Ivory is the Coast

How is to be different…more than just an accolade?

A prototype to the wants in needs of those willing to place us on bended knee.

Who, black, female, yellow, brown or in differential love….

Who among us fall for the cross on the wall…

all awaiting the perfect sign…on the perfect stall.

Alabaster is the night that shines on Iron clad…ivory coasts.

The look of the lookers seeking some sight all from beaches that offer wings with no kite.

A Night at the Garden

Poverty Pond

Poverty Pond, what a lonely drink of water.

Does your name tell a story?

poverty pond 1

Or, has the richness of a thrashed season…stole the glory.

Gaps in the gleam and the glare…illusions of seeming to care.

What would you know of fanfare?

Black as a demon from a stolen heart.

Ugliness sinking from your lost cause.

Where have the ripples revealed all the flaws?

Hate Speak


I saw the kiss by Michael Sam..
It made me mad–he kissed a man!

That’s something I don’t want to see
It’s wrong, unnatural, and it’s not just me.

Many now say, “Homosexuality is OK.”
But God says there’s a better way.

He made men for women, and women for men.
So why are “gays” so prideful then?

Please, no public same-sex kisses, Michael Sam.
We don’t want to see this man-on-man! […]

I do not mean to pick a fight
When I say most Blacks don’t think homosexuality’s a “civil right.”

Far from a “right,” Michael. In fact, it’s wrong.
Must I put this in a song?

Michael shot back: “Not wrong at all, it’s who I am!
“I’m gay. My name is Michael Sam.”

“God made me black and blessed me with gayness.”
Blessed you?! Then why are so many diseases linked to “sex” in the anus?

No, God made you black–not ‘gay,’” said I.
“You’ve chosen to believe a lie!”

You can’t change your skin color, that’s a fact.
But homosexuality? That’s only an act.

peter labarbera


Solitude of Self

Unabashedly and most likely, without malice; When my mother had been asked…

“Aren’t you proud of your gay daughter?”

She held a simple response…

“Actually, at first, I felt embarrassed and ashamed!  It’s not that I didn’t love her.  It just took me awhile to get over the idea…it wasn’t right!”

elizabeth cady stanton 2

The polite and always pleasant woman had known me for many years.  She ran a register.  I had been a constant customer.  And, somehow, our worlds began to collide.  On the street, in the market, online, etc.

She had just lost her husband to cancer.  And, I had been an open ear.  I had been through the strife of holding my lover’s hand…during the blinding and confining whirl of emotional chaos.

She, and I, and my partner, had seen the bowels of poverty, pain and suffering.  We fell to the ground, each of us….And, managed with earnestness and will to get back up!

So in retrospect, what began as an anonymous relationship…Flourished into a kinship of womanhood.

Yet, unfortunately, I had anticipated my mother’s answer.  And, also projected the ‘let down’ appearance on my friend’s face.

This memory always, always, and hopefully forever, brings me to peering into the history of woman’s struggle to survive.

‘Whatever the theories may be of woman’s dependence on man, in the supreme moments of her life he can not bear her burdens. Alone she goes to the gates of death to give life to every man that is born into the world. No one can share her fears, no one can mitigate her pangs; and if her sorrow is greater than she can bear, alone she passes beyond the gates into the vast unknown.’

…the little courtesies of life on the surface of society…

utter insignificance in view of the deeper tragedies in which she must play her part alone, where no human aid is possible.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton