.

Why is my tooth,
Going to go poof?

The tooth fairy will fly through your window,
And she will get your tooth from under your pillow.

I don’t want her to take my tooth.
How come she just cant go poof.

You should let her take it sonny,
Afterwards, she will give you money.

Well, I can’t say no to money.
I’ll think about it over some bread and honey.

This bread and honey is very good.
You should make some more, you really should.

Mom, mom, my mouth feels funny.
Where the tooth is feels kind of gummy.

NOOOOOOOOOO! My tooth fell out.
It just dropped right out my mouth.

The tooth fairy will come take my tooth.
I don’t want it to go poof.

Mom, mom, help me please.
I’m begging you. I’m on my knees.

Tell the fairy to go away,
to come again another day.

Tell her to get a different tooth.
I don’t want mine to go poof.

Wait, Wait, I do want money.
Then maybe you can go buy more honey.

That would be great, it sure would.
It might go well, it should, it should.

Now I can’t wait for the fairy to come.
Now I don’t think that she is dumb.

I can’t wait to loose another tooth,
So the tooth fairy can make it go poof.

July 17, 2008 1:09 PM
Delete
Anonymous TRISTON HARTLRY said...

The Dark

My name is Justin.
I’m afraid to sleep with the lights off.
I think a monster will jump out and take me away.
I hate night time. The darkness swallows everything.
I think it will swallow me too.
I sleep with the lights on.
Because the light pushes the darkness away.
I was happy sleeping with the lights on.
But my dad wasn’t.
He planed a camping trip just for the two of us
But when we got there he told me why we were really there
He said that every one is scared of something in there life.
But they have to face those fears to.
Because if you don’t it will follow you until adult hood.
So too night we will sleep outside
So you can see what night time really is.
I didn’t want to but I had to.
But when night finally came
I was amazed.
The stars lit up the sky.
Then I thought night is more peaceful than light
So from that day on I slept with the light off because I wasn’t
Afraid of
THE DARK.

July 17, 2008 1:17 PM
Delete
Anonymous Dance in the Sun - Kendrick Washington said...

Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
Dance HI or LOW
Because you're in control...
Come one, come all
We're going to dance in the sun!!Come one, come all
We're going to dance in the sun!!Do a dance while you're laughing...
Do a dance while you're eating...
Do a dance when you walk...
Make a rhythm when you talk...
Do what you do...
Get in the groove...
Come one, come all...
We're going to dance in the sun...
Come one, come all...
We're going to dance in the sun...
Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
The inspiration to get up and move...
Can come from no one..
Only you...
So get up, and tell everyone..
Come as you are...
Come on, come on...
Twist it, turn it..
Turn all around...
Shake your right foot, move your left
foot,
Put it back on the ground...
Do what you do...
Get in the groove...
Come one, come all...
We're going to dance in the sun...
Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
Clap your hands!!!
(Clap, clap, clap)
Stomp your feet!!!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp)
Come on everyone!!!
Move to the beat….
Do what you do...
Get in the groove...
Come one, come all...
We're going to dance in the sun...
Come one, come all...
We're going to dance in the sun...

July 17, 2008 1:22 PM
Delete
Anonymous anthony griggs said...

Sidewalk
Written by Anthony Griggs

Brandon Kelly was normal. Just like every one else. He had clothes, money and was really smart some said. But it was not his looks that made him stand out it was the number of friends he had

Brandon had two friends his mother and his father. He didn’t think they really counted.
They taught him every thing he knew, in fact they were his teachers .When he was done at home he would go to the schoolyard and sit and wait for normal kids he thought to get out of school.

On the corner of Polk Street where the school was there was a bus stop and a bench. When Brandon went to the corner he would sit on the sidewalk hoping to get some sympathy from students passing by.

Seeing a vanilla skinned boy with nearly new gym shoes on no one even said hi to the boy. Sitting on the sidewalk Brandon figured if he had tried harder to get people to notice him he would be ok. If he could get kids to even make fun of him, but no one even did that so he went home.

The next day, Brandon walked down Polk Street the busy street smelling the gas smoke from the afternoon rush. Waiting, Brandon had planned it all out he was going to get into a fight. RRIIIIINNNNNGG!!! The bell went off. Nervously Brandon walks in to the schoolyard. Eyes gaze at him looking as if he wasn’t supposed to be there. Brandon bumps into a couple of people but they don’t get angry. Once again Brandon fails to get any attention so with his head hung low he went home.

Two days later Brandon goes to the schoolyard and tries even harder he lies and says he’s kin to Brandon Carter.

Brandon Carter was cool at school every seemed to like him. So when Brandon Kelly said they were family people knew he was trying to sike them. Tired of this one Brandon goes to the sidewalk again thinking of another plan, Then Brandon looks up and hears a voice of a man.

I seen you from a distance almost every day at this place so tell me little boy, what seems to be the reason for the frown on your face.” Brandon says “I know what it is they don’t like me because of my race “
“No little boy that’s not the reason, You can’t rush friends they come in season, you don’t have friends and you may not know what to do but they can’t be your friend, if you’re not your friend too.

Brandon thought about many things that the man had said. He felt he shouldn’t chase his friends he should let them come instead. Brandon didn’t go to the sidewalk for a while because he thought he should give it some time but one day in his room after class he came up with this rhyme...

YOUR BEST FRIEND

When you are alone,
Sad and blue,
Needing someone to be a friend to you,
Don’t even worry, don’t shed a tear,
You might not believe me but your best friend is near,
Look in a mirror and you will never be alone because your best is the reflection shown

One day out of nowhere, Brandon decides to go to the sidewalk, This time he sit on the bench then a girl slides up beside him and gives him a little pinch. She says “I haven’t seen you in a while where have you been?” Brandon says “I’ve been away meeting my new best friend.”

