by Raymond Nat Turner
Baptist, baritone strains:
"I've been to the mountaintop,
But this is not the mountaintop”
What Would the Ancestors Say?
by Raymond Nat Turner
I know
I know
I know...
Harriet Tubman didn't slide
In and out of the slave south
Nineteen times, $40,000 reward
Hanging over her head like a
Scimitar, or Samurai sword;
Medgar didn't die in his driveway
Like a dog put down in the pound;
Malcolm didn't die on floor
Of the Audubon Ballroom;
King didn't die on chitlin' curcuit
Balcony of the Lorraine Motel;
Fred didn't die in his bed, under
Hooves of Chicago death squads
For tomfoolery---nappy-headed
Foolishness--- Negroz shrinking
To plantation Rip Van Winkles
Hung over on Ol' Massa's
Jim Jones Juice (January '09)
The eve of world revolution...
I know
I know
I know...
She would be leveling her pistol,
Leaving at least a half dozen dead
Negroz, after commanding "Forward,
Or die!"
I know
I know
I know...
He would be tongue-lashing
Negroz with his Harlem-tinged
Tough love: "You've been had,
You've been took, you've been
Hoodwinked, you've been bamboozled!"
I know
I know
I know...
He would be intoning in African,
Baptist, baritone strains:
"I've been to the mountaintop,
But this is not the mountaintop,
No, and I'm concerned that if you
Continue traversing this treacherous
Trail you're on, during the dark and
Difficult days ahead, not only will you
Not get to the mountaintop, you will
Find yourselves descending to depths
So low that it will require you taking an
Elevator up eighty-six floors; climbing
Forty flights of stairs to a sub cellar of
Sin, standing on a step ladder on your
Tiptoes, just to suck the Devil's dick---
No, I'm afraid I can't be your drum
Major on this one---
The drones must be stopped,
The satanic wars ceased, and
The barbaric killing of other peoples'
Babies ended---forever..."
Raymond Nat Turner (c) 2012 All Rights Reserved
Salute to City of Angels’ son! He wrote, he wrote, he wrote And he wrote… Ramparts, The Progressive, The Nation, Mother Jones, Dateline Havana, 48 hills…
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