Hueman Poetry
Poems, ballads, lyrics, and commentary that speak
to value of all God's Creation, the beauty of
diversity & inclusion, and the possibilities
of embracing love, compassion and justice
as a way of life and community.
This is being hueman.
by Greg Powell
Meditation on the Raven Lounge
In azure blazer
where I be king bee
grinda man be free
dance with folks
whose shackles broke
cause we paid dues
to have the Blues
we find release
in chicken grease
before sunlight
smoking all night
party scents rising
over streets despising
little breath of life
we live under knife
It's Gonna Be Alright
Imbue the new you with holy glue
Hold yourself together in America’s
Hostile weather soul tethered
To Holy Ghost breath that blesses
Caresses and presses to new levels
Over old devils so we rebel and revel
Like James Bevel with Gospel shovel
Flex muscle like Bill Russell
Hustle to win the tussle
Struggle to hover above troubles
Defeated never/Hindrances severed
Cause like Badu say We clever
Put hater instigators in muzzle
Bust bubble of fear and ill will
Dump garbage in landfill/ abstain
Toxic mind states ingrained in brain
Sow hope like grain and strain to maintain
Rooted down to earth for new birth
New you living true to your worth
Irony of Gil Scott Heron
My sister work three slave jobs
While moguls play in space
Her children’s futures getting robbed
While moguls play in space
Folk go hungry in America
While moguls play in space
Gun toting hysteria
While moguls play in space
Seniors can’t afford they meds
Struggling/ can’t get ahead
Feasting on the filth they fed
Full of hate and toxic dread
Generations got no hope
Nation chokes on lynching ropes
Chaos fervor moguls stoke
While sister slaves to not go broke
Daddy's Voice
Memories dim and refracted
In days gone and presently lived
Of Daddy’s voice, barely remembered.
But presence magnified/ residue like
Star dust everywhere
And in everything I am.
He taught me a man can love
With beauty beyond gender
Nourish a garden he didn’t
Even know how to plant. How
Did you do it, I asked him, that
Last day together sharing breath
And hearts beating like sad Djembes:
Gethsemane Preacher
preacher strains,
sweat dripping like
Jesus’ garden blood.
somebody help him
with a shout
praise or life lifted
out hell. preacher no
pimp. he love the folk,
all their sadness
gladness badness
madness, his cross
to bear in midnight
hour when he prays,
sweats out blood,
face embedded
in carpet and clasping
hands, for their souls
and his own.
Broken Legacy
Do the bruised brass wailing
exclamation scar of history/
suffocating in shadows of projects
spread like southern crosses
burning/ fall futilely
on depressed ears
of spiritually deaf/ Do
harsh sharp horn shouting preachments
