Skip to main content

Yoruba Ode to My Father (Rachel Jackson-Lafayette, LA)

Father of children, students, and words
you are a coach in training.
You value beauty lost to the masses.
The masses value order you dismiss.
Son of the farmer, the seamstress, the fields
you chose the ladder of knowledge.
Yet you have labored to fill our bellies.
You carve stone to make bread.
The archive of facts held in your head
is too vast for even the bookshelves.
The tower of papers inside your household
rises to meet the rooftop.
You are a destroyer of neatness.
Maker of feasts that enlighten the palette
Drinker of liquors that confuse large horses.
Hider of bottles in expert locations.
You are a lover of sadness.
You are a fisher of songs.
To my childish eyes you bring understanding
of music and laughter and living.
But the hardships of life
have melted you down.
A wooden spoon now stirs you.
You are a curious soup.


Popular posts from this blog

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

"I Love You" is Enough (Louis Toliver Jr)

Please don’t stress I see what you do all year Everyday you show me Through your actions How much you care for me But please don’t stress It’s not money or possessions That make me give my life to you It’s the moments that are small When people don’t care to look That you show your love most So don’t stress to demonstrate What you already know you do Just say “I love you” and… My underwear will come off for you

God Will Cry (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

This is your soul trying to connect to you for last the time. We have come to the final crossroad in our life. This is the end. These are our last earthly breaths.
From this abuse of yourself, we will both die. You will be a rotting corpse. I will fade away into Darkness. People may mourn your death, at first, but you will be forgotten, while I am left here molested by the hands of Hell.
God will cry, “My child didn’t fulfill her purpose.”
I’m begging you; don’t do this. It has been a slow ride, a slow descent to suicide.