July 17, 2008 1:23 PM
Delete
Anonymous Armand M said...

Ricki’s Advice

“Hello, my name is Jamaal Smith. My project is about the negativity and urge to go to violence in black communities…” I started to finish saying what my project was going to be about and then my teacher cuts me off. He says that I need to stop being so racist. He says white people have problems in there lives as well. I think that out of all 6 of the black kids in his class he enjoys picking on me the most.

The periods over and I have 5 minutes to get my next class which was conveniently located right next to my locker. My boy Myles comes up behind me and scares the shit out of me. I was ready to box him if he didn’t say his name. “What’s up man? You’re really tense this morning. Don’t tell me you let Mr. Conway rile you up again,” I nodded my head, “Man; you are gon stop letting folks get heated. Learn to look at the bright side. Conway didn’t let you read your paper so now he has to spend this weekend reading all 15 pages. C’mon be happy its Friday everybody is supposed to be happy on Friday.” RRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!!! The bell rings and everybody dashes to there classrooms. My illiterate friend runs to his class knowing that he’s late. I decide to skip 4th period and see my cousin Ricki. She always knows what to do when I have problems.

I think my cousin is a little touched at times. She can be making perfect since and start yelling about how she didn’t cook her chicken all the way through. I love her though. She is always there when I need to talk to somebody. Even if she thinks she’s a psychic because she tells me what I’m going to do or say before I did it. I open the school doors as I get ready to make a run for it and I see her. Ricki is standing literally right in front of the door. “I told I’m psychic. Now let’s go before school security gets here and I have to spend 20 minutes filling out an early dismissal form for you DUMB SQUIRREL GET AWAY FROM MY CAR!” I told you she was touched.

We get in the car and sit in silence. Another thing about Ricki she never pressures you into talking each though she can tell something is wrong. The 30 min car ride was spent in quiet. We pull up to her house and she locks the door. “We spent this ride in silence. So when I enter that house I want you talking to me like yo teeth are automatic click clackers or you’ll get a lump the size of your foot in your head.” That’s my cousin for ya. So we get in the house and I explain my problems, my views, and my opinion on things. She kept silent until I was finish.

I was preparing for devils advocate but I didn’t get that. When I thought she was going to talk she just slurped her milk from her cake bowl as she was finishing her cereal. “Listen J, not everybody is going to be cool wicha in life. That’s what you need to accept. Now we can go through life hating them for it or we can do something about it. The way I see it you have two options. You either show up to the teach and explain why your always writing about our race or you could get high everyday and just let it roll off you. Me personally, I would go with option #1. But if you do pick two let me know.”

“Why so you can smoke it with me?” I say jokingly.

“No so I can rip your lips off, put them in Mac and cheese, and then feed them to you. Now come up stairs so when can make us some burgers and fries. After that we can Play Mortal Kombat. I just learned a new fatality for scorpion that’s to DIE for,” she answered. That’s how we solve things here. We talk, eat, and then play.

Females

Oh my god, I did not think it would be possible for anything to be more boring than earth science but history has proved me wrong. Learning all the names of all these people who would have lasted 5 minutes in our world seems pointless to me. Sure they changed the world and tried to make it a better place. We walk own the street and somebody that we don’t like and shoot ‘em or kill little nine year girls for come out there house at night.

Myles is sending me a text from Ms. Fox’s class. You have no idea how fine she is. Caramel skin, hazel eyes, long black hair, juicy lips and the perfect body. She is every boy in this schools fantasy woman.

July 24, 2008 12:29 PM
Delete
Anonymous Deonte said...

Missing Teeth
By Deonte Jones

My name is James. I can wiggle a front tooth and don’t know why.
Sometimes it gets boring and I sigh.

When I kept wiggling, my mom said stop.
When I didn’t listen, I got popped.

I asked why I could wiggle my tooth.
My mom said because it is loose.

What will happen to my tooth?
It is going to go poof.

Why is my tooth,
Going to go poof?

The tooth fairy will fly through your window,
And she will get your tooth from under your pillow.

I don’t want her to take my tooth.
How come she just cant go poof.

You should let her take it sonny,
Afterwards, she will give you money.

Well, I can’t say no to money.
I’ll think about it over some bread and honey.

This bread and honey is very good.
You should make some more, you really should.

Mom, mom, my mouth feels funny.
Where the tooth is feels kind of gummy.

NOOOOOOOOOO! My tooth fell out.
It just dropped right out my mouth.

The tooth fairy will come take my tooth.
I don’t want it to go poof.

Mom, mom, help me please.
I’m begging you. I’m on my knees.

Tell the fairy to go away,
to come again another day.

Tell her to get a different tooth.
I don’t want mine to go poof.

Wait, Wait, I do want money.
Then maybe you can go buy more honey.

That would be great, it sure would.
It might go well, it should, it should.

Now I can’t wait for the fairy to come.
Now I don’t think that she is dumb.

I can’t wait to loose another tooth,
So the tooth fairy can make it go poof.

July 29, 2008 8:07 PM

Black Shorts and Engaging Others

2008-07-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was informed that a young, African American Brother was pistol-whipped by two young Brothers. This is madness! It is also painful. I am challenging you as young, developing writers to pay attention to these issues. Can you write a short story that can stop one bullet? Can you write a short story that will bring one father home? Can you write a short story that can prevent one teenage girl from becoming pregnant? Can you write a short story that leads another Brother to complete high school? Can you write a short story that can...?

Post your short stories here.

Until next time,

Brother Author, Dr. T.

Here are two samples of my raw writing.

