tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128448382024-03-24T23:09:58.720-07:00Stephen Earley Jordan II (educating nigras since 1977)Author of "Beyond Bougie" and "Cold, Black, and Hungry." Also check out iTunes for the weekly show "The Bougie Black Show", and my CD "Black Baby Tears"Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-32609808181755994362011-08-03T12:46:00.000-07:002011-08-03T12:48:00.842-07:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:arial;">Over here now:<br /><br /></span></strong><a href="http://calmingthenatives.com/"><strong><span style="font-family:arial;">CalmingTheNatives.com</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;">Come visit, let's play</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;">-Stephen Earley Jordan II</span></strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-51175262437771837052011-02-11T11:09:00.001-08:002011-02-11T11:09:46.633-08:00When I was a Cave Bear (or "Reflections of My Childhood and Writing")My childhood sweethearts were Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.<br /> <br />We shared the same distinct fascination with the macabre. Teenage angst enveloped me--there was a sense of seclusion when I read their works billowing with sadness, sarcasm, and at times, despair. I didn't think anyone understood me during my lonely moments of mania. But Sylvia and Anne helped me survive. I knew, with them, my writing (at the time, mostly metaphoric and confessional) would ultimately rescue me from my psychological demons which plagued me since an early age. I battled myself in secret; remained in seclusion so that no one else would know of my torment; then returned to my everyday life pretending I was okay. By 8th grade, Sylvia, Anne, and I had made a secret suicidal pact, which would eventually be broken. <br /> <br />My writing and attempt to capture the twistedness of man--our hidden agendas--predates my discovery of Sylvia and Anne. I still have the first story I wrote--in first grade, handwritten on ruled paper, now tattered and yellow-brown with age. Despite a childhood of undiagnosed dyslexia, seeing particular numbers and letter patterns backward (and even writing from right to left), I found a sense of freedom in words. On those tattered pages, at the bottom of my storage bin is a twisted tale of Cinderella I wrote. <br /> <br />We all know the story of Cinderella--a fairy tale most people truly wish could be true. However, I knew in my heart, people truly never lived happily ever after. There was nothing really real about that. However, in my story, though similar in its Cinderella premise, takes the reader for a slight journey. In my version, when the Prince looks for Cinderella, in search of the right foot to fit the glass slipper, we learn that he is angry. His anger shows when Cinderella is savagely beaten WITH the glass slipper because the Prince felt she should have stayed for the entire party. Then, he leaves with her evil stepsisters and marries them (yes! each of them), while Cinderella is left poor and alone. <br /> <br />Why would I, a first-grader, write such a tale? I had never witnessed abuse--as far as I could remember, at least. Similarly, I try to think of my happiest childhood memory and I can't. Nor can I remember any great children's stories that was read to me or that I may have read on my own--I don't remember enjoying (or reading) any Dr. Seuss, for example. But I do remember the adult literature. <br /> <br />My mom was a librarian. My after school and summer time were spent in the library—though, then, I despised reading. Up until the mid-1980s, people could smoke cigarettes in almost any public area. And, even though mom worked at the library after the anti-smoking laws went into effect, the stale tobacco smell still clung to the books, their pages, and even the furniture in the library. With every page flip, the scent wafted into my nostrils and into my asthmatic lungs. So I had a hesitation of going the library for this very reason. Even today, I attribute the library to smoking in a confined area.<br /> <br /> But there, in my mother’s library, Iaeger Public Library in West Virginia, I found a book--THE book! “The Clan of the Cave Bear”--an extensive novel depicting the Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon humans coming in contact with each other. A wonderful novel which I truly didn't understand—but I wanted to. A quite disturbing novel that, as a 3rd grader, I had no clue what a lot of the words meant—but again, I wanted to. But, I did recognize forced bodily contact (which I would later know as "rape"), and how the end result would be a child being born; and I learned about dominance versus submission. Though, again, at this age, my ability to express these things verbally was limited. As children, we understand a lot of things that we just can't truly grasp how to express verbally. And, by the time we realize what we can express, it's nothing but a metaphor in a story. I