ALL THE FLOWERS
by Andrea Clinton
Where are all the flowers, they used to be at my door.
Guys don’t do that sort of thing any more.
Where are all the flowers, been a long time coming,
guys too busy being selfish and hum-drumming.
Will I ever get my yellow roses, so pretty, one of a kind;
I think flowers are the furthest thing from a man’s mind.
Where’s my dang roses? On sale they’ll stay;
cause there’s more growing, than men are giving away.
No more roses? Then chivalry is dead;
because men aren’t giving their loving, and hardly ever wed.
Don’t wonder why we’re independent and do for ourselves,
we only ask for flowers, you act like we asked for your wealth.
“Give us our blasted Roses!”
******************************************************************************************************
WOMEN WHO DISRESPECT
by Andrea Clinton
Women who disrespect themselves,
Men regard them like an emergency piss
in an alley.
******************************************************************************************************
From the, Life Sucks, poetry series:
ODE TO 4TH GRADE TEACHER
Life sucks and then we die
Should stick a needle in your eye
And watch the blood drip to your thigh
For things you said that I despise
And all your comments & white lies
That otherwise would hypnotize
A mind that’s weak & colonized
And so meek it merely cries
And grows weary until it dies
or
Raisin in the sun, it fries
My mind was strong, believed no lies
I’m sure you saw it in my eyes
It’s why me, you despised
Locked in closet, ’til I’d abide
Part of you hoped I died
But I went on, teary-eyed
Through hardships & lots of sighs
Said I was ghetto, black bird in pie
But I survived, out wit’ ya eye
Got 4 degrees and don’t get high
While ya kid’s lost, me oh my
***Crack Era was a beast wasn’t it***
I am
mad you were old and probably died
Stuck with grief, now I despise
YOU!
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Incident
by Countee Cullen
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, ‘Nigger.’
I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That’s all that I remember.
*******
Poem for Black History Month
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