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

Pride in His Stride Greg's poem inspired by his son's graduation

Pride In His Stride

Ancestral pride is in his stride,
His destiny forward march
Refined in pressure of midnight hours
Refusing surrender to slumber as mind
Wrestled with knowledge until
It blessed and changed his name. I
Don’t know him, but feel his triumphant
Procession around the corner, walking
In flight to future purchased by prayers.

Warm breeze dripping off robe
Like black wings/ he walks on air
Feet stepping to demand of mind aflame
Walking over buried slaves who built this
Vine gardened campus speaking through
Ancient trees/ whisper praise and power

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Poem of Encouragement by Greg Powell Give it a Try

Give It A Try

World closing in with constrictions
Seem like no better days ahead
Make you give up your convictions
And bury your soul for dead

But I got a better suggestion
For a world pressed down in depression
One Love the way to progression
Open our hearts to Jah soul impression

Won’t you give it a try

Don’t give up against the wicked
Righteous Love will make a way
Don’t give in to hate implicit
Meditate on One Love and pray

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Greg Powell writes poetry - Daddy's Voice

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:

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Gethsemane Preacher by Greg Powell for Being Hueman

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.

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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

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