vividly recall a passage in “Clan of the Cave Bear” where character Ayla, an outsider, due to her blond hair and ability to only speak in gestures (is brutally raped by a clan member and gives birth to a son. And, interestingly so, the clan didn’t believe it was semen that made a baby, but rather a Spirit entering the body via the mouth--which, I guess, is what made it a bit 'cleaner' for me at that age to comprehend. It was just as believable as a stork bringing a baby. <br /> <br />This is what sparked my writing and reading. Subconsciously, I was affected. I didn't want to read the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew. I needed something real! Could have been real! Must have been real! With my newfound love of reading, I HAD to test out my own skills at writing--only to be shot down and humiliated.<br /> <br />Not only was I physically different--the only black kid in the entire school--but I was born different. My difference somehow was always expressed in my art, my writing. I'd like to think, like most people would about themselves, that there was something special about me--though I'll never be able to put my finger on what exactly made me special. The assignment in my third grade English class was to 1) use the paper finger puppets (after we cut them out and color them) shaped like a dragon, a prince, and a princess; 2) to build props; and 3) to write a skit to be performed in front of the class.<br /> <br />By myself, I built two castles out of small shipping boxes and decorated them with my Crayolas and wrote the script; the other students in my group colored in the finger puppets. There we were in front of the class. I read the script while the other students acted it out with the puppets. And, at this point, no one read the script--but me. In the tale, the Prince was at war with the Dragon; The prince slayed the dragon; the Prince and the Princess lived happily ever after (so the students initially thought). However, the skit ended with the Dragon's twin brother kidnapping the princess and dragging her back into his cave; and, finally, the Prince searched for her for weeks. When he does find her, as the story ended, "she gave birth to a dragon baby who spit fire". <br /> <br />At that moment, when I read those words, the entire class gasped and went silent. <br /> <br />I didn't know why they grew quiet. Nor would I understand this until years later. This story was MY version of "Clan of the Cave Bear"--but no one else appreciated or understood it. It would be years before I shared my writing with anyone again. <br /><br /> Adult literature was real to me. There was nothing made-up about it--no elves, no sorcerers, no abracadabra tricks. I didn't understand how my peers could dive into books to escape from reality when I wanted to reflect it in all of its beauty and disturbances. <br /><br /> <br />I wouldn’t meet Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton--and have secret literary affairs with them, until much later—my teen years. But they would soon teach me that I was wrong—there was nothing special about me. We were all cave bear in our own way.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-69409909858173340682010-08-11T07:28:00.000-07:002010-08-11T07:36:08.371-07:00EatHer vagina is uncooked<br />Bacon strips I fiddle<br />With my salmon tongue<br />Like an untuned cello.<br />It smells of thyme <br />and bergamot hair food <br />From Sally's Beauty Supply <br />On 125th street.<br /><br />She says she likes when<br />Brothas eat her out<br />But most don't like to eat<br />So Latin brothas take care of her,<br />Devour her like mofongo con camarones.<br /><br />"Do you like to eat?" She asks.<br /><br />Words are<br />Muffled by<br />Mind and mouth<br />On her and Devouring<br />All her tender parts,<br />Keeping mind on matter<br />And matter elsewhere—<br /> Sucking dick<br />At 17,<br />And stalked Him like syphilis <br />For more than a decade<br />Trying to get my Daddy<br />Back, back, back to me<br />After he left me,<br /> Left us like a July 4th<br />Firecracker over the Hudson.<br /><br />"Do you like to eat?" She asks.<br /><br />Coming up for air<br />From the thick, vertical dampness; <br />the scents of Victoria's Secret <br />Garden Vanilla Lace Hydrating lotion<br />and menthol cigarettes, <br />I respond<br />"No."<br /><br />“Then stop," she says, "It didn’t feel good anyway.”<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-5212527070045428212010-08-10T11:01:00.000-07:002010-08-10T11:09:14.403-07:00La Petit MortI. <br />Masturbation is best <br />when using both hands <br />wrapped tightly like pursed lips <br />with a hot-ass tongue flicking <br />to seal an envelope <br />containing the winning Lottery ticket— <br />taking breath away from those who envy. <br /><br />II. <br />That's how Death must feel like <br />when she comes-a-knockin', <br />taking one by surprise, <br />too early or too late in life. <br />Like Grandma whose eyes welled, <br />mirroring Angels who soon took her breath <br />as she clapped, celebrating life. <br /><br />III. <br />Alone <br />He hanged himself daily <br />While jerking off <br />To borrowed VHS tapes <br />Until ejaculation, <br />Until the little death, inside him, <br />Deprived him of life.