The love of a black man is like no other
Because in him there is an essence of
The unknown and power unseen
His hands are like an iron mitt with just enough soft
To melt us like snow
His lips are full and strong
And taste like a promise unfulfilled
In his love is character of true
True to the knowledge of who he is
True to the passage of roads he’s seen
True to the fulfillment of his dreams
Because, you see
When he looks at you, he sees his destiny
The love of a black man is limitless
When he knows of himself
It reeks of a feral masculine scent
That is but a touch away
A glance away
Oh but when he looks at you what does he see?
His ability to be himself?
When the day is done and the mask is off
Can he be not the man the everyone else sees but …
Who you see?
And, when troubles rain down
Like an endless torrent of woe
When he begins to question his worth
It the money right
Is his status tight?
And there’s not enough time to catch a breath
Can he cry in arms of understanding?
Or be judged a punk or a loser
As time immoral has judged him so
In your eyes will he see a mirror of himself?
Oh but the love of a black man is fleeting and yet so real
It reeks of a long day’s work
And brandy
And calloused hands that caress so sweet
And heat that envelopes a dream
His love is long and strong and hard and … oh!
Did you feel that?
Was it the way he kissed or licked or gripped?
Was it the way he looked into your eyes when he
Oh! Discovered that he was home
The love of a black man is fragile
Like dropping a rock on a deck of cards
It is not self-sustaining
It is the rarest of all finds
And requires strength to hold
Because his back is strong
It holds the cares of his love and…
Needs to strength of
Softness to remind him
That he loves not in vain
And to encourage him that
The whips and chains of his
Own struggles
Cannot taint his heart
And, if all is good you will take flight
In his world that knows true
Because the love of a black man
Is you
Who will speak?
Who will speak for the tears that fall without a voice–
Grieving laughter, and kisses—without heartbeats or choices?
Who will speak when anguish walks among the broken shards of yesterday–
Leaving seed that death cultivated by bullet or, one whose lodestar has violently faded?
Who will speak for Jasmine Curry, Marcel Pearson, Bruce Wright, William Allen, Tonya Gunn, Joey Henderson, Jaynisha Scheffer, Cassius White?
Who speaks now?
Who speaks now when blood indiscriminately hews burrows into the soul of the city?
The silence is a sonic boom reverberating through the pain of the fallen
For their lives were just yesterday’s news—chains broken forever rippling throughout mankind
Who speaks now?
Who will speak for Robert Cotton, Anthony Hobson, Kezon Lamb, Donald Ray, Schiquille Slater, Joel Bentley, Deandre Brown, Shaquille Ross, Corey Hudson, Shambreyh Barfield?
Hugs that will never again be felt, a helping hand that will never be shared, and a calling never to be fulfilled
Every life touches a life
Links shattered in life’s chain and their absence will never be replaced
Who will speak?
Who will speak for the nameless and faceless ones whose names escape us when the channel turns?
Who. Will. Speak for Dakari Pargo, Jimero Starling, Lafayette Walton, Michael Patton, Ronnie Amos, Alfred Barnett, Tony Ervin, Albert Glover, Eddie Jones, Sonny Ortiz, Sharon Bonds, Andre Knight?
Who will speak for them as we fluff our pillow and be thankful it wasn’t our mother, father, son, or daughter?
Who will speak for Ovadiyah Chandler, Christopher Jones, Stanley Levy, Dekarlos Scott, Taurus Williams, Demarcus Boswell, Daniel Jones, Maurice Wooden, Brandon Peterson, Louis Winn, Dewey Knox, Damian Williams, Brett Ewing, Paris Brown, LaQuisha Hickman, Nykole Loving, Kennyone Pendelton ?
Who will speak?
As the wind braces for impact as bullets rape its peace—unable to shield the lung, the artery, or the brain from penetration?
Who speaks in order to quell the anger and savagery as it claims that which is more precious than diamonds?
Who will speak for, Brian Weekly, Carnesha Fort, Alante Vallejo, Derrick Bowens, Ronald Holliman, Darrien Jordan, David M. Hernandez, Denero Appleton, Eric Kall, DeAngelo Russell, Donald Williams, Nicholas Keener, McArthur Swindle?
Who will speak?
Who will speak with action that rails against the lies that say wrong place- wrong time?
Place being where they are at a moment. Wrong place their home? Wrong place their school? Wrong place the playground? Oh no, maybe it’s the walk to the store, or sitting in a car?
Yes, wrong place is any place…
Whose wrong place? Charles D. Short’s? Betty Howard’s? Craig Mitchell’s? Malcolm Stuckey’s? Paul Pyron’s? Vincent Simmons’? Lance Stanton’s? Monte Tillman’s? Arron Feazell’s? Dashawn Johnson’s? Corteze Reed’s?
Or Time defined as “the system of those sequential relations that any event has to any other, as past, present, or future. Wrong time at noon? Wrong time at 3pm? Wrong time at 11pm? 6am?
Of course, wrong time is any time…
Whose wrong time? Maurice Paschal’s? Kevin Diaz’s? Brian McKinney’s? Robert Waldon’s? Lewis Jenkins’s? Juwan Williams’? Leonard Goldman’s? Kayshaun Hall’s, Ashley Mendoza’s? Kendall Floyd’s? Charles Lee’s? Aaron Rushing’s?
As we contemplate the significance of time and place, faces are passing away. For-e-ver.
Who will speak?
As the footfalls of terror march down our streets?
Or for those whom the blotter calls reciting names as the dead man falls.
As the media portrays us as one to be mistrusted after all, we are but animals in this world.
Some sold drugs, others gang-banged, some raised hell with every breath,
There’s also the straight A students, babies, grandparents— mix them all together—it doesn’t really matter
They – like we—are ALL blood, bone, flesh and spirit. Life interrupted
No longer among us
Who will speak for Gabriel Rios, Victoria McManus, Vaughn Holeman, Cesar Nieves, Xavier Tripp, Summer Moore, William Lomax, Chasteddy Blocker, Jajuan Porter, Gerald Calhoun, William Bailey, Terrance McNeal, Jabari Davis,
Because their loss is our failure as a civilized existence
They die as we exhort “not this neighborhood”; “they deserve it”; “it’s not my problem”
As we turn our backs on a dying generation
Our children run for cover from indiscriminate munitions
That rain down upon them, etching their name as it meets its mark
Who will speak?
Who will speak for the hundreds lost in this city
As we cover our ears from the screams of the crying and dying
Who will speak for them? Rickey Hayes, Antonio Mendez, Jeromy Ellis
After their eyes glass over and consciousness forever cascades to black
The Windy City, Chi-Town- Chiraq is a new moniker spoken with irony and fear
Its violent heart pulsating in tandem with its namesake across the Atlantic
Decimating all in its wake
ChiRaq, ChiRaq, Chiraq
Who will speak?
Who will speak for the tears that fall without a voice–
Grieving laughter, and kisses—without heartbeats or choices?
They matter because we matter.
Who will speak?
Who Will Speak 