Art Americana, July 2o, 2o13

Saturday,
   It's been an extraordinary Friday. Very creative. My friend, Albert Bostick, created some wonderful paintings as tribute to the life and death of Tayvon Martin. Inspired me so much I sat down and composed my own tribute to the memory of TM. Not as straightforward as Al's paintings, but folk seem to be getting into it, understanding where I'm coming from. Hope you enjoy it.

Art Americana

 

We take that sharp biting pain

the boiling veins of outrage
infuse them into words
into swords that cut
thin slices of black ink
across the pale white face
of page after page after canvas
after sound after sound
that bludgeons its way through
the tortured cords of the voice
to the deaf ear to the blind eye
to the heart that no longer feels
its own blood pumping
its own thoughts
curdling and dying with every lie.

They strangle truth and honesty

steel-toed rail splitting logic
hatred pounding out  great
highways rising up and over
stomping out the life where once
God wept the open fields and
and forests dark and damp
and lakes filled with fishermen
and children playing on the banks.

 

And we can be the beaten down mud

or stand like stone or flash like thunder
in the darkest storm and we can force
the day to rise the sun to come forth
and shine on everyone with all the force
of our words the wet bristles of paint brushes
the rhythm of sounds woven into song.

 

Yes, we can change it all bring it all back

to where it belongs without raising one fist
without swinging the knife without drawing
a gun or spilling the blood.

 

We can give it all back to whom it belongs.

—rrw o7-19-13