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-31676570971459736212010-02-05T08:17:00.000-08:002010-02-05T08:20:22.417-08:00Poem #25 of 365: NextHer hair grows<br />fast like weeds<br />in momma's flowerbed.<br />Daddy shaved<br />her bald<br />for rolling her eyes, <br />back-talkin', <br />and being sassy. <br />He got mad<br />she h ad<br />a friend<br />who was a boy.<br />I heard daddy and sister<br />fighting one night, <br /> "I'll make sure no boy<br /> every looks at you again!"<br /><br />Daddy says <br />she ran away<br />in the middle of the night<br />with some boy. <br />Daddy says <br />never mention her name<br />in our Christian home,<br />or God would punish me<br />Next.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-2152026999357049422010-02-03T13:01:00.000-08:002010-02-03T13:06:37.006-08:00Poem #24 of 365: The Little DeathCold coffee spills<br />on my lap,<br />waking up <br />my unborn children<br />from their nap, <br />who'll never see<br />the light of day<br />or Life beyond<br />a hungry throat,<br />clinging onto<br />the back<br />of a pierced tongue<br />waiting for <br />a second swallow,<br />a third<br />and fourth<br />swallow<br />where gastric acids<br />will disintegrate them <br />and life will continue<br />for everyone<br />but me.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-49486402214970184242010-01-28T10:55:00.000-08:002010-01-28T13:05:39.416-08:00Poem #23 of 365: A Poem for JD SalingerMy heart closed <br />like a venus fly trap<br />enveloping you <br />into the velvet night,<br />keeping you warm<br />in nitrogen-rich sod.<br />You tried to feel <br />some kind of a good bye, <br />comforting me <br />while inside of me with your words--<br />making me laugh and cringe <br />with your words--<br />not knowing how to let go<br />of your words--<br />or even how a good bye truly felt;<br />you've left schools, and lovers, <br />and family, and fans--<br />you left me behind<br />being inspired, finally feeling unalone<br />during those dark nights<br />I wanted to give up.<br />But you kept me alive<br />and hopeful--<br />You were my nourishment,<br />feeding me water and rye and words.<br /><br />A part of me has left.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-25764684003913878322010-01-27T09:37:00.000-08:002010-01-27T13:59:56.586-08:00Poem #22 of 365: The PercussionistsDrum beats<br />Beat my eardrum<br />Beats like my heartbeat beats<br />Beats like Jay Z beats<br />Or Kanye beats<br />Or Farrell beats<br />Mad beats<br />Like Ike beats<br />Tina or<br />Chris brown beats<br />Rihanna,<br />Like beats that drop<br />For a dollar a pop<br />Drop it like its hot<br />Beats tap my feet <br />Won't stop<br />Beats bop my head<br />Won't stop<br />Black beats<br />New beats<br />Remixed beats<br />Lyrically,<br />Hypnotically,<br />Vocally<br />Beats made to rock<br />Beats made to flip flop<br />To hip hop<br />Beats made to silence<br />The sound of <br />Every other beat<br />known to man.<br />Understand beats <br />create life<br />Give breath <br />Beat upside the head<br />Take its breath!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I brought you into this <br />God damned world, <br />and I can take you <br />out of this motherfucka."</span> <br /><br />Beat<br /><br />Beats up yo mom <br />Beats don't peep<br />Thru yo window <br />But it beats down<br />The pane<br />But it seeps thru your keyhole<br />Again.<br />Beats too much to handle<br />so black men fuck <br />To their own beat<br />Thinking that<br />The beat of the dick upside <br />And inside the vaginal walls<br />Feel the blood flow beat,<br />Aint that life's beat?<br />Aint that what creates life<br />Giving us our own beat definition <br />And beat generation <br />of what we truly stand for<br />And if we don't stand for nothing then<br />Why we complaining about something<br />Beat up in jail<br />Cup against prison bars beat<br />Like a chain gang beat<br />Get back now<br />Like a chain gang beat<br />Get back now<br />Doin what we got to do <br />To survive<br />A brotha don't know<br />A beat<br />A brotha tries to walk<br />This mean street<br />A brotha tries to create<br />And defeat<br />The beat.<br />Within.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-65964785477705812732010-01-26T10:27:00.000-08:002010-01-26T10:30:41.106-08:00Poem #21 of 365: Black WantsI'm reminded of your skin<br />the color of everything<br />that blocks out light, <br />and the way you would hold me,<br />afraid to let me go.<br />Once upon my time,<br />I wanted you,<br />and I wanted you <br />to make me happy;<br />to make me love;<br />to make me trust.<br />Waking up was <br />so damn hard.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-82546832866290915832010-01-25T11:21:00.000-08:002010-01-25T11:27:01.907-08:00Poem #20 of 365: Acoustic AttractionThe guitar is sad<br />No one plays her. <br />She sits in the corner<br />like a naughty girl,<br />collecting scents<br />of men who've <br />played her heart,<br />leaving her breathless<br />and loveless.<br />Nina dances<br />to techno music now,<br />wondering if you understand<br />her because she's <br />been misunderstood<br />for a lifetime<br />and played by every foolish man<br />who bought her a drink.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-16284439957969198452010-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:002010-01-22T16:01:08.420-08:00Poem #19 of 365: Babylon is on FireBabylon is on fire.<br /><br />The gypsies will no longer roam,<br />Crystal balls will be thrown<br />Against the Great Wall of China<br />And tarot cards will be ripped<br />and thrown in faces of idolaters. <br /><br />The earth has been salted<br />And the minds have been lobotomized,<br />children sodomized<br />and reprogrammed with USB drives<br />Containing an MS DOS program<br />Bringing mankind back to the basics--<br />We are the primates speaking code--<br />The chimpanzees, the apes, the monkeys<br />swinging from trees<br />foraging the forest<br />For signs of evolution, <br />Predicting the Apocalypse<br />with the position of star alignment<br />for 2012. <br /><br />We live in chaos<br />because the Tower of Babel<br />was built way too high<br />and Tarzan can't climb that high,<br />Superman can't fly<br />or leap that high<br />in a single bound. <br />No one will be saved this time.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-74429077014172429992010-01-21T10:30:00.000-08:002010-01-21T10:56:20.138-08:00Poem #18 of 365: The SpiritualCracked voice<br />like fresh cement<br />dries too soon--<br />A falsetto for a false Jesus.<br />The negro spiritual<br />says God's gonna trouble the water, <br />but I'm not sure who is God<br />and if there is one,<br />then whose God? <br /><br />Place Moses in a wicker basket<br />and on the Styx River,<br />let him float<br />to Saint Nobody,<br />find him a mother who cares<br />like Medusa,<br />the misunderstood<br />sistah with dredlocks,<br />who takes no shit<br />from white folk, <br />but will protect that white baby<br />like he's her own.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-1143924434844227502010-01-18T16:43:00.000-08:002010-01-18T16:47:49.954-08:00Poem #17 of 365: Rich White Folks. . .Rich White folks<br />never wear hats <br />during winter<br />or condoms during sex--<br />their blankets of money<br />keep them warm and safe.<br />Only poor black kids <br />get viruses--<br />like Sharmieka and her kid. <br />They say she gave birth<br />to a kid and infected<br />him with her breastmilk. <br />She thought it was okay<br />for her man to come inside<br />of her while she was pregnant. <br />She thought he wasn't cheating on her either.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-58880743315924522442010-01-17T04:24:00.000-08:002010-01-17T04:29:23.482-08:00Poem # 16 of 365: UntitledWalking the halls--<br />like Bertha Mason<br />haunting a home--<br />Spirits terrify,<br />destroys The House--<br />she speaks in code.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-15845632451272328162010-01-15T13:03:00.000-08:002010-01-15T13:32:20.215-08:00Poem #15 of 365: HurdlesI smell smoke!<div><br /></div><div>I stop, </div><div>I drop, </div><div>I roll,</div><div>I train. </div><div><br /></div><div>I smell smoke!</div><div>. . . from the gun</div><div><br /></div><div>I run,</div><div>I flee,</div><div>I jump,</div><div>I escape.</div><div><br /></div><div>I smell smoke!</div><div>. . .from the gun--</div><div>bullet in the air!</div><div>Trying to alert me.</div><div>I think too much</div><div>about children dying,</div><div>mothers crying,</div><div>fathers denying</div><div>their newborns. </div><div>I think too much </div><div>about you</div><div>and I die from waiting. </div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-28505211187220667222010-01-14T09:11:00.000-08:002010-01-14T09:15:45.095-08:00Poem #14 of 365: Public Transportation<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">She is the Amistad, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Transporting Them <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">To a foreign land. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Their wrists and tongues <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Will be tied for decades <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">With the same hemp <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Nooses that will hang them <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Children will breed children <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">For decades thinking That fucking <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Is the only way to Salvation <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">(When all they needed was a <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">black Barbie doll or a father <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">who cared), And the harder they fuck raw, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">The closer (they think) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">They'll be to Mother Africa, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">With her deplorable conditions <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">And escalating HIV rates<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">A tragic homeland so forgotten <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">We think that naming our kids <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Sharmeika, Tameika, or Tyrique <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Is what it means to be Afrocentric; <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">A homeland so indistiguishible <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">We forget our luxuries and assume <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">We can<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>live on a bowl of rice <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">And drink pure goat milk <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">As flies sting our eyes <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">And babies don't know <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">If they'll live or die <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">To see the red clay again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">The train roars past the Upper East Side<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Like a an unfed rhino attacking <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">The undone rail system Indians <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">used to enslave Us in Africa. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">The conductor says<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>"Next stop is. . ." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">And you can not<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Hear the rest for his voice fades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">These are sad times where <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">A beggar is not really poor, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">But the man with the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">$135 Timberland boots, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">$45 fitted ball cap, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">And no job is. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">We live in a pathetic society <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Where we care<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Too damn much<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">About things that will never matter. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">Materialism is the source of salvation <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">but we will never find our way home. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">The train goes several routes, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Courier">But the hood will only get us but so far.</span><span style="font-size:11.0pt"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-81837930153170903372010-01-13T12:23:00.000-08:002010-01-13T12:24:46.517-08:00Poem #13 of 365: Tears of a Clown<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">An 8-track plays number 1 on the stereo</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">while I laugh because I'd never seen tears<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>of a clown--I walk around, smiling, </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">pretending to cry, entertaining the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>adults until they get annoyed. The house </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">fills with Smokey's smooth voice knocking </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">down the walls, finding its way into the </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">ears and souls of those long gone. The</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">adults play cards and drink drinks</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">while I sit in my room on the burgundy </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">comforter lightly coated with coal dust </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">atop white sheets with black feet stains. </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">Mama always said to bathe before </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">I go to bed--but my<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>feet always </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">get dirty. She dances, telling me to spin her. </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">I'm half her height and she ends up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>turning me so the room spins and I'm drunk </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">on her giddyness. Her kisses smell<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>like stale jim beam and menthol cigarettes. </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">I turn away and she kisses me again, laughing.