Dangerous – by Howard Robinson ( Inspired by Joey Bad@$$)

My minds my smith and western,

Keeping it real is my profession.

Life’s got me stressing.


It’s a blessing.

Lord Knows.

I got the strength.

I past the spliff.

Ignite the flames.

Take a lift.

Switch my souls shift.

Release this gift.

Oh Boy!

I done. Did it!

Come and get it.

Gargle up in my stomach and watch me spit it.

Must forgive it.

I repented.

Almost ascended.


Selma, mighty Selma (2014)

Tananarive Due Writes

“People are trapped in history, and history is trapped in them.”  –James Baldwin

la_ca_1021_selma David Oyelowo as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in Selma.

I was raised by two civil rights activists – attorney John Due and the late Patricia Stephens Due—so stories of Martin Luther King, Jr. were common in my house. My mother first met Dr. King at a CORE (Congress of Racial Equality) workshop in Miami in 1959. My aunt, Priscilla Stephens Kruize, who attended with her, is an activist. Our godparents were activists, black and white.

Even without an official holiday, my sisters and I got to skip school every January 15 for annual birthday celebrations that brought neighbors, activists and politicians to our home to reflect on Dr. King and the legacy of The Movement. We held hands, listened to Dr. King’s speeches, and sang “We Shall Overcome.” As an adult, I co-authored a civil rights…

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On Malcolm, Martin and that X-Men Analogy Thing

Great Article

Phenderson Djèlí Clark

malcolmmagnetoOn the 50th anniversary of the assassination of the activist, orator and the man once referred to in eulogy by the late Ossie Davis as “Our Shining Black Prince,” El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (most commonly known as Malcolm X), I quite foolishly decide to wade into that whole X-Men analogy thingy. Of course I’ve been warned. Of course I know better. But since when has that stopped me? So then, let’s do this thing.

And that supremely bad ass Malcolm & Magneto mash-up art you’re seeing, is courtesy of the amazing John Jennings and his 2012-2013 exhibit Black Kirby. If yuh dunno, now yuh know.

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The Vanguard – By Howard Robinson

The protector of the people.

Bound by the burden of the universe to set things equal.

His words are lethal.

His eyes are sharp and shrewd. Careful.

There are those who are deceitful.

The laws of the lands have been mowed to mistreat you.

The sweet aroma of your mother.

The bludgeoned bead of sweat from your fathers. Brow.

Teeming with hope and frustration.

The pains and aches of his toil.

Steams and burns like corn inside tinfoil.

His jaw crunched and loyal.

His mind wonders. Robbed of the truth.

His true bloodline is royal.

Kings and queens with wealth and glory.

Sacred songs and salads tossed upward in glory.

No less gory. This story.

His eyes blinks. Why does this world ignore me?

Why does the bull of life continue to gore me?

Why when I fly! My own try to floor me?

Is it my skin that makes those deplore me?

I was born anew in a world streaming with hate.

I did not choose this fate.

Black Woman – By Howard Robinson

The centerpiece of peace.

Full homes for centuries.

Beaming with the strength of the tyrannical iron throne.

Worn from centuries of abuse, insidious misuse

Fashioned from the great oak stump

snatched. Seared from the Sahara

Deserted. And sieged by the white eyed owl

Who! Claimed by righteousness he was hers.

Transported through torrential terrains. Cast

Into the masters hand to be sculpted. Painstakingly.

A makeshift masterpiece

Capable of supporting her own tired legs

and those who weigh down her back.

Despite constant cracks and fractures. Her frame

never shrinks in stature.

Shrouded eyes trip around

Carefully curved cocoa beans curvatures

Lined neatly and polished.

Free after years of wear and tear after the abolish.

Once at peace she will be showered in decorative sheets.

Placed at head of the table where her makers will greet.

And pull out her chair and pronounce!

That now!

She shall eat.

Little Black Boy – By Howard Robinson

Little black boy struggles to be expected.

Little black boy fights to be accepted.

Little black boy never good enough for society.

Little black boy whose future is never a priority.

Little black boy belongs in jail.

Little black boy lives in a capitalistic hell.

Little black boy has no dreams.

Little black boy always lurks behind the scenes.

Little black boy always forgotten.

Little black boy defeated and down trodden.

Little black boy treated like Bin Laden.

Little black boy only wants to be noticed.

Little black boy is given drugs so that he can’t focus.

Little black boy has no rights.

Little black boy we provoke you to fight!

Little black boy you have no place!

Little black boy we hate you because of your race!

Little black boy has a colorless face.

Little black boy has no home.

Little black boy is a king without his throne.

