| Black Agenda Report

Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
toe tag trio: coup combo
20 Mar 2019
A right wing hawk flies humanitarian aid in…Then sits, hen-like,’til it hatches Bombs… and packs of hungry dogs ripping rotting
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
this year's coup
14 Mar 2019
Who knew him five days ago? Today, he’s Play Dough— President— in handlers oily hands… Brazen 1% switcheroo, another king nobody knew—
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
My Wise Country Cousin on de Dems dissin’ Kids
06 Mar 2019
Did you see de Kids questin Madum Di-Fi— catchin’ her befo’ she cud spin de big lie…? Lawd, de ‘tude an’ disdain she cudn’t cunseel
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
Dredging
27 Feb 2019
Rehabilitating men with birth defects: bomb bays where hearts should beat, weaponized eyes, mechanical mouths, teargas tongues, compassionless, cold-
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
My Wise Country Cousin on de Dems
20 Feb 2019
Whoa, son! Why de hell you axin’ me ‘bout de Dems— ‘Bout de Miss Nancys, Cap’n Stenys, an’ Unca Jims? Tolt you, dey ‘bout as crookit as dat dawg’s hine leg—
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
If all options are on the table…
13 Feb 2019
If “all options are on the table” Let’s hear filters usurping skull and crossbones drinking water 400 times before it flows from a single faucet
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
Wall of Lies
07 Feb 2019
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
Riddle of National Sovreignity
30 Jan 2019
Brown body writhing in orange flames; scents of burning hair and flesh—so, how do you say Lynching in Spanish? Torched clinics were hollowed
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
“No Matter What Sign You Are,”4th Supreme
16 Jan 2019
Mary was mysterious, but the best dancer Diana, the magnetic, cooing romancer— But, here’s a secret I know: cats like me dug Miss Flo—
Raymond Nat Turner , BAR poet-in-residence
2 Poems -- 7 Year Olds Dying In Third Reich ‘Detention’, and Waiting on Capitalist Hill
10 Jan 2019
“Papi, are we there— are we almost there?” Wide-eyed incantation of a child, three feet plus/ 60 pounds. Exodus leaving the lowland