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 TITLE:
InnerVisions
AUTHOR:
Detroit Black Writer’s Guild (1994)
ISBN:
0-961-3078-8-9
Price:
$15.00 + ($2.00 shipping & handling)
DESCRIPTION:
A poetry anthology of over fifty African-American Poets. 200 pages. Soft
back.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Part I
– Winners of The Paul Laurence Dunbar Poetry Contest 1991 to 1994.
Part II
– InnerVisions’ Poets
Part III
– A Salute to Davison Elementary School Teachers.
EXCERPTS:
Ghetto Morning—Ghetto Evening
Morning silently commands the receding glove of night,
velvet rays invade rustling streets at twilight.
In the dawn, the ghetto’s quiet,
except for the flowers that rage and riot,
Dew drops shimmer like beads of hope,
transforming lines of clothes into jeweled ropes.
Magic is captured in tiny chips of broken glass,
that glisten like diamonds on quilts of ragged grass.
The ghetto’s heart sings in the waking breeze,
tin cans dance down alleys to beat of Afro-melodies.
Pastel beams steal through the gates of the public park,
retrieving the pond’s somber face from the dust of dark.
Rainbows crown the irregular tops of misty trees,
where brown birds chatter in feathered fraternities.
~ ~ ~
Under evening’s umbrella, the ghetto’s in strange relief,
her gray and purple shadows, a mysterious motif.
Her asphalt arms reach out to the conqueror and foe,
while under neon lights, passions grow.
From noisy tenements, curious curls of smoke rise,
like fashioned hair beneath star-less skies.
Flirting moonbeams kiss her concrete face,
spinning the maze of electrical wires into her necklace.
From her swollen bosom, the smell of wet garbage looms,
defying backyard garden’s inferior perfume.
Evening’s futile voices drift across her stone heart,
caressing the ears of broken spirits loitering in the dark.
Night weaves across the ghetto’s weft like gripping fingers,
capturing tender threads of light that dare to linger.
On her dark tapestry, iron flowers are stitched,
while beneath sightless street lamps,
hope searches desperately for its niche....
James Neal Ware
A Gathering in the Field
There was a gathering in the field
of Sisters.
Sitting around a grand table
sipping tea
exchanging words like
diamonds
on their tongues.
Writing their very
essence
on the wind
like so much magic.
And the stars
came down from Heaven
and listened...
as these Sisters
gathered in the field
weaving tales of
womanlove and kinship
spreading their wings in flight
through Her story times.
Back to great-grams
who gave them queenly beauty
dipped in sun-ripened plum juice
poured in finest crystal
shimmering reflections in
golden rivers of
mystical revelations like
so much Africa Blood
pumping life through the
veins of the Nile
giving birth to
Her future generations
of Ebony, Bronze, and Topaz
daughters
gathered in the field...
The stars came down
from Heaven, listened,
and later...
whispered
all they’d heard
to the Moon.
Cheryl Lynn Pastor
l
When We Were In Love
It was long, long ago
when we were in love
fighting, brooding, caressing,
broadcasting young affection
Countless ages ago
our love brought forth new life
squalling, squealing, suckling,
the three of us, happy babies together
But a mindless immature shadow
cast its elongated ghost, dimmed our path,
snatched from us our right to choose
eons ago
Intruding, know-it-all soothsayers
nursed our shortcomings,
rolled them around forked tongues,
spit them in our faces
a million years ago
Till binding thoughts of forever
smothered, constricted, finally snapped
flinging two deflated souls to the outermost parts of
existence
light years ago
But it was just seconds ago
after time itself erased the pain
and only a thought lingered
could I reflect on
when we... were in love....
Dianne White-Morris
King David
You have invaded my island,
With green plastic soldiers and stuffed teddy bears,
Your laughter tickles my busy-mom brain,
And I love you where the music ceases,
and there is only the thumping-drum rhythm of your heart.
You rule my world
With a peppermint scepter from a potty-chair throne,
Your shining eyes stop my heart,
And I love you where the sun sets,
and the lavender gentleness of evening surrounds us.
You reign over my dynasty
With sticky candy hands, and sand between your toes,
Your questions make me remember the sweet wonder of life,
And I love you where words end,
and there is nothing more to write.
I, your loyal, humble subject,
Long to give you Heaven and earth,
And strength, and wisdom, and joy, and grace, and goodness,
And my son, I love you where rainbows stop,
and the horizon stretches to forever....
Diane K. Hill
Thinking of You
Late at night, when clouds be rushing
beneath the hollow moon,
And them and their shadows running,
like steeple chasing goons,
I be thinking of you, my feelings stirred,
I be in my bed, and you in yours.
And I'm thinking I hear your voice,
like chimes upon the wind,
Calling me to task,
to ink my rusty pen,
To tell you of my love,
the way I feel within,
To tell you my despairs,
and how lonely I have been.
And I do be wishing,
I could reach across the space,
And touch my aging fingers,
to your lovely face,
To test for myself your warmth,
so that I may verily tell,
That you be one living,
and be one living well.
But me? I be in my bed,
and you… you be in yours....
Herbert R. Metoyer
The Marchers
They marched bound against futility
with preemptive mirrors reflecting lies
as kindred slurped black-eyed peas
moving well-heeled into the Nile of night.
They marched without dire understanding
a feat beyond the capacities of social folk
as their rabbit-feet carried none the weight
along the rugged pit-path laid out for them.
They marched with the integrity of Malcolm’s X
caught dripping the blood of a Christian child
sure-footed in the hail of bullets
fired to protect the innocent K-9’s attacking.
They marched...
They marched....
Robert J. Haynes
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