You Sho Do Treat Me Good, Baby
You sho do treat me good baby
Treat me good mow that I’m gone
I say you sho do treat me good baby
So good now that I’m gone
I remember when I was around baby
You ran me right into the ground
Now I passed away four days ago baby
And now looking from my heavenly home
I see you crying at my formal baby
Crying like life done done you wrong
O girl, you’re just to demn good to me baby
Too, too good now that I’m gone
If’n I was back down there with you baby
You would be kicking- kicking me all over town.
All my friends I see there baby
Partying hardy at my wake
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poem by David E. Patton
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Tenacious baby boys
Tenacious baby boys
Clenching and unclenching their fists
A rehearsal for the fight of warriors to be
The radiance of baby boys drooling warm milk
The bedazzlement of baby boys bold in their skin
Baby boys of the tom-tom
Baby boys of the silent drums
Baby boys taking the giant steps of first walk
First word of their throats holy full of hallelujah
Boys benevolent and young playing with their snares
In Africa and on the reservation
Baby boys who shall become executioners of the young
When watching someone die is routine in black neighborhoods
Baby boys of the wounded heart without fathers
Baby boys marvelous in their redness and blackness
Fraternal sons of empire builders
Baby boys sabotage by their lost fathers
Locked in the lower-class jails of their despair.
Baby boys of the slums that raise them
And shall come to betray them by a warm gun.
poem by David E. Patton
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Who Is This God Fellow And What's The Reason Why
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet
When he thought to cry
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Dose he never leave the gated community
Of his heaven in the sky.
Who is this God fellow
And what is his gig
It seems to me that he and his priest
Got the whole damn thing rigged
Is he a prince or a pauper a pusher or a pimp
That dose his jealous thing reveal
To me while I smoke a bit of hemp.
Who is this God fellow
Is he married to human by the power of a prayer
And why is it that he should even care
Who is this God fellow and what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet when he thought to cry
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poem by David E. Patton
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Man sent a machine
Man sent a machine
Made by his own hands
Hubble out into the universe
The tool maker
Physical manipulation
Dense nerves
Appendaegble digits
Opposable thumbs
Of primates that makes man an animal
Interphalaged articulation
Man move all but the mountain
Which are the dictates of nature’s
That will not reveal to man’s eyes
The dimensions that makes up life
The strings that binds complex and delicate
In the animal organs.
Man’s muscle belly of his forearm intrinsic.
Medico-legal practice determines sex by hands.
Hubble spectrograph man’s metal eyes.
Man microsecond mechanism quantum.
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poem by David E. Patton
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From Life's Cold Tenderness
From life’s cold tenderness
I shall be refreshed
From the shut-out hence of a heart at rest
That live to contentment
Love is mine
Close, close in arms
A song to any stranger that may come.
In me the battle for love is won
The unfading eye of April’s face
Is stranded by an uncertain grace
The spirit that dies for want of love
Is bold in the love that rise above
Safe on the lofty design of heaven
As it drunk on wine it whisper never
The drunkenness of once done as wind with its motion never stayed
to blow too much never afraid.
Out the breath of a joy of lust
It stays its rough wild among
The playing of celestial fires that trust
Like keys of some great belonging wired if it would
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poem by David E. Patton
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Snowing In St. Louis
Today I ate some snow
And I don’t mean
That I did blow.
I restrict myself to weed and rum & coke
Chased with a colt 45.
What is it to get high?
It takes a certain constitution to endure it.
Not all survive it
Some are forever chasing the high
Never enough to be satisfied
You can see it in their eyes.
Heron I have never tried
But once I did tried crack
But found the high
Not worth the cost
The snow has change to sleet
Making pin point sounds in the streets
Covered with the preverbal blanket
That covers everything.
There are foot prints to tell where strangers went
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poem by David E. Patton
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
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poem by David E. Patton
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In the darkness of your skin
In the darkness of your skin
Is the ancestral love of men
In your eyes, yes deep within
Is the love that can but win
Your hands must be posed to defend
The love that loves itself as kin
Brother to brother sister to sister
We blacks have come to discover
The ease of loving each other
A battle fought hard and won
Under the African and American sun
Be it for the poets to say
That in matter of the heart we know the way
To praise by the motion of our pens
The glorious love of men for men
We warn you brother do not condemn
What it is that you do not understand
Except your brother as friend
For he is needed in the battle
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poem by David E. Patton
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Sounds explode
I.
Sounds explode
The science of pronunciation
Exposed.
Force explains when Rs are rolled.
Glory teaches the words
To find their lesser forms.
Prosody tastes of the intensity
Of vowels.
Tones’ rhythm are laid down
By letters and text moving around.
The quantity of speaking tongues
When weeping the significance of the word
Hum is an acceptable treasury
As the word cum.
II.
The third word creature born
Commonly called poems
Are formed by the
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poem by David E. Patton
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I have had my say
I have had my say
About sex and men
I have said it in many ways
And now is the time
To put my pen
In the service of
Romanic love to win,
To speak of matters
Of the soul if such a thing there be
To compare him to the beauty of snow
That blows in from across the sea
To romance you as I would has you
To romance the likes of me
To speak of the beauty of the male form
To take up arm with my pen
And squeeze out the beauty
As poetry was meant to be.
O my love, O my dear
Let me whisper sweet thing in your ear
I love you dear as I love you dearly
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poem by David E. Patton
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