“The Dawn of a Nine Year Old Boy’s Angelic Eyes.”

chillthepoet2016

 

Where did all the lights go?

As I stepped out of the back door;

Going to take the garbage out.

About to open the garbage can.

My little nine year old self.

Found himself suddenly in

The midst of angry growling sounds.

Who is growling?

or better yet how many folks were growling around me?

The darkness in the alley felt so thick.

It was all around me.

And then I felt what seemed like one man,

two men or a whole crowd of bitter men surrounding me.

Didn’t have time to feel fear.

I just knew something was wrong.

I could taste so much death around me.

The thickness in the air was a sign of

what was upon me.

Then I saw a crowd of lit up eyes around me.

Coming closer…

Now right in front of me.

I could taste the end of me.

What were these things around me?

Hungry wolves?

I couldn’t tell at all.

Suddenly, I could hear simultaneously

So many triggers being pulled towards me.

I felt the hunters’ wrath upon me.

Then my soul’s light came upon me.

Whispered to me that you will be okay honey.

Then an angel pulled my beautiful soul out of

my nine year old body.

As a hundred bullets ripped apart my nine year old body.

I cried!

I cried, as wicked men murdered me!

I just wanted to be held one more time

by my loving mommy.

I just wanted to play baseball one more time,

with my loving daddy!

There was nothing that I could do!

Those wicked men shot off my new brand name shoes.

All that wicked laughing got louder and louder,

And police sirens stirred about and got closer.

All those wicked evil men got away.

My mommy ran out the house

and fell on top of me.

Lifted up her prayer hands

over my dead nine year old body.

All that gruesome horror

became my prime time news story.

Every part of my nine year old body

was scattered over the….

Wait a minute! The lights just came on again

in the alley.

And my mother fainted,

where she once prayed over me.

The police bagged up parts of my once living body.

My mother was taken quickly to be hospitalized.

She refused to open her once hopeful eyes.

I was practicing spreading my angel’s wings.

Had to stay close to momma

And make sure everything was okay.

I sang to my mother our favorite church song

Entitled, “Peace Still Survives.”

About 4:00am in the hospital bed;

She finally opened her eyes.

I stood proud, with heaven’s Angelic wings

upon my back.

And told her that I will always love her;

There is no beginning or end in my

forever loving vocabulary.

She said, “Please don’t go my son!”

I kissed my mother one last time on the head.

I disappeared right there in front of her.

Appeared once more at the garbage can.

Opened the lid and put the garbage bag

in the garbage can.

Had to finish my last chore.

To honor my mother and father.

There were so many bullets…

So much blood.

I could see a toe and a finger

behind the garbage can.

I cried and said, “And soon wicked men will be no more!”

I am a churchin type of nine year old boy.

I thought of Psalm 23 one last time.

Prayed for my Mom and Dad one more time.

Prayed to God and the angels to stop ‘Black on Black crimes.’

Then I vanished.

God called me home.

What I left behind, as the sunshine filled up that alley

was an angel’s feather.

Ms. Johnston my neighbor of 94 years of age

lives next door to my house.

Slowly walks out to the alley,

Where I was murdered last night.

She walks on a walking cane.

Used to babysit me since I was born.

She fell on her praying knees and cried and said,”

Why? O Why? Did you take that precious nine year old boy away?

Then Ms. Johnston looked over and saw my angel’s feather;

that I had left behind.

She looks toward the cloudy blue smiling skies and says,

“I get it, God! You are recruiting the best of us. You are building

your army of angels up. So, you needed the innocence

of a nine year old boy to lead your charge.

I know father God that you are near.

I release all my remaining FEARS!!!

For now heaven possesses our dearest blood.

A nine year old angel boy.

Our champion…

Heaven’s champion is now watching all over us.

And then she sees the face of that nine year old angel boy

Smiling back at her from the cloudy blue clouds,

where the Burnt Orange Sunrise Jewel fills up the morning sky.

Now all of the darkest alleys

And all the darkest places,

Where evil continues to roam shall face a new angelic hero.

This is the Dawn of a nine year old boy’s angelic eyes.

Watching and protecting black children everywhere,

At any time,

with his angelic giving smile.

 

(C) Copyrighted

 

Snowflakes’ Memories in Connecticut

claudeatpeace

A coward emerged from a haunted soul

Despair won over this human soul.

The devil focused whispers of a tip toeing terrorist

Snuffed out the candles of the Many …our all…the American babies and their guardians.

 Condemned the majesty  of the stories, yet to be manifested.

Selfish and damaged ego man, with trashy intents collided to rip the smiles of the Godly United.

My heart breaks at unawares for the snow flakes and innocent stares that’ll never be seen.

Holiday blitz and hand holding moments in front of the once lighted tree now frozen in  what could have been.

Snow flakes, snowflakes, O how I miss those snowflakes that once fell slowly; so, crystallized for automatic memory capture.

 How can I go on around the chorus of the memory, as the chill of winds produces no snowflakes causality?

I stand in the vast field of snow laced what could have been within its center  a tiny grave staring back at me.

I walk towards the small tomb stone and kneel with my tears and bad leg…

I fall unexpectedly and hug the memory to our future. As I cry I see the snowflake of my grief

Knowing that my grief is the grandest starting point….

For new memories….new memories born in the continuing belief that mankind is better than this ego tragedy.

We can heal the empty spaces of human touch, with the innovation …the love…and the hope to go on.

I stand up frozen waist down and a glow of hope sustains and warms me.

The winds shall carry your snow flake memories long beyond my life time.

And always know that your songs my fellow souls will ring steady each and every day that I draw breath.

 

 

(C) copyrighted

 

‘Holding this Six Feet Dirt Nap Down.’

darthclaudecool9

 

With the Eyes of a Child Do I Now See

The always bleak realities.

My mother the evening news told me.

That only death and poverty awaits me.

She told me to hide away my smiles of FREE!

Told me that my dark skin was very ugly.

I cried many tears of journeyed sads.

Father streets told me daily to sell that dope or its going be my ASS!

What was I to do?

How do I respond to these everyday truths?

There are no people on television like me.

Maybe, one or two Brothas and Sistas in an all white show.

This racist reality is what I live every day though.

Maybe, if I get locked up again,

With Jim and Jazz.

I’ll be starring in an African American ensemble cast.

If you want to find basically 12 percent of African American Men.

Then commit a crime.

That will get you incarcerated…

ALL THE TIME!

Robbed Ms.Tillman a few moments ago.

That old lady basically raised me though.

Used to be my babysitter though.

I felt no pain about robbing her ass though.

She broke her hip trying to hold on to her purse though.

I kicked her in her leg though.

I needed that $50.00 more than she did you know.

She will probably be okay though.

All my friends in these streets do the same thing though.

I got to buy that weed and fuck these hoes!

Never had a real father or mother though.

Religious folks always tell me I am a bad seed and have no value though.

Ms. Church told me that I don’t even have a real SOUL!

These uppity people make me feel low though!

Judging me up and down like they God though!

I don’t believe in God no more.

That nigga took away my heart…

I mean my granny though.

No one gives a fuck about me though.

Prison life or death row.

Seems to be my fate though.

I don’t care about me no more yo!

Remember, they said I have no Soul.

About to go out there and stick up, Ms. Church?

And take her out though.

Funny bitch laughing at me every day though.

Gonna take your life right now!

Pulling out my knife right now.

Stabbing her right through the heart right now!

Just killed that bitch right now!

Feeling real good right now!

‘What the fuck just hit me from behind?’

Fucking cops just shot me down.

As they shot me through the heart!

There were no more second chances for me or new starts.

Mother News told the truth about me.

That no one really wants me.

Wish I could have gotten a hug from the TV.

My poor ass just got dead.

All my breaths pouring out finally.

One more black kid dead on these streets.

Gonna get a toe tag noose on my big toe.

I was lynched by my mentality’s foes.

Can’t say I didn’t know?

Into the ground my future goes.

These streets has no soul.

The end.

The grave gives me no hope.

Dropping the soap of six feet deep no hope.

Now buried.

No more me to ever see.

Wait a minute! I can hear the evening news reporting another Brother killed lately.

It is fucked up how in death I get more recognition.

To be that next statistic.

Maybe, you’ll make it and someone will hug and fix it.

Fix the pain before you face the same foolish fate as me.

If only someone had hugged me down.

And told me that I was brilliant and profound.

Maybe, I wouldn’t be holding this six feet dirt nap down.

Oh shit! God don’t leave me NOW!

My story is over NOW!

 

(C) Copyrighted

‘My Literary Legacy’ written by ‘The Namaste Child’ aka Claude Hill

claudierules1

I didn’t write my first short stories and poetry book just for me. I wrote my book as my legacy. I wrote it as a proud African American Male, who loves deeply his beautiful and brilliant African American people. I wrote from varying diverse perspectives. I wrote my book to demonstrate the European, African American and Hispanic influences in my life such as the wisdom of Christianity, the Buddha and various honorable peoples. I wrote to show my curiosities about nature, aging, death, and love. I wrote it to remind us that each of us are one. I wrote it for fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, and the community in general. And it is my hope that in time; when race no longer divides us; that my book is acknowledged as a literary work of art created by a human being. I may not see that day arrive in my lifetime; hopefully, the generations of humanity to come will see that ‘I am a human being.’ Not a racial classification on a government form, a thug or something to hate, but another child of God just living these moments of giving dreams. This is what I say to myself everyday, when I pray into being that blessed protected ‘Psalm 23 version of me. This is who I want to be.

– Claude Hill

Here is the link to my first poetry and short stories book entitled: I AM THE NAMASTE CHILD

A Poet’s Dawning Breaths

In the library at Governors State University
In the library at Governors State University

‘GSUing Upon the Breaths of Now’ written by Claude Robert Hill, IV. (C) Wednesday, April 29, 2015.

The students and the surroundings are somewhat different.
However, apart of me shall always remain in this special place,
where I long ago earned my Bachelors and Masters degree.
Where student activism married my teaching philosophy;
and grew the necessary walk for me to become the professor;
that I was meant to be,
and eventually allowed me to find my writer’s voice.
A Reconstructed Voice.
A perceptual voice grown upon the fields,
where literary lilies and sunflowers
expresses itself in my flourishing curiosities.
My writers pen lies down in the reside of its incarnating words,
within those narrating imaginings…
those counted pages;
that remembers ‘who I was then’
daily manifesting as poems and short stories.
So, here I am at last.
Home again.
Back where a major part of my story began.
A sense of timelessness and family still permeates in my lasting memories.
And I must say, ‘I am HOME again!’
Just GSUing upon the breaths of Now.
where former versions of me continues to reside in its history.

Here is a link to my first poetry and short stories book entitled…I AM THE NAMASTE CHILD