</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">She puts me to bed, turns out the light, </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Courier"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:ArialMT">and closes the door.</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-670260590680988302010-01-12T10:43:00.000-08:002010-01-12T11:11:19.008-08:00Poem #12: Animal Instinct (Liberia 2008)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12px; line-height: 14px; "><pre style="font-size: 9pt; font: normal normal normal 115%/normal monospace; line-height: 1.22em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><div style="text-align: left;">black hot sand<br /></div><tt style="line-height: 1.22em; "><div style="text-align: left;">spits up, </div><div style="text-align: left;">licking our backs<br /></div></tt></pre><pre style="font-size: 9pt; font: normal normal normal 115%/normal monospace; line-height: 1.22em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><div style="text-align: left;">like hot Lick Branch coals<br /></div><tt style="line-height: 1.22em; "><div style="text-align: left;">from under our ATV tires.</div><div style="text-align: left;">we ride fast, faster, fastest</div></tt></pre><pre style="font-size: 9pt; font: normal normal normal 115%/normal monospace; line-height: 1.22em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><div style="text-align: left;">from the jungle--<br /></div><tt style="line-height: 1.22em; "><div style="text-align: left;">where its much cooler,<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">damper, and dangerous!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He knows not to come </div><div style="text-align: left;">after dusk!</div><div style="text-align: left;">screaming for Man to leave<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">we flee like </div><div style="text-align: left;">porch monkeys!</div><div style="text-align: left;">leave. we got to leave!</div><div style="text-align: left;">jumping and swinging from trees,<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">defecating on pale faces. </div><div style="text-align: left;">hissing, beating our chests like<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tarzan, warning Them<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">one last time.</div><div style="text-align: left;">,<br /></div></tt></pre><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-90608952347977798002010-01-11T09:07:00.000-08:002010-01-11T10:46:58.151-08:00Poem #11: JezebelA true whore prevails--<div>Red rose tattoo--</div><div>on neck</div><div>he kisses her gently--</div><div>The next man awaits. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-26598014526282218702010-01-10T08:39:00.000-08:002010-01-10T08:44:00.384-08:00Poem #10: FastingThe eradication of mankind--<br />my life is stale.<br />A pleco<br />A catfish<br />A bottomfeeder--<br />eats from the table<br />with Him.<br />Decisions will be made.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-33884836274754123702010-01-09T04:35:00.000-08:002010-01-09T05:16:57.734-08:00Poem #9: Haiku Trilogy for Motherfuckers<div align="center"><br /><strong>I.</strong><br />Motherfucker lied!<br />Razor blade to my wet wrist.<br />I've suffered for you.<br /><br /><strong>II.</strong><br /><br />A mixtape of songs<br />One nation under Black Gods<br />Dance motherfucker!<br /><br /><strong>III.</strong><br />White man beat momma<br />Motherfucker fucked her good<br />White man drank her milk</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-56083733352300628972010-01-08T09:46:00.000-08:002010-01-08T09:50:40.132-08:00Poem # 8: He's a Lonely ManHe's a lonely man<br />Who is not alone,<br />In a foreign land<br />He calls home.<br />He speaks<br />Urdu, Bengali, Swahili,<br />And at times <br />Gutteral clicks<br />To his family.<br />In his head,<br />He speaks plain English.<br /><br />Eyes stop, stare, blink;<br />Heads turn;<br />Bodies walk away--<br />They pretend to not <br />Understand him,<br />Or appreciate him, <br />As a man.<br />They encourage<br />And coerce him to assimilate<br />Or he may be left behind.<br />Yet he knows they already left.