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 grave gives me no hope.
Dropping the soap of six feet deep no hope.
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!
This is my look.
A well dressed hook.
Pay attention America to
this Strong Black brother.
Here to tell each and every one of you to love one another.
A gift from my Moms.
This is the soldier.
That battlefield version of me.
That Devoted Father version of me.
Got Strong Brotha swag.
A swagger that taps into the roots of my family and community.
I believe that Strong Black men are not urban myths.
Can’t you see me right here?
A strong Black man.
My failures and
Moments of me that has brought my Soul this far.
I am the journey.
I am the Hope of the American Negro Slave.
I am a strong,
Brotha on his way.
To making this world for my babies a better place.
live on in black and white…..
‘That’s how I remember those moments’ histories.
Shifting winds hold within
the currents of those missed
and treasured thens.
Those thens where we left our tears,
our orgasms, and teasing fears.
All of those lived breaths.
Still, with us in spirit.
The electric taste of background chatter
attends to our silhouette shadows…
Those spiritual echoes…
Whispers to us in the dwelling
spaces of healing silience.
Following behind us patiently,
as our footsteps takes its last breaths.
The quantum fuel of it’s cosmic depths.
This magical Soul of creative love
Fills my gaze with sovereign forces
of those elusive stories being birthed into being by
the unfolding cosmic mystery of these living versions of me.
Amen to the Cosmic Gaze that follows me in my footsteps’ shadows.
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
‘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.
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