Dedicated to the two New York Cops Murdered on Saturday, December 20, 2014.
Let me tell you a story about how #Allhumanlivesmatters.
When you murder anyone,
You are murdering his/her family.
You are murdering that person’s could have been future.
You are murdering the community’s pulse.
You are putting a toe tag on that could have been innovations of humanity.
How many of us have cops in our families?
How many of us calls that cop our son?
How many of us calls that cop our daughter?
How many of us calls that cop our husband?
How many of us calls that cop our wife?
How many of us calls that cop our neighbor?
I believe that #Whitelivesmatters.
I believe that #Blacklivesmatters.
I believe that #Hispaniclivesmatters.
I actually believe that #AllHumanlivesmatters.
You don’t get to murder someone because you think
you have the right to do so.
When you murder someone, you are actually murdering your SOUL.
We are ONE SOUL after all.
There is no justification for murdering anyone.
There is no justification for murdering anyone.
You see race and economic status are just control constructs to divide people against each other.
If only DNA was judge and jury, then we would discover that all of us are ONE people.
I believe RACISM is alive and well.
RACISM is alive and well because of ignorance.
When you teach your kids to look negatively at others differences,
You create a culture of bullying.
When you believe you are better than someone, you start to
act in such a way; that puts a question mark on Humanity’s
OUR CHILDREN ARE WATCHING US EACH AND EVERY DAY.
We must teach them that #AllHumanlivesmatters.
Truthfully, if all this murdering continues;
Then there won’t be a human race.
Only a skull somewhere in the future, with worms and dirt lying in a forgotten jungle.
Change our HUMAN narrative.
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.
The Sun wrote my shine!
Its soul permeates through to
the cells of my TEMPLE ME.
Then I raised my arms up
to you, Father God!
For my faith’s knowing announced, ‘You’re Here!’
Excited was I
Of another grand SURPRISE;
That releasing miracle smile of another Sunrise.
To wake up again in
the theater of your Wise.
For this day, still unknown
to me is the EPICENTER of my
Moment’s unfolding Destinies.
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.
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
I pray that the angel of peace blocks any harmful intent from manifesting upon the streets of Chicago. I choose to imagine angels besides you, your sons and daughters, as they journey back and forth. I can imagine the beating hearts of all of God’s children transforming into angelic deep red flaming torches; that can give cleansing light to another lonely SOUL. I believe with all my heart that the peoples of your neighborhood, my neighborhood and all neighborhoods shall know for the first time sacred peace. Let the words, ‘I am peace’ stir about in the darkest places of human hate. Let that rooted flag of peace bring us all to the Mountaintop of Sacred Brotherhood. Let the petty things. Those temporary material things fade away into that which is far behind us. Let our shared Soul lights of our still loving humanity draw strength from Divinity. For I stand in a space of gratitude because I know that God is still on the throne. Sending out the breaths of being blessed protected to all my fellow human beings and our pets. In my prayer hands’ release. Amen.
Here is a 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