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.
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