"Not in My Neighborhood"

By

Alfred W. Tatum

July 9, 2008

His bright red cap, half-cocked, was the first thing I noticed when he entered the room. I am not quite sure why he showed up, but it was something about his presence that was welcoming. His movements were slow and measured. I could hear the questions he was asking although he remained silent. The baby face atop the grown-man frame was weathered with pain, but not totally washed of innocence. He was teetering between something that was difficult to pinpoint. Then he spoke, "Not in my neighborhood."

"Bull crap," I said. "Do something about it."

"Man, all of this is bull crap. We are sitting around waving our pens like magic wands, but
we can't write anything that's going to change anything."

Struck by the care of his words that were both troubling and halting, I had to find a way to reconcile myself to the young boy's truth without abandoning my own. Stunted by a reality that I did not fully understand, although media images abound, his notions of gloom warranted serious, yet careful conversation to keep him talking. He preferred to let his body do the talking – the folded arms across the chest, the face grimace that suggested naivety on the part of the unknowing, and the silent-sitting-slumped-in-the-chair stance. Each spoke volumes as they marked him as different, guarded. The hope was in his presence. Although the others ignored him as they wrestled with their own personal demons, I noticed him as a distinct fabric of the cloth. Not more outstanding, but shelled differently.

“So what is the answer?” I asked.

“I don’t have the answer. Nobody has an answer.”

He shifted in his seat. His hands were now folded on the rim of the table in the middle of the room where he sat. The others stared in anticipation, waiting for a response I had not yet formulated. The entire institute could be lost with poorly chosen words or an ideological foolish explanation that positioned me as an outsider of the realm of their day-to-day journeys. Did I truly understand? The sands of self-assurance were being washed away by this young boy’s strong language, softly spoken. I had a few seconds to think, to respond, to question, to recover. It was my move.

“There is a scripture in the bible that says, …”

“I don’t understand a word in the bible, please don’t go there.”

He leaned back again, and I was feeling suffocated by the weight of disillusionment. Out the corner of my eyes, I saw two other young boys nod in agreement with, Trey, because I missed the mark with my response. I imagined him asking, where was the bible when my friend, Jimmy, needed it. Or saying, I don’t know if you know this, but it’s not the bible that people are carrying around that is causing havoc. The wedge between us was growing wider. It was my move again. Had I lost the only chance I may ever have? It was close to noon, and our time together would be ending soon. I conjured up a silent prayer, “Jesus, please guide my words and my thoughts. In your name I pray, Amen.”

“What is the truth?” I asked.

“It don’t exist.”

“Is it true that you should just roll over and die, because the truth is, you are going to die anyway, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Maybe you should.”

Totally confused about where this conversation was going, I turned my back to the room of young boys and walked towards the chalkboard. My thoughts were marinating, but quite unclear. The resignation in the young boy’s tone was peppered with resistance, and I knew I had him where I wanted him. He was debating my clever questions. I was winning. He did not want to die, and I knew it. It is something about death that is too final for a young boy that causes him to reject it, to fear it. Where is the chalk, I thought? Searching for it gave me a few more seconds to think. The academic exercise ended abruptly. I heard him say,

“Write something to stop this.”

I turned around and saw, Trey, holding a gun to Craig’s head, his left hand around the other boy’s neck. “Let me see what you are going to write on the board now. How are you going to use writing to stop me from pulling the trigger?” I froze.

“Like I said, not in my neighborhood.”

He turned and left. I stared at the frightened faces of the other boys, and I thought, maybe Trey’s right. Craig came to the front of the room; picked up the chalk I was searching for and wrote five words on the board. “This is what you should have written,” he said.

Sixteen

Alfred W. Tatum

She sat two rows in front of me on the seven-car train that was moving toward the city. Her hair was uncombed, and there were naps all along her two-toned neck. The daughter’s hair was not in much better shape suggesting that she just didn’t have time to get to it this morning. Earplugs were in her ears and small gold hoop earrings, nothing extravagant, hung from her lobes. The dimples on her moderately dark face were attractive. She was really pretty. I made brief eye contact with the girl who looked like she was about sixteen. We exchanged a brief smile that was interrupted by a young boy who began to scream; the pacifier dropped from his mouth. It was obvious he hadn’t had his first haircut, and the white dry snot marks on his nose looked nasty. She spent the duration of the ride trying to calm him down. The train passengers, mostly white, looked irritated because the young boy’s cry was intruding upon their newspaper reading; their attempts to complete work on laptop computers, or their desire to simply enjoy four-dollar-cups of coffee. I felt sort of sad for the girl as she bounced the baby up and down on her lap as her little girl looked on. The mother’s face tightened each time his shrieks grew louder; she looked somewhat apologetic for disturbing the others. At one point, I even became irritated. Why won’t the boy just shut up, I thought?

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked as I helped her carry a nice sized bag off the train.

“Emanuel, but we call him, Man-Man, for short.”

“That’s his daddy’s name, but my daddy’s name is Bootsey,” the little girl said.

“Shut up, Tee Tee. I told you about talking so much.”

“Are you meeting his father down here?”

“Naw, we don’t talk anymore.”

“My grandma is picking us up.”

“Didn’t you hear me tell you to shut up?”

I helped her carry the bag through the crowded terminal as people in high gear rushed by us on both sides. For a moment, I suspected we looked like a young couple with two kids. I wanted to wait with her and carry the bag to the car that would be waiting for her outside of the train station, but I had to catch the number 60 bus that ran every thirty minutes. I would be late if I chatted any longer. I patted, Man-Man, on the head, and said, “Take care little fella.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Tee Tee.”

“Thank you for helping me with the bag.”

“No problem.”

“What’s your name?”

“Richard,” I said before turning and walking in the other direction. As I reached the revolving doors, I hear the boy beginning to cry again, making me think about my own situation.

I was really sure that I was about to do the right thing when I boarded the train this morning. It was hard for me to imagine what my girlfriend wanted to do. We had been together since our freshman year, and I didn’t understand her logic. There was no way I was going to be like my old man or her old man. I got her pregnant on purpose just to prove my point. She knew it to, but I convinced her that everything would be okay. We argued a lot because she kept letting her mother and girlfriends get into our business.

“How we gonna take care a baby?”

“You’ll see everything is gonna be okay as soon as we finish school.”

“Where you gonna work with a high school diploma?”

“Oh, I’ll get a job. Don’t worry about that.”

“What about college?”

“We don’t need college to take care of no baby.”

“Where we gonna live?”

“It will work out, trust me.”

I replayed this conversation in my mind over and over as I waited on the bus stop. “Where is the bus?” I murmured. I got to hurry up and get to the clinic; I cannot let her do it. It was all running through my head - Man-Man’s crying. Tee Tee’s talking. My girlfriend’s questions. Reaching into my pockets for the fare card was also messing with me now. No money. Momma gave me money for this trip today. Still, I wasn’t going to be like him, or Man Man’s daddy, or Bootsey. I got this, and I will handle my business “Where is the bus?” I uttered loudly this time. I got to get to the clinic to stop her.

More people had gathered at the bus stop. If they were carrying burdens like me, it was difficult to tell. Stepping into the street, I could see the number 60 finally rolling my way. It was finally here. The doors opened, allowing several passengers off. I could hear a baby crying on the bus, a baby being held by someone who looked like me. “Are you getting on young man?” the driver asked. “No, I am waiting on the number 120.” The bus rolled away, and I walked back toward the train station.

Scouring your guts for the source!

2008-07-03T22:51:00.000-07:00

Your voices and word choice stood me in my tracks throughout the week. Your raw writing and poetic broadsides were deep and thoughtful. You tackled social justice issues through your writing as you paid attention to the four platforms - defining self, becoming resilient, engaging others, and building capacity. I enjoyed being in the company of 11 young Brother Authors. We will focus on Black Shorts during week II of the Institute. We will have the opportunity to scour our guts to write short stories. I am looking forward to Tuesday.

Continue to be myth busters and writing guardians for the younger brothers.

Until next time,

Brother Author, Dr. T.

July 3rd

2008-07-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

Post July 3rd writings here:

slayton g. said...

My young brother

Stay strong my young brother
Do your best my young brother
Reach for the stars my young brother

No matter what they say I believe in you

Stay working hard my young brother
Never give up my young brother

Don’t be scare to reach for the stars
I’m hear to catch you if you fall

By Slayton Goodman
July 3, 2008

July 3, 2008 1:27 PM
Delete
Anonymous slayton g. said...

I’d rather do it my way

I CAN YELL AND ACT A FOOL!
But I don’t I’d rather sit and talk with you.

I COULD DO WHAT YOU ECSPECT ME TO DO!
But I’d rather do what a gentleman would do.

So if you don’t mind I want to be myself

By Slayton Goodman
July 3, 2008

July 3, 2008 1:34 PM
Delete
Anonymous Deonte said...

GROWING UP

When you grow up, you should
have a good life. Don’t grow up
causing trouble or using drugs. When
you grow up with a job you will be
successful in life so do a good job.
Deonte Jones July3

July 3, 2008 2:00 PM
Delete
Anonymous D said...

YOU ARE MY RELETIVE

Just because we look nothing alike
doesn’t mean we’re not related.We
have the same blood, do you understand.
Your aunt is my mom and my uncle is
your dad. So don’t come to me with
that crap.See you later!

July 3, 2008 2:01 PM
Delete
Anonymous Armand M said...

Listen hear my young children
Don’t look away
That’s what our problem is today
As black people they say that we can’t pay attention
It’s time for me to make an intervention
Prove them wrong think extremely well
We need to get this idea to sell
Pay attention in school
Show us all that your smart
So we can kill this Myth
Burn right it when it starts

July 5, 2008 2:50 PM
Delete
Anonymous Trapped in Two Identities - Kendrick Washington said...

Trapped into two identities…

You think that I don’t care
You say while you talk, I’m not listening
But if I don’t care
Would you think I would be sitting here working?

July 9, 2008 12:06 PM
Delete
Anonymous Why Do YOU cry black child? - Kendrick Washington said...

Why do you cry black child?

Child,
Why do you cry at night?
There’s no one in the house?
Or maybe is just because you’re not feeling right?
Why do you cry black child,
When you fall down, or hurt your head?
Who comes out with their arms a-stretched?
Who’s there to tuck you in bed?
Why do you cry black child,
Are you hungry?
Why must you weep?
Watching you gets me emotional,
For God’s sake, things will better…
I know this isn’t the life that you wanted to live,
But I promise I’ll try to change
For the better of you, or for the better of me…
Child,
Why do you cry at night?
Daddy’s not here anymore,
Everything’s fine,
We don’t have to fight..
Child,
You can stop crying now,
I’m here for you all the way…
Just close your eyes,
And erase the pain…
Pretend that no one’s there
But you…
Child,
Why do you cry….?

July 9, 2008 12:07 PM
Delete
Anonymous Questions (?) - Kendrick Washington said...

Questions:
If the curiosity killed the cat,
How come it didn’t kill the dog, or any other animal out there?
If YOU say YOU have a big voice
How come YOU can’t voice your own opinions
Instead of having ME tell your story?
If YOU SAY that I am a friend
Why must you treat me differently,
A different person when I’m not near,
And another when I’m close?
If YOU SAY that people live forever
How come the loved one’s I buried,
Aren’t in my face right now
Giving me the advice I really need?
If we will soon die,
What steps are you taking to be known forever?
If you ask me a question, and I give you an answer
Why must you ask me again if I’m sure that’s the answer I want to give you?
If you say that you’re someone,
But deep down inside,
You know you’re not,
What type of person are YOU trying to persue?
If you say that you don’t want to be bothered,
Who said that I want to be bothered by you?
If you say that you’re done, and there’s nothing else for you to do
What does that make know about you?

July 9, 2008 12:08 PM
Delete
Anonymous Need You/ Not Anymore said...

Need You…/ Not Anymore

I need you
To look after me
I need you
To provide for me
I NEED you
To help me with my problems
I NEED YOU
To be someone in my life

But where are you?

I needed you
To look after me
I needed you
To provide for me
I NEEDED you
To help me with my problems
I NEEDED YOU
To be someone in my life

Right now, I don’t need you anymore
And I never will need you,

Sincerely,
Me…..

July 9, 2008 12:09 PM
Delete
Anonymous Need You/ Not Anymore said...

Need You…/ Not Anymore

I need you
To look after me
I need you
To provide for me
I NEED you
To help me with my problems
I NEED YOU
To be someone in my life

But where are you?

I needed you
To look after me
I needed you
To provide for me
I NEEDED you
To help me with my problems
I NEEDED YOU
To be someone in my life

Right now, I don’t need you anymore
And I never will need you,
Nice to know what type of person you are…
Un-reliable

Sincerely,
Me…..
Kendrick Washington

July 10, 2008 12:33 PM
Delete
Anonymous Un-Identifiable: Kendrick Washington said...

Un-Identifiable

I’m sweating.
The pressure is extreme, and all eyes are on me. I’ve never had THIS, much attention and right now, I don’t want it. I’m the victim, and the people out there are my audience. As they wait and see what the VERDICT is going to be, I can’t help but wait with them. I look out and see angry family members and friends look out at me. I wish they wouldn’t look at me like that; it makes me feel guilty, un-human. I’m the beast, and they’re the pupils, laughing at my disfigure, making me feel any less than what I am! I wish I could tell them what happened. I just wish I could….
The lady comes into the room, and everyone stands up. After she says something, we all sit down. Some dude starts speaking about a right hand, and a court of law. The lady gets into her big, black comfortable leather seat, and she has some type of tool that looks like a wooden hammer in her hands. She just thinks she’s so cool, because she’s able to have all of these fancy tools, and because we’re supposed to respect her. But I don’t, and I don’t have to. Because of her, I’m here. So it’s all here fault…
The lady starts to talk, and I can’t help but notice her irritating scratchy voice. I drown her out, because I don’t want to hear a word that she says. I look into the crowd, and at my family. Don’t listen to what she say’s. At the end of the day, we’ll be left standing, we’ll get through everything that has happened, I thought.
After I snapped out of my trance, I noticed that all eyes were on me. Yet again. This time, I sweat real hard, and people can notice it. Then, she starts talking again:
“Mr. Washington, in the case of…”
I drown her out, No! I can’t hear her. I don’t want to hear her. I wish I was home. I wish I could fast-forward the moment, or rewind to the part when everything was perfect. Everybody was happy. But then I realized that I could not do that, so I had to accept it….
“… You are found….”
I close my eyes, here it is. Here is the moment that everyone has been waiting on…
THEY come over and take me out of the stands, and I’m yelling.
I’m getting closer to the door, and my fate is almost over…
THEY open the door….
I sneak a look at my mom, and just before the door closes, I can tell that she is crying…

Guilt.
That was all that I was feeling after I left the room.
It’s funny. That when you actually do something, you don’t think about it until you have to suffer the consequences. After looking back at what I have done, I have the violent flashbacks appear in my eyes. I wish so bad that I hadn’t done what I did, but I guess my emotions got the best of me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
I feel sorry for the victim’s family, I ruined a life, and on top of that, I ruined my own life.
There is a saying out there that relates to my situation. Every stupid mistake that someone has made, every stupid thing that has been said, just remember this:
In life, there is no room for error.
In my life, I made a BIG error, and right now, I have to pay for it…

-To be continued…

July 10, 2008 12:34 PM
Delete
Anonymous Jamil Boldian said...

"Spell Caster"

to love
to care
to wish
to hold

to have
somebody
i call
my own

from
rich to poor
you'll never succum

the one wishes
the future
to come

July 15, 2008 12:07 PM
Delete
Anonymous Jamil Boldian said...

"The other me"

Some one that looks like me
talk like me
acts like me
some one who likes the same thing as me
some one who love the same thing as me
because to be me you actually have to be me

you have to know the things i been through
cried through
prayed through
Have you!
because when there's some one that
look like me
talks like me
acts like me
you know what
it's me!

July 15, 2008 12:14 PM

July 2nd

2008-07-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

Post July 2nd writings here. Go to comments to post your poetry.

Anonymous Armand M said...

Protector

You are gone from my life in a physical form
But I feel you holding me when there’s a raging storm
You help me make choices within my mind
You help me get whatever I need to find
I feel you watching and holding on
Please keep on protecting me even though you’re gone
But never Gone

July 3, 2008 11:06 AM
Delete
Anonymous Anthony G. said...

How Would I Know?

My mommy I love and my daddy too,
They wash my clothes and teach how
to tie my shoes but there is one thing that has
Been on my mind since granny died
I haven’t been doing so fine. What is cancer how?
Would I know but that’s the thing that caused my
Granny to go.

Would the same thing happen to my mom and dad?
But I hope it doesn’t because it will make me sad.
How would I know at the tender age 45 my mommy would
Be practically eaten alive by a by a serious lung disease what
A surprise. Those death sticks she puffed for all those would later turn into
sorrowful tears. I wish I could go back and change this time so the way that
she died wouldn’t stay on my mind

Then all the red meats and soul food my father ate cause long meaningful debate. His girl wanted him to go to the hospital soon next thing I know his prostate swelled like a water balloon. It was cancer again knocking at my door but I stopped this gene at me so there would be no more.

BANG…….BANG

July 3, 2008 11:15 AM
Delete
Anonymous slayton g. said...

Music

I love music it’s hard to explain
How my mind feels when music enters my brain
It’s insane
All the things music can achieve
I love it because it comforts me

By Slayton Goodman
July 2nd 2008

July 3, 2008 11:23 AM
Delete
Anonymous jonathan_foley said...

DARKNESS
Deep in the jungle with nothing at all

NO light to see my way to safety

Cold and wet I feel dead

Laying down Breathless and darkness covers my face

Praying for the day I find the light.

July 3, 2008 11:26 AM
Delete
Anonymous Jamil said...

Why we dream
why we dream of a certain thing
than realizing the thing we dream
of becomes our worst nightmare

why we have nightmares?
we have nightmares because we are
afraid of whats to come
we are afraid to face our fears
and when we are afraid of facing
our fears
we starts to run

why do we run?
we run because we feels that
that's the right thing to do
but really the wrong thing
the right thing to do is
face it

why should we face it?
we face it because we are
strong
brave
and intelligent people that should live up to whatever the cirumstances are
in than look back feeling proud
because you now turn your nightmare
back into a dream
dats why we dream!!!!

By Jamil Boldian

July 3, 2008 11:30 AM
Delete
Anonymous Anthony G. said...

I Am

I speak therefore I think,
I think therefore I Am,

Being of existence I am a voice,
A voice in this world that should be heard,

Outspoken yet under spoken,
I have much to say but nothing to say at all.

July 3, 2008 11:31 AM
Delete
Anonymous Anthony ponder said...

Author: Anthony Ponder
Date: July 2, 2008

“Look into my eyes”

With age comes wisdom….
So look into my eyes….
With every wrinkle in my face, another story lies…
I look at you… and I see myself….
But in an immature state of mind
See eager to enter the world
But, not knowing what the word Hides….

Beauty isn’t just skin deep
It is developed in the mind
Not knowing how truly beautiful you are until you see the ugly inside…
I’m confident in myself
And to you I ask why??
Why??
Why kill off your own race?
It’s just a form of Genocide

My brother I beg you look into my eyes
With every wrinkle in my face another story lies
DAMN IT!!!!!
YOUNG BRUTHA LOOK INTO MY EYES!!!!

July 3, 2008 11:33 AM
Delete
Anonymous I Hate You- Kendrick Washington said...

I hate you
For not being able to see
The times when you
Asked me to tag along
I shrugged it off
I let you be
You chose your path
You lived your life
Instead of being free
You chose to fight
I hate you
For not taking a stand
Instead of doing all the drugs
You could of changed
Into a man
And realized that life is not a joke
You kidded your way
And even died with the smoke
And I’m glad that you choked
It didn’t matter to you
That’s why your spirit was broke
So much for thinking things through
I hate you
For not being a brother
Dishonoring your mother
And not being a father
And running away
From all you fears
God thanks for the courage
You soon will pay
No word clashing
As I try, not to shed a tear
I hate you
For being trapped underneath
In another’s person treasure
Your prize was defeat
And the prize you think you’ve won
Is not winnable
You sucked up all the joy
Ruined everyone’s fun
I hate you
For dying before you ever got a chance to know
Or watching me succeed,
Or maybe grow
Into what I have become
Why?
Because I have earned it
Unlike what you haven’t….
I hate you
For being a liar
Your legacy is gone
Being burned in the fire
And as I realize
I wouldn’t want to become PIECE of you
It’s finally over,
It’s finally through…..
I hate you
For not being able to see
The times when you
Asked me to tag along
I shrugged it off
I let you be
Your absence burned inside
That’s what was killing me
I hate you…

July 3, 2008 11:35 AM

Voice Chair: Becoming self-regulated writers

2008-07-02T15:12:00.001-07:00

Wow! I loved seeing each of you in the Voice Chair. Several of you led the reader exactly where you wanted him to go. Others moved the reader close. Word choice and voice are essential for writers who struggle to perfect their craft. I would love to get your thoughts on being in the voice chair.

Brother Author, Dr. T.

Living with your eyes open

2008-07-02T15:08:00.000-07:00

One of our Brother Authors mentioned that he sat on his porch yesterday evening to find his poem. The sights and sounds bubbled up to yield a poem. I was awestruck at the beauty of his writing. How are you finding the poems that lie within you? I look forward to your comments.

Until next time,

Brother Author, Dr. T.

Jamil said...

“Even when nobody’s with you, you still here a voice”
Jamil Boldian 7/27/08

I’m sitting here in the dark with out a
Voice
Every one left me standing with out
A choice
A choice to redeem myself with simple
Goals
Goals to challenge myself in victory were
Every body goes
But who know were I in up
A chance to survive in the world
Because it’s rough
So you got to be tough especially in
My neighborhood where I had
Enough
Enough! I said to little from the little poor
Black child
He was spook in had to lay low for
A while
Wow! I thought to myself as I
Wondering what’s was that sound
I heard of mines
How I would respond to it
What my next line
Who’s there it turn out to
Be nobody
It was just me and a person that
Wouldn’t defied me
Is it God? Is that the voice?
He telling me that I do have
A choice
A choice to make more choices
A change to make changes
To turn a fairytale into reality
Yep that’s the key
That’s what missin
When you feel all alone
There’s always a little voice
If you just
LISTEN!

August 12, 2008 4:56 PM
Delete
Anonymous Jamil said...

“In order to be love, you have to love somebody” (Refresh)

Growth and knowledge the things
We look forward to and aspect

Relationship, friends and family the
Love to care for oh yeah and to
Respect

The power that love can bring
Can only make us closer by the yet
Stronger because it’s God, that
Makes our life worth a while longer

The moments that we shared can
Only be left with thought and memories
The fact that our values in our mind and soul only
Can be made hole
To predict the future
That we must know

Thinking and living it’s never really come
To us, to know what to say, to know
What to do, to do what my heart tells us to

To know how to feel and when to
Feel it, to be love, can it be
That you just don’t give it
Can it be you just but you just can’t see it
Or that you just don’t have anybody to love

August 12, 2008 4:57 PM
Delete
Anonymous Jamil said...

“So Crazy”

What makes a man so crazy?
Is it you?
Is it you that makes a man feel?
So blue
Is it you that makes a man
Speaks another language
That every time he speaks
He speaks the truth

But as simple as it may seem that the
Blue the man felt torn green
Rather it something you done that
That man thought was so mean

I mean what’s makes me so crazy
Is for someone I call my lady
Makes me feel all lazy
Some please save me…!!!

Is it all right for a man to
Feel so crazy
I don’t know
Is this why the lord made me
To use the gift God gave me
To love, care
And support those that
Charge me
Wow! That’s crazy!!!

August 12, 2008 4:58 PM

PLATFORMS

2008-05-29T15:36:00.000-07:00

PLATFORMS

1. Defining Self
2. Becoming Resilient
3. Engaging Others
4. Building Capacity

They call me monster.
They call me beast.
I just want to be human.
Give me the language to put my voice on record
Before I cus somebody out
Then they will call me an inarticulate, foul-mouth fool
Doomed by another descriptor.
Help!

In this poetic broadside, I am seeking the language to define who I am so that I can put my voice on record.

You will read several authors who will serve as language coaches to help you create poetic broadsides.

What is a poetic broadside?

It is a short, powerful piece of straightforward poetry that is small enough to fit in the back pocket.

We will read and react to the poetry of Claude McKay, Langston Hughes, Amiri Baraka, and Alfred Tatum.

During week 1: You will create poetic broadsides that focus on issues you believe affect young males of color across the diaspora. Start with your own community and expand the lens.

Brother Author, Dr. T.

jonathan said...

L.I.F.E

Love
Influence
Frustration
Education

LIFE!!!

Anthony G. said...

Running.....

Police sirens start,
As fast as I could,
Down th alley,
Over the gate,
Shine in my eyes,
Hands behind my head,
Face on the cold brick wall,
In the squad car I go,
BUT IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT............

Anthony Griggs

July 2, 2008 11:26 AM

slayton g. said...

Slayton Goodman
July 1st 2008

your judgment does not count

You can't tell me how to live my life
Is your life so perfect you can give me advise

I could point out your problems too
I could talk about the things you do

But i don't, i'm not perfect thats easy to see
But nobody else is perfect so only god can judge me

July 2, 2008 11:28 AM

Armand said...

WHERE ARE YOU
Armand Miller
Im living my life with people I don;t know
I wish I could see you in all your shine and glory
So I can tell you my life's story
But I can not 'cause you are not here
I hold you in my heart so fond and so dear
Where are you mom and dad I miss You dear

July 2, 2008 11:33 AM

Anthony Ponder said...

Author: Anthony Ponder
Date: July 1,2008
Title: "How I Am Different, or Am I Different At All?"

Due to failures, I am forced to better myself in ways unimaginable.
Forced to climb mountains that seem insurmountable.
While yet maintaining family values that are forever indestructible.

A childhood that seemed unforgettable
has only allowed my enemies the feel the wrath of an animal,
The beast inside me that demolishes my foes.

The brutality of my knowledge no one knows
Killing my ignorant brother with words unknown
Or so they seemed to him, as if my words were cold.

How knowledge, is detrimental to the well being of my soul
Yet to my ignorant brother he tries to avoid it like a cold
So unfamiliar with the strange faces in a book

Yet how is my ignorant brother ignorant?
but don't know
So am I ignorant for not letting him know?

July 2, 2008 11:34 AM
Delete

Kendrick Washington said...

el silencio lo es todo (silence is everything)

-Silence!!!!
-The world has many eyes and ears out there
- And if you knew that, you wouldn't be here right now
- In my face, explaining yourself
- You've been told that the truth will set you free
- But in your case, the truth will bring nothing but anger and devastation
- Everyone will be able to know about all the bad you've done
- And who the real person you are behind CLOSED doors
- You try to translate
- I need you to traducir (translate) not anymore
- No time for a resolution
- Because you bought the ticket
- Get on the horse and ride it
-MAN UP and accept full responsibility
- We're stupid
- But not anymore, we can see right through you
- You should feel ashamed.....

-Silence!!!
-The world has many eyes and ears out there
- And if you knew that, you wouldn't be sitting here right now,
-In my face, explaining yourself
- You're a fake,
- And if you only knew
- What's in store for you....

-Silence!!!

July 2, 2008 11:36 AM
Delete

Deonte said...

Homeless Man

This man looks homeless
Forgotten! Sad! Lonely!
A feeling I would never
EVER like to have.
The world would end up like an
empty space of NOTHING!
So until the day I die, I will ALWAYS
treat myself with respect so I don’t end up
homeless.

Deonte Jones July 2, 2008

July 2, 2008 3:53 PM

slayton g. said...

Is this what we have become

After all the fight and struggle for freedom
Is this what we become
Killing and fighting one another like animals
We should take charge and do something with our lives
If not whats the point of being free it can do no good for me

by Slayton Goodman
July 2nd 2008

July 2, 2008 4:49 PM
Delete

Jonathan Holmes said...