Indica – by Howard Robinson

Whenever I enter the woods. The bush. The Kush.

My soul lifts. Gravitations shift. Time fractures its rift.

All heads bowed in humility. Praising the father’s gifts.

Flame quickly engulfs the green. Seasoning for the soul.

The weight of the world temporarily loses its hold.

My mind finally has time to compose.

And dispose. Of the let downs and no’s.

Who knows? How deep the darkness go’s.

Rising Flame – by Howard Robinson

Fireball blowing, blazing, amazing.

At the jaw dropped mouths of those who have come to see.

The kid who will change the world.

Tilt the earth’s axis and make your grandmothers wig swirl.

The guy who respects all ladies but loves a few.

The guy who is loyal to his people but to only one will I say I do.

How do I know that all of these are true?

Well if you proclaim it!

Then there is nothing that you cannot do.

The suffering is only temporary.

And only worsens if you stay stationary.

Work is mandatory.

If you want the words to fill your story.

And to bask in the wonders of glory

Your spirit will shine and attract.

All that is good will gladly carry the demons latched. To your back.

The terror of the night will cease.

The beast will have his plate snatched.

From directly underneath.

His greedy teeth and fowl intentions.

His slimy ways that left his heart in limbo’s suspension.

The pride of your people will guide.

Abide and move with each passing stride.

With grace, humility and pain.

Never forget those who struggled for your tomorrows gain.

Let their strain whittle into your brain.

Into a masterpiece of perfection.

Standing tall with a head raised with the upmost satisfaction.

The kid is now in action.

And excuse me and my tone. This only happens when I’m spazzing.

You know how the jazz men be all jiving.

Switching and swirling like a teen gone drunk driving.

With no chance of survival.

I ended up thriving.

Faces shook at my presence.

They are aware that the king is now arriving.

Praise Him by – Howard Robinson

Are we so far removed?

That we ignore when the lord gives us his blessing?

The strain of constant stressing.

Left time for no acknowledgement.

Of his grace, his face.

Shrouded and clouded.

By his believers who claim they can’t live without it.

I doubt it.

Even fewer are actually about it.

It makes you think.

Mind forever entranced. Faith dance.

Makes us doubt our spirits stance.

Are we so focused on removing the pain that we forget the glory?

Am I so stuck in another’s world that I forget my own story?

No wonder why it seems the hearts of others ignore me.

I am lost and try to attach.  Myself to their being.

Never truly seeing.

That my own tattered heart was grieving.

My own spirits suspiciously depleting.

Deaths blinding stare ever gleaming.

Hopes illustrious luster ever sheening.

The gates of destruction. The truth was screening.

My own soul was sucked from my being.

No telling what truths are true.

AM I The ProbleM?

What motivations can I attain to stop them?

Soul majesty majestic magic.


Few had it.

Is it the product of a cycle?

Am I Just a carbonated component of the cosmos?

AM I the stuff that makes the stars glow?

It makes since but it’s all too strange.

How decadent the truth and how far we refrain.

From its truth and habits.

The few of us that dare to grasp it.

Compassion and love everlasting.

The spirits give us strength and prosperity.

We suckle at life’s teat.

Tithes of terror slowly creep.

Around at night.

Our hands levitate and have a life of their own.

My own golden gleam engulfs my castle.

The lord’s tools have equipped me for battle.

As I mount the spirits of those before me.

I will slay all challenges with my head held high.

In the hearts of hearts I know that I am destined.

No small matter or transgression.

Can lessen my heart and glory.

Even though I know about the gory.

Side of this hero’s epic.

But why stress it?

Medication is the best way to combat the waiting.

My heart and soul could always use some dating.

Peace and solace are the agendas.

The minutes of the day are mine.

Only I chose how I spend them.

I rule over the now with my heart in the ground.

Bound by my ancestors sound to heal the hollow hearts of those around.

Articulating Honesty- by Howard Robinson


Mind floating with thoughts and possibilities.

Time winding down fast.

Destroying my capabilities. Sensibilities.

Penalties of life and lies.

Configurations of jealously and hatred.

Only circumvent pain and degradation.


Drops of rain seeping into the foundation.

Crossing Rivers.

Causing Shivers.

The Devils and Death both


And lie and lay and talk and pray.

And say

I want to be like you some day.

Truth. Fact. Fiction.

All account on the accountants accounts of the situation.

Both debating.

Tempers escalating.

Friends on the other side of the phone impatiently waiting.

It’s all a game

That were forced to play.

Just like kids with catholic parents are forced to pray.


We chose to use, abuse, and lose.