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Under Stone
BY DEREK GEDNEY The darkest place a man can see is captured deep inside of me Never thought that I would be
alone for this eternity Decreped days of honesty have left me begging on my knees Until I'm cold and rusted to the bone Thunderstorms
and hurricanes wash ashore a peaceful rain Love for me somehow became the reason why I go insane Emptiness cannot explain
why I'll never be the same Until I'm old and dusty all alone Leave me... be alone again, nothing changes in the
end Depression seems to set the trend with every letter that I send Rise me up so I descend too far away to be your
friend Loneliness will be my second home Smoke another cigarette and picture you the day we met Sorrow seems
to always get the best of me and my regret Every day that you forget about the love you should've kept Buries my existence
under stone. djdeewreck@gmail.com
Black
Man
What
can I do for you?
Can
I kiss your eyelids?
Can
I help refuel you?
Or maybe
I can ignite the
pilot
light that will
warm
your hardened heart
Let
me reunite our energies that
were
once torn apart
Can
I hold your hand,
rub
your shoulders, neck
and
back? Let me envelop
you
with love and positivity
that
will make you
forget
what you lack
Allow
me to share with you,
listen
to you and learn
from
you Black man
Signed,
Black woman
your
partner
and
eternal fan
Dancin'
in the Kitchen
hot comb on
the stove
radio set on
A.M. 1090*
Mama just a
cookin?
baby sis getting
her hair
greased and
corn-rowed
aunties and
cousins shuffling
and singing
off key
Daddy shakin'
his head
and dippin'
in pots knowing
ain't no place
else he'd rather be
bills pushed
to the side and
phone calls
seem to stop
laughter is
heard and beats
thump
as fingers pop
Dancin' in
the kitchen
*radio station in Boston, MA
Needa
Mae?s Kitchen
Who's in my
kitchen and what are you tryna fix?
Now I just cleaned
up someone's last leftover mix
Don't like no
dirty kitchen, Don't cook on no nasty stove
If you can't
clean up behind yoself don't touch
Nothing nayer
pot, fork, spoon nor bowl
This is my house
and what goes is what I say
This is my kitchen
and it will be kept clean so says I,
Needa Mae
Contact info:
Heather Watkins
56 Seymour St. #1
Roslindale, MA 02131
Heather Watkins is a single mother of 1 residing in Boston, Massachusetts. She is an Emerson College
graduate living with a mild form of Muscular Dystrophy. She loves smiling, chocolate and daydreaming. Heather also enjoys
listening to music, writing poetry and is previously unpublished.
**Full Bellies**
by DIANE
Once when the sun did shine
so bright our eyes glowed
like copper pennies,
when
hector was a pup
and
fried
chicken was
a easy sunday meal,
served with hot rice an
gravy,
and mamma's own cornbread,
that fed
the six
of us,
until our bellies cried no more!!
Once,
when
the rains were welcomed
in summers heat,
blackberries
grew wild
yes us,
so sweet,
and
we were
clean,
shiny,
white of tooth
fresh
minty breathed,
detested
winters,
yes once,
when we were
very short,
and in awe
of the man in the moon.
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