WHO’S THE MAN?

Look at me
Do you respect me?
Am I powerful with this barrel down your throat?
Or, are you just intimidated.
I think I’m a man.
At least this is what I see.
They never showed me differently.
Shoot him down so I can get my soccer ball
Or he’ll think I’m cool and let me in the gang
Maybe, that bully won’t bother me.
So please show me what is a man!
Before I pull the trigger again.
BANG!
By Jonathan Holmes

July 3, 2008 11:25 AM

Anthony Ponder said...

Author: Anthony Ponder
Date: July 2, 2008

“Look into my eyes”

With age comes wisdom….
So look into my eyes….
With every wrinkle in my face, another story lies…
I look at you… and I see myself….
But in an immature state of mind
See eager to enter the world
But, not knowing what the word Hides….

Beauty isn’t just skin deep
It is developed in the mind
Not knowing how truly beautiful you are until you see the ugly inside…
I’m confident in myself
And to you I ask why??
Why??
Why kill off your own race?
It’s just a form of Genocide

My brother I beg you look into my eyes
With every wrinkle in my face another story lies
DAMN IT!!!!!
YOUNG BRUTHA LOOK INTO MY EYES!!!!

July 3, 2008 11:27 AM

TRISTON HARTLEY said...

bang bang

you here guns go off

more bodies drop

but

the clock still

goes

tick tock

July 3, 2008 1:41 PM

johnathan f. said...

Silly wily bumble bee

Silly wily was a very clumsy bumble bee

He swerved, and curved down the street

But what silly wily didn’t know was that

He was bout to be in the biggest mess up
ever

Silly wily went buzzing into the big jumbo man’s store

The man saw silly wily in started grumbling,
In bumbling, and yelling towards him

He swatted, in anger at silly wily

But the missed him and he hit the honey that silly wily always try’s to take

But silly wily caught the honey jar and
The big jumbo man thanked him

Silly tried to shake his hand but he dropped the honey jar

the jumbo man started yelling again
but this time even louder

AAAHHH!!! He screamed.

He swung at silly wily again

But he missed him

This time the man hit some juice

Silly wily darted straight towards the juice and saves it before it hits the floor

The man thanks silly wily again and apologizes for how he yelled at him

Silly wily drops the juice to give the jumbo man a hug

The man starts yelling again at silly wily,
And starts swinging everywhere!!!

Bing!

Bang!

Bam!

Catter!

Tatter!
Smatter!

Bong!

Boom!

Blaow!

Ratta!

Tat!

Tat!

Bing! BANG!

BOW!!

Before you knew it the store was destroyed
The jumbo man looked around and started to cry.

WHHHAAA!!!

The jumbo man grabbed his coat and went home, the next day the store looked brand new

The man found out that silly wily had clean up the place with a couple of friends

The jumbo man went up to silly and said “thank you for fixing my store” and silly said “no problem”

when silly turned around to leave he bumped into a honey jar making it fall to the ground.

And you know what happen then….

AAAHHHH!

July 17, 2008 1:07 PM

john galloway said...

MY SPIRIT

My Mommy told me that we will have a baby coming soon
Dose that mean ill have to share my room? She said that she
Will be here in a month, But I don’t want her to come! Its my
Room my toys she can sleep up front! I don’t want no sista don’t
Want no little girl I want to stay in my own little world.Dont bring no baby please, please, please! Dont have no girl just keep me! Dont want no girl don’t want no baby make it right before I go crazy

You bring her toys you bring her gifts take them back in
My house she can’t live! Days go by I cry and cry that baby
Will ruin my life that baby will be bad I can feel in my spirit
She’ll yell and cry I can just hear it. Don’t want no girl
Don’t want no baby make it right before I go crazy!

The baby comes im Very Very mad she can’t live here take
Her back .she reaches out to me I pick her up she falls asleep
In my arms she breaths softly I can just hear it she is a baby
She’s my little sista ill call her spirit.

July 17, 2008 1:20 PM

Deonte said...

SPARE CHANGE

Every time I’m in a car and we’re driving, I always
see this lady. She always has on the same ripped jeans
and the same brown shirt with the big whole in the side.
She always comes up to the driver seat window with a dusty
can. The only words that ever came out of her mouth was,
“spare change.” I felt sorry for her, but then again did I?
Maybe there was a reason she was homeless. I did not want
to ask her because that would be rude. So I guess I’ll never
find out why she’s homeless begging for spare change.

Deonte Jones July 29, 2008

July 29, 2008 8:04 PM

john f. said...

I hate you
I hate you
I don’t like you
You make me sick
You make feel like im getting hit
With a stick
In the head,
getting sprayed with mase in the face
you make me feel like im getting snatched from gods holy grace
that’s why I hate

July 31, 2008 4:00 PM

SLAYTON G. said...

TOUCHDOWN-1

Excuse me miss I’m not trying to be a rude dude
But I like to complement pretty girls like you
And I wanted to say you look lovely
And if you gave me a chance to be your man you would love me
I was thinking I started to wonder
Would it be okay for me to get your number?
My name Slayton *** ** *6
Cause you the type of woman I’d like to get with

By Slayton G.

August 1, 2008 1:15 PM

Welcome

2008-05-23T03:02:00.000-07:00

This is an interactive blog for the young African American adolescent males participating in the University of Illinois at Chicago first African American Adolescent Male Summer Literacy Institute.

As Director of the Institute, I welcome each of you. It is my hope that you become the detailers of the African American young male experience throughout the world. You are encouraged to write without halting ambiguity.

We will use this Literacy Blog to digitize our voices across several Chicagoland communities by strengthening the connections among reading, writing, and action.

Brother Author, Dr. T.