red sun setting...

it was the time

of white stars shining

the spring of the deep forest dent

when sadness settled in

like the gods' seven signs

and the screaming storms

filled the canyons tall

                                                      and the deer ran wild
                                                      and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of the red sun setting
the summer of all hell bent
when sorrow sprang up
through the orange trumpet vine
and the bleeding clouds
filled the rivers red
                                                      and the deer ran wild
                                                      and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of red leaves falling
the autumn of anguish
when agony rolled in
like a cancer’s sick slime
and the blistering hail
filled the white devils’ pail
                                                     and the deer ran wild
                                                     and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of the pale moon rising
the winter of discontent
when grief reigned down
on the green mountain pine
and the howling winds
filled the barren skies
                                                   and the deer ran wild
                                                   and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
the time of                                 white stars shining
                                                   pale moon rising
                                                   red leaves falling
                                                   red sun setting
it was the time
the time when                           white on red maliciously tread
                                                  red on red no longer bred
                                                  red and red no longer red
and the
red son met                               the spring of the deep forest dent
                                                  the summer all hell bent
                                                  the autumn of anguish
                                                  the winter of discontent
and the red sun set

it was the time
the red sun set                         and the deer no longer ran wild
                                                 and the buffalo roamed no more
it was the time
of the red son
                                                 no more
and the red sun
set
.

 

we ain't talkin' cotton.........

fields of white fluff flecked in twigs of brown
holding up skies of whispering strings of dreams
hanging on the old plantation tree
bayous brimming with nightmares
of babies born to die in chains
ghosts of dark annie’s red-haired girl child
now running free in the big house
the big house of her sperm daddy
balls of white turned scarlet red
with the blood-fingers of those starving chained souls
waters turned stagnant from closed minds and hearts of stone
epithets of brown skinned souls etched
into the tree trunk by the noose round their neck
spirits swing there in the silence of their crimes
murder by any other name
murder still
nothin’ civil ‘bout a civil war
rivers run red
from crimes of the bed
all those hopes now laying dead
with babies born but never fed

 

 rivers run red

bodies of white fluff
held up by brown arms already dead
ain’t none of it never ‘nough
murder by any other name
murder still while
rivers run red

and we ain’t talkin’ cotton

- this piece was scribbled in my notebook as i drove through the cotton fields of arkansas last year - there is no editing from the original words - no particular format of "poetry" here - just a rambling stream of consciousness arising from the spirits speaking from those timeless fields of slavery - and this image - this image is literally what my mind "saw" in those empty fields of cotton-