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-8494504613528053462010-01-07T08:25:00.000-08:002010-01-07T09:36:34.334-08:00Poem #7: Poem for James BaldwinI. <br />When I see him,<br />I first take notice <br />Of his flying saucer eyes,<br />shooting across the galaxy<br />like Hale-bopp; <br />Knotted, coarse hair;<br />And deep mahogony skin,<br />With a bit of shine.<br />I hear his remarkably sweet voice,<br />Gentle, and easily brushed away<br />By the wind opening up Heaven's Gate.<br /><br />The White asked <br />How was it being born so disadvantaged--<br />As a homosexual?<br />As a negro?<br />And impoverished?<br /><br />His starry eyes edged a bit,<br />And laughingly,<br />Yet half serious,<br />He replied--<br />It's like I hit the jackpot!<br /><br /><br />II. <br />Niggas been disadvantaged<br />Mentally, physically, and financially<br />For centuries--<br />So we KNOW how to cope<br />And make 12 bucks last a month<br />If need be.<br />And <span style="font-style:italic;">if</span> need be,<br />We still keep our lights on<br />By suckin white dick<br />from married men on the Upper East Side<br />for extra cash. <br />The only rule being <br />not to use your fuckin' teeth.<br />And goin' on faith that everything <br />will be alright. <br />Because shit can't get no worse, right? <br /><br />Sundays we sing in a four-octave range<br />why we are happy <br />being so damned black and blue<br />and how we shall Overcome. <br />And the answer is simple--<br />because we never had a pot to piss in<br />or a window to throw it out. <br />When you ain't got nuttin', <br />you ain't missin' nuttin'.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-7356241589531350692010-01-06T05:09:00.000-08:002010-01-06T05:11:34.056-08:00Poem 6: American CivilizationWe are at war. <br />We spoke on Christmas day.<br />Our uncomfortably brief 'hellos'<br />And 'thank yous' echoed<br />In ears for days,<br />Asking if this would be<br />The last day of our acquaintance,<br />Like a bad Sinead O'Connor song,<br />Not yet sung.<br />The family is stubborn like an ox.<br />Or a game of chess--<br />No one wants to make the first move.<br />Or at war--no one wants to take on the first shot<br />unless they truly are sadists. <br />And if they take the first shot, <br />American civilization will be destroyed<br />and its children will become zombies. <br /><br />We are at war.<br />There is sand in eyes,<br />But the Children won't cry <br />because they are no longer children--<br />they have seen too much. <br />They masturbate with the American soldier's loaded gun, <br />hoping to gain one dollar for each unlubricated stroke--<br />showing daddy what they learned. . .<br />and earned...<br /><br />...By watching.<br /><br />The real terrorist <br />Is the American family!<br /> <em>"My country tis of thee<br /> Sweet land that fucks our childrens' minds raw<br /> without any KY Jelly or even the generic brand."</em><br /><br />The American family pillages our bodies<br /> of its natural resources, creating real-life Zombies!<br />Zombies!<br />Zombies!<br /><br />Kick sand in the eyes<br />Of zombies! And run.<br />Lock the door. <br />And hide under your little blanket, little fag boy<br /> with your polka dot dress and bobby socks--<br />and SAVE yourself FIRST because daddy's gonna get you.<br /><br />If you're not strong enough to conquer <br />then you will be conquered. <br />We are at War. <br />The family is beseiged!<br />We. Are. At. War. <br />There are no more<br />family gatherings on Thanksgiving, <br />no gifts on Christmas<br />or smiles at weddings<br />or tears at funerals. <br />It's time to make the first move<br />before you become a pawn<br />to your parents at age 30. <br />Flee. <br />Run. <br />Before they murder you<br />and turn you into a glassy-eyed zombie, <br />blowing white powder in the eyes <br />of American civilization <br />to convert them out of sheer disobedience!<br />We are at War--<br />and there will never be any peace.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12844838.post-58766803293428864952010-01-05T07:51:00.000-08:002010-01-05T08:03:02.805-08:00Food of LoveShe sips and savors,<br />Holding my fermatta indefinitely<br />Until I cue the next stanza<br />of her poetry with stacatto quarter notes.<br />I am the director, for once.<br /><br />Tonight, we play Tchaichovsky,<br />Handel, and even Debussy!<br />Tonight, it's about the classics--<br />We talk over truffles and Tennyson,<br />Baklava and Bronte.<br /><br />We feed on each other's fresh ambrosia<br />As she lays her head on my chest,<br />Breathing softly, child-like,<br />Watching the candle flames<br />Cast visions of our future <br />Into my empty glass.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Stephen Earley Jordan II is the author of "Beyond Bougie" a collection of creative nonfiction, essays and poetry on race, class, and gender. www.SEJordan.net and www.BougieBlackBoy.blogspot.com and bougieblackshow.podomatic.com</div>Bougie Black Boyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00506775720375703221noreply@blogger.com1