by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
Still the syn-tactical surgeon
With precision pen, atomic tenor,
Suturing my severed tongue
AB
by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
Ho Chi Minh penned in
Prison Poems, the
Poet must also
Know how to lead an attack
Not a god or stamp, you
Are still my father, son and
Holy-ghost, post-Langston,
Sterling poet warrior
Still the syn-tactical surgeon
With precision pen, atomic tenor,
Suturing my severed tongue
Still the armory
Issuing anti-fracking ordinance
For strikes on Mengeles
At Monsanto
Still the arsenal
Supplying smart bombs for
Our war on government-guided
Attack-Negroz like
Da Men of Steele — Shelby and
Michael — Long Dong Silver, AKA,
Thom-Ass Clarence, Ward Connerly,
Colin Powell and dem imperialist Rice wenches…
I searched frantically for you at the end
Of the Apollo’s Sekou Sundiata celebration;
I jumped over a chair, just missing you, at
The Harlem Stage tribute to Abbey Lincoln;
Finally, caught you at the Schomburg’s
Langston Hughes Auditorium, at the
Fidel-Malcolm Meeting book talk—
Forgave you for slipping
On Iceberg Slim, and
Told you, “I LOVE YOU…”
Raymond Nat Turner © 2014 All Rights Reserved
“This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.”
The opening of the Obama Center has brought Barack Obama back into the spotlight, although he offers nothing new. He will be in the pocket of the oligarchy for the rest of his life, and that means he…
“George Washington/Slave-owner general/Ironic that the father of this country Should be a slave owner/The father of this country a slave-owner.”
Douglass called the Fourth of July a hollow mockery in 1852, and nothing has changed except that the empire is now more corrupt, more unequal, and more at war than the founders imagined.
The same U.S. military that kidnapped President Maduro is now directing earthquake relief in Caracas, and if Haiti is any guide, that aid is really just a Trojan Horse for plunder and control.
