Change Poems

This life is a wonderful gift .. accept it, embrace it. 
It starts with a new day .. wake up and greet it.
Life is a challenge .. take it head on and meet it.
Full of opportunity .. use it, don't waste it.

This life is a mystery .. unfold it, solve it.
It starts with meaning .. wake up and understand it.
Life is a goal .. take it head on and achieve it.
Full of promise .. fulfill it but keep it.

This life is a tragedy .. face it, accept it.
It starts with pain .. wake up and help numb it.
Life is a struggle .. take it head on and fight it.
Full of sorrow .. sorry, just overcome it.

This life is precious .. hold it, treasure it,
It starts with hope .. wake up and feel it.
Life is a choice .. take it head on and make it.
Full of knowledge .. use it, don't abuse it.

This life is adventurous .. enjoy it, explore it.
It starts with a duty .. wake up and perform it.
Life is love .. take it full on and love it.
Full of beauty .. praise it and behold it.

That life is life .. live it, learn and grow
Life is good .. be good with all that you know.

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.

At rest on a stair landing,
They feel it
Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship,
Though the swell is gentle.

And deep in mirrors
They rediscover
The face of the boy as he practices trying
His father’s tie there in secret

And the face of that father,
Still warm with the mystery of lather.
They are more fathers than sons themselves now.
Something is filling them, something

That is like the twilight sound
Of the crickets, immense,
Filling the woods at the foot of the slope
Behind their mortgaged houses.

I’ve been black long enough.

Long enough to know about the middle passage
Men, women, children, regardless of age
Stuffed in a ship, like animals in a cage

Long enough to know about slavery
And the white man’s feeling of mastery
Causing human beings a lifetime of misery

Long enough to know about Jim Crow
The unjust laws, instituted, blow after blow
Crushing the spirit of those they refused to know

Long enough to know about lynchings
The ‘strange fruit’ hanging from trees
After enduring a myriad of indignities

I’ve been black long enough.

Long enough to see separate but ‘un’equal classrooms
Schools with computers, others with, maybe, brooms
Leading inevitably to unequal boardrooms

Long enough to see the Civil Rights movement
Its effect on America barely a dent
Many courageous freedom fighters came and went

Long enough to see housing inequality
Driving past neighborhoods with no diversity
Wondering will we ever have inclusivity

Long enough to see the police forget
Those they are sworn to serve and protect
Instead they put a knee on their neck

I’ve been black long enough

Long enough to experience racial discrimination
I have felt it on more than one occasion
One time as a child on a family vacation

I was ten when I jumped into the motel pool
The white folks scattered; (was I made of stool?)
And glared at me as if I was the fool

Or when our family moved into a neighborhood
Only to watch signs pop up on placard and wood
‘For Sale’ signs to get the hell out of the hood

The confederate flag flew at my oldest son’s school
So what are concerned parents to do?
We dialogued a resolution until all parties were cool

I’ve been black long enough.

Hopeful or hopeless? Probably more of the latter
POTUS can’t even say the words ‘Black Lives Matter’
To some I may sound like a man full of blather

I’m not, it’s just that I’ve been black long enough
To know that enough is enough.

Penned June 4, 2020

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

I went out at night alone;
  The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings—
  I bore my sorrow heavily.

But when I lifted up my head
  From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
  Burn steadily as long ago.

From windows in my father’s house,
  Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
I watched Orion as a girl
  Above another city’s lights.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
   The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
  The faithful beauty of the stars.

When I was young on rainy days,
Alone on my front porch I'd play.
I'd lose myself in another time
That I could create with my toys and my mind.

Tomorrow never mattered to me,
For that was where I would always be.
There would be no hurt, no pain, no tears,
There were no worries; there was nothing to fear.

But as I grew up and everything changed,
I realized that life was no easy game.
You lived by the rules that the outside world made,
And that feeling of safety would ultimately fade.

You walked a fine line as you faced every day,
Filled with constant surprises as you went on your way.
And your life could change in the blink of an eye,
And failure could come no matter how hard you tried.

You would fight many battles, as you tarried along.
Sometimes you'd be right, but more times you'd be wrong.
So many people you'd love and you'd hate,
But you had to keep going because life wouldn't wait.

And lost in that mess that you'd make every day
And behind all those senseless and stupid mistakes
Would be moments so splendid, so perfect and fine,
You would wish that they all could be frozen in time.

Cherished moments with family, the fulfillment of dreams,
Those brief special moments, and the boring routines.
The excitement of learning just who you could be,
And finding that happiness was not guaranteed.

Discovering, with relief, your niche in this world,
Achieving so much but still wanting more.
Through births and some losses, you'd survive on just hope,
Always searching for ways to escape and to cope.

And then there'd be love to nourish your heart,
And sadness and tears when that love fell apart.
You would go through the stages of life as they came.
You would grow up and grow old and constantly change.

