Afro Images

                                                (For Natalie)

 

She was dark and fine

with large African sunsets

for eyes.

You could see the whole world

in her eyes.

Her eyes reflected joy;

they mirrored the pain—

centuries of lash and lack

and bloodhounds and canebrakes and

cotton fields at dawn.

She saw landscapes of white cotton bolls,

cypresses and bayous,

red clay and sky high pines.

 

Her eyes tightened at her birthpains;

the giant Robeson and red-headed Malcolm

and the thunder-throated Martin

and all the unborn sons and daughters

who will spring from their bones.

her eyes were prophets of past and present;

eons etched on her brown pupils.

But look deeper, much deeper—

for the future of our people is written

in this young girl’s eyes.

Carlotta plays

                        In the nude

                        With her

                        Long, brown hair

                        Caressing her bare shoulders

                        The bow pulls

                        Across the strings

                        And her areoles

                        Erect

                        In 4/4 time

                        The long graceful

                        Neck of the cello

                        And Carlotta’s

                        Sculpted legs

                        And curving hips

                        Move in time

                        With the music:

                        Excitement,

                        Plateau….

© David Cooper 2013

Coffee Grindin' Blues

Let me grind your coffee,

Let me grind your coffee,

‘Cause I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Had girl with a big behind

Had a girl with a big behind

I grind for three days

And the po’ girl she lost her mind

Yes, I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Said I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Let me grind your coffee

And you will understand.

Pretty redbone take her coffee with cream

Pretty redbone take her coffee with cream

Three days and all she could do was scream

Had a chocolate moma built for comfort not for speed

Had a chocolate moma built for comfort not for speed

When she shake her hips I get  all the lovin’ that a good man need

Yes, I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Said I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Let me grind your coffee

And you will understand.

Had a snow white gal with blond hair and eyes of blue

Had a snow white gal with blond hair and eyes of blue

When I grind her coffee she make her cream and sugar, too

Yes, I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Said I’m a coffee grindin’ man

Let me grind your coffee

And you will understand.

will.i.am - Bang Bang (Official Video)

RICHIE HAVENS ~ Motherless Child ~ (+playlist)

)

I love Jesus, but I drink a little

“I love Jesus, but I drink a little”

                                                --Gladys Hardy         

Margarie was a good Christian woman,

but she loved Seagram’s gin

almost as much as she

loved Jesus—

Almost.

She had her daily

devotion  with

a little tonic water

and two ice cubes.

Now don’t get me wrong—

she was a good Christian woman,

but she didn’t like colored people.

Why?

She didn’t know, but

Her Daddy, Big Jim,

hated them, too.

Margarie was a good Christian

woman. Just ask Reverend Sikes,

or  John Deare

who lived on Maple Street.

They both said she

“was a good woman.”

When Margarie died

the whole town

turned out.

On her tombstone

was writ in big

letters:

Margarie Johnson:1924-1992

Good Mother

Good Wife.

David Cooper 9/18/13

                       

The Bottle and the Rose

In the summer of ’91 you joined

me in Andover.

Landing at Logan,

you came bearing news:

 a rose growing inside you—

as our love grew wild and free

like so many goldenrods, or

honeysuckle climbing fences rows

and spreading, spreading everywhere.

We stayed in a duplex—

29 Salem Street—

where we made love

dayandnight

and nightandday.

That golden summer day

you placed a single red

rose in a green beer bottle

and placed it on the chest

of dressers,

but roses never

last for long—

the red velvet

petals dry out,

 droop over

and turn to dust.

Yet we did have

that summer day

now all dust,

and mist,

and memory.