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Children's Stories: This poem is a rewrite of a poem I wrote long ago. The piece is important to me because it is the foundation piece for a work in progress "Children's Stories". These ain't from Mother Goose, and they're pretty damn gory...even scarier, most are true stories, or compilation pieces based on true events. The project is in it's smallest aspect, a book. On a larger scale, it's value as entertainment is a means to provide a platform for discussion, realization, and action on the state of the village youth. I am ready to assemble the book, but feel a compelling urge to help the nation address the holocaust our youth both male and female are suffering and indeed dying from. Our babies are under siege. When if not now, the village must speak. If we tarry now we cede tomorrow. As a woman, mother and North American African, I can be silent no longer. Look for future communiques re: Children's Stories. Without any more pre-amble I present to the village: Lite TriggaThe Ballad of Lite Trigga
...a 12 yr old murderer
i saw on oprah
lite trigga i called him
small tragic figga
destined for the gas chamber
neva gon git no biggalite trigga
amerikan invention
amerikan nitemare
young nigga wit a gun
aint afraid to jack and run
shoot yo baby mamma yo father yo sonhot boys
live hard till they die
and they mammas always cry
yeah they all some bodies chillren
lite trigga
hot boy
bout to be a fried niggayou wanted that mans shit
i guess he took to long to give it up
cause you broke the fo fo
and hit hit hit
even after buster on the flo
ya hit hit hit
a dead nigga sum mo
saying
the trigga kept gettin lighter and lighter
damn nigga
what make you hate yo self so
shootin a corpse of the flo
look just like you
and you hit hit hit
a dead man some mo
do you see yo self on the flo
fly new resident of death rowlite trigga
derranged ass sic little niggas
givin dope to mama and sista
watch out for baby girl
fore they twist her
snortin hop
clamin colors
saw lite trigga on 20/20
infamous for mugging
old black ladies
beating them to the
ground after
he got
$16.00
foodstamps
nothingdamn nigga
would you rob yo mamashe betta be down fo hers
cause I'm down for minewhoo wee
lite trigga
scary ass littel niggado you blame the fruit
or curse the tree
whose monsters are
these
that spring form you and me
you got to nurture the seed
write on the black board
or the world will
whose really responsible when
children kill
and they all some bodies chillren yallwordslanger 99
In a meeting I attended a few months ago, Jerry Brown commented on his surprise that people would be in need of parenting classes. In my opinion, half the worlds problems stem from the fact that hardly anyone parents properly anymore. If you disagree with me I offer you the state of the world to consider and then tell me honestly if the majority of the world leaders couldn't benefit from a time out?
I was sitting in a doctor’s office with my son along with three other
black women. All of these ladies in the room were grandmothers there with
their absent children’s children. I commended the mothers for mothering not
only their own children but their Grandchildren as well. Having been raised
in part by a maternal grandmother, I am witness to the rare ju ju these
special creatures are capable of evoking, an oasis of sanity and security in a
world that doesn’t offer either when parents fail to parent. One lady
remarked her son had just slipped away but her grandson afforded her another chance.
This one is for the Grammas and the babies they save.
LITTLE MAN
I.
GRANDMMAS VOICE
"…his daddy slipped thru da cracks,
got away b4 I could turn darkness/
into lite
faded from the face of now
into
the dear departed
leaving
me to grieve
dead meat
in a hole
2 small
2
hold
my babies
soul.
A
slave
i failed
Spent
years n jail
raised by hard nocs
Known
4 brangin heat
2 da
spot.
Emperor of the 50 shot
Anutha nigga 2 da kopz
Who kept bendin
Tho dey sed stop
Settin fire 2 da block
Ghetto superstarr
Blowin up
Shop
Gambled
all his everything
on the salability of
Rock
blown from da world wit
hiz soul in hock
sweet chocolate baby boy I usta
rock…"
II.
LITTLE MANS MAMA
"HIS MAMA DIDN’T WANT HIM
JUST WANTED TO FUCK UP HER PARENTS
BY FUCKIN HIS DADDY
DIDN’T WANT HIS DADDY
JUST WANTED TO TOUCH HIS MO JO
SHE FOUND EVEN FAT DICKS
DON’T FILL ALL HOLES
SEMEN CANT CAULK SOUL
SO SHE STOPPED TALKIN LIKE LA QUESHA
STOPPED WACTHING MOESHA
CAUGHT A FIRST CLASS FLIGHT BACK TO MAINE
WHERE LAST I HEARD
SHE WAS DOING HER THANG
AND HER THANG DON’T INCLUDE LITTLE MAN…"
III.
LITTLE MAN
Such a little boy,
For so much pain.
He cries
Sometimes for no reason.
He fights
Everything
&
everyone.
He trusts nothing.
He needs/He needs
Always hungry
Never full
Never enough
Anything
But pain
Too much
Too soon
So young
To have
Seen
Felt
Touched
So
Much
Anger
Inside
Hard to focus on
The dead
The disappeared
The deserters
He hurts/He hurts
Wounds so deep
They may never heal
Scars carved in the blackboard
Someone
Must write on
Send him a kite
Point him to the lite
Snatch him from the nite
Help him get it rite
Lace his boots tight
Make him feel awiite…
…they knocked like white folks do, like they got a right to be in your
house.I looked outta the peephole, careful like I never was before "Big Man"
got gunned down at his own front door. Government faces is what they have, the people on my porch. Dead see no more eyes, hands with clipboards and papers that say you, faces that house shrunken bearuacrat souls. Blank manila faces of people who have embraced "by the book", "it’s the procedure" "just following the rules" as dogma. I dislike government faces and the people who wear them.
"What do you want?" get off my porch my tone translates.
"Mrs. Johnson, we got your grandson in custody and we need to speak to
you." That’s how I met "Little Man", my own grandson, for the first time.
…i sing lite against
hard dark truth
bring solace like succor
to souls ravaged by reality
i rewrite now
in the key of possibility
Reach across an ocean
of nothing
to the root.
Strong seed,
Come grow.WORD BY
"THE WORDSLANGER"
© 2000This page is dedicated to the lite, The Wordslanger at your disposal...Purveyor of ILLumination.... PURE LITE