You'd see beautiful things in this exceptional world,
The wonder and power of nature unfurled.
You would witness the kindness of our own human race.
But also the destruction and chaos we make.

Indeed as a child I had no real clue
About what was coming and what I'd go through.
And although I do miss that innocent peace,
I treasure each moment that brought me to me.

But still when it's dark and rainy sometimes,
My cozy front porch will come gently to mind.
And I'll long for a chance to just steal away
And curl up on that porch with my toys and just play.

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

I heard the voices scream
“Nigger, best shut your mouth.”
When prejudice ran wild
While hatred ruled the south

I heard the voices scream
“Nigger, back of the bus.”
Never knew why whites thought
They were better than us

I heard the voices scream
“Nigger’s setting off sparks.”
When they saw the courage
Of the great Rosa Parks

I heard the voices scream
“Niggers can’t go on strike.”
But instead of the bus
To our jobs we would hike

I heard the voices scream
“We black folks have our pride.”
As we walked hand in hand
And stood there side by side

I heard “I have a Dream.”
By Martin Luther King,
“If we stick with this thing
The voices will not scream.”

Heard, “Thank God Almighty,"
And “I am Free at Last."
Prejudice and hatred
Would now live in the past

I heard people singing
Songs full of love and peace
I heard people praying
For racism to cease

I heard the voices scream
“Nigger, pick my cotton
Color girl wash my floors”
Words won’t be forgotten

I heard the voices scream
“White man’s out and about.”
I heard, “I Have a Dream"
Just as the shots rang out

I heard the teardrops fall
I heard God's Angels sing
I heard the black man say,
“They murdered Doctor King.”

I heard the voices scream
“Revenge is what we seek.”
And not, “I Have a Dream
Someday our race will peak.”

I heard the voices scream
“We must stick together
Carry out Martin's dream
If it takes forever.”

I heard the voices scream
“We’ve won our Civil Rights.”
The words, “I Have a Dream
We’re equal to the whites.”

I heard the voices scream
“Racism’s here to stay
But thank God it isn’t
As bad as yesterday.”

I heard the voices scream,
“Nigger, back of the bus.”
Never knew why whites thought
They were better than us

I heard my own voice scream
When my sweet Momma died
Leaving her legacy
Her honor and her pride

I heard, “I think I'll sit
I'm tired and it's dark"
Were said by my Momma
Whose name was Rosa Parks

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

My life is changing.
The life that I've had,
It's changing forever,
But no need to be sad.

It's time to move on,
Time to start anew.
I jumped from the nest.
With some trouble, I flew.

I might hit a few bumps,
Maybe made a wrong turn,
But all of those troubles
Are lessons I'll learn.

So as my life changes,
I hope that you'll see
It's you who I'll credit
For the life that I lead.

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

I paused to stand and watch a man who had come to the road's divide.
My wonder soared as I watched his stare slowly shift from side to side.
He stood as if not noticing that many passed him by.
They moved without a second glance down the road most traveled by.

Then as I watched, he stepped full stride toward the path of lesser wear,
And soon he vanished from my view round a bend into the snare.
I soon, like him, stood center road, faced with that daunting choice.
My gaze down his road, causing fear, I quenched my inner voice.

For miles I walked the crowded road breathing dust from others' feet,
Until in despair I stopped and stood, my heart and soul deplete.
I gazed about, still holding hope, the other path I'd see.
On yonder hill I saw him there, the man who mentored me.

The path between us steep and rough, unforged with dangers there,
Yet still I left my path of friends, ignoring their bewares.
I pressed through hardship, pain and fear o'er rocks jagged and bent.
In time I crashed limp on that path, my every resource spent.

But then a warming touch I felt, a friendly voice I heard.
It said, get up and tread this path. I rose without a word.
And as I looked, I saw him there, he continued on his way.
His only words as he walked on..."You're on the path, now stay."

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I chose in err.
But looking back, perhaps as well...all memories now seem fair.
Much time I spent on the beaten path, and what I learned, immense.
But I reached, at last, the other path, and it has still made all of the difference.

Inspired by Robert Frost

Published by Family Friend Poems with the author's permission.

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken;
Doing more harm here than slander and lies;
On it is many a strong spirit broken,
And with it many a good purpose dies.
It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning
And robs us of courage we need through the day:
It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning
And laughs when we falter and fall by the way.

Can't is the father of feeble endeavor,
The parent of terror and half-hearted work;
It weakens the efforts of artisans clever,
And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk.
It poisons the soul of the man with a vision,
It stifles in infancy many a plan;
It greets honest toiling with open derision
And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man.

Can't is a word none should speak without blushing;
To utter it should be a symbol of shame;
Ambition and courage it daily is crushing;
It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim.
Despise it with all of your hatred of error;
Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain;
Arm against it as a creature of terror,
And all that you dream of you some day shall gain.

Can't is the word that is foe to ambition,
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and skill.
Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying,
For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man;
Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
And answer this demon by saying: "I can."