Ode to the Sadness of my Eyes
My eyes do not know
How old they are
My heart still keep time
Like the old Seth Thomas
Or a dripping faucet
My eyes precede my mind
When it is looking for a rhyme
Sad eyes such as mine
Can see an angel out of the corner
Where tears collect
My eyes are as fine as scramble umbrellas
That once was lonely
Because the rain
Ran away with the wind
These sad eyes of mine can not keep their history
They are always only about the now
What I see not what I have seen
Even in sleep they have been known to weep
What the mind keep as it midnight secrets
My sad eyes can be dug out with a copper spoon
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poem by David E. Patton
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Lent, Ramadan
Lent, Ramadan
Hebrew, Moslem
Paganism, a concept misunderstood
Druid, Voodoo God male/female
Mama Lola, the Pharaoh, the king
The president, the prime minister
What does all this means?
God Baba Loa I sing his name
Juju, Allah, Mohamed
Jesus, Buddha
Remises II., Martin Luther King
Frederick Douglas, Sojourner Truth
Moshe as black man
The 42 commandments
Garvey faces Mount Kenya.
Alkebu-lan, Gikuyu, Monomtpa
Memphite Drama black stone black history
The Koran, the Bible, the Torah
The Book of the Dead
The word jazz in St. Louis
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poem by David E. Patton
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Water is threatening to rejoice
Water is threatening to rejoice
At the sight of man’s complicteres laughter.
Water untouchable is stabled in the shoulder
Is watching the sub nose rain that fall in the falling light.
Water is the rudimentary beautiful
Musicality of white.
But water in its dead beauty torn a spilling
Is a common prowler drunk by the landscape.
Man is the beast that coward against the rain,
He revolt hard against its tone.
Water is the sudden strength of its circulating power
Water rusted in the veins surgically cut the
Putrefying strength of the leap of an eyeball.
The wreckage of water is nostalgia for the
Way it cut kindly in kindly out, nostalgia
With its stigmata knotted around the antipode
With the speed of a rain dropp primal water
The color of cinnamon moving with the speed
Of cloves cigarettes smoke committing the
Remembrances of suicide where the entrails of
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poem by David E. Patton
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Are the Children Alright
In the root zone
The children are camouflaged
In the zone of the sun’s light
The children are building industries
In the zone of bones
The children are mining their flesh
So full of sorrow for the fathers
Whose ignorance has spent
The strength of their muscles
On the wages paid beneath
The shadow of commerce
In the war zone
The children are catching bomb
With their skin and they dream
Of how with ease is dying done
In the zone of the moment
The children are counting
The thin dogs running wild
In the wilderness on the out skirt of town
In the comfort zone
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poem by David E. Patton
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
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poem by David E. Patton
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They cross the fence
They cross the fence
To get to the land of plenty
And a white kind of happiness
But their skin is brown
And some darker still
The African blood they carry
They travel the deserted desert
Past Brittle bush and familial cactus
To reach the city where the streets
Are paved with a kinder misery
Where they can fide in the community of their own
Who can fault them, who in his heart is so harden
Other then the racist among us
They are quick to birth babies
Who will be called American
And heir to the good life
The crows come north of the border
They pass the check point gates
They only respect crow’s laws and rules
Learned in nature’s school
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poem by David E. Patton
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It was me who twisted
It was me who twisted
The clouds of its rain
And told the grass
How to grow and birds
How to sing in a man made
World of human insanity.
Yes I am the one who
Built a fire of the sun
And stole the light
Of all the moon
Still it glow at night.
I was the one who
Killed the God of the sun.
I killed many things
To prove myself right
When the angels
Came to take my life
Against the certainty
Of tomorrow.
When I was born
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poem by David E. Patton
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What can I say of myself
What can I say of myself
That others has said of me
Even though they were always wrong
No, I do not grow a tail at night
No, monkeys have straight hair not I
They say that I abandon
My children for a jail cell in the company of men
They do not know that I do not hate my dark skin
It is the money of whites, their power
That denies me; keep me in the yoke of self hatred
They fear my power to survive
It is greater then their to enslave
Financially and sexually as is the American way
By my black American culture am I made brave
They think that I want their daughters and sons
To bring then over to the beautiful dark side
As they are entice by the art of being black
They want me to mount them to bring
Them closer to the animal that we all are
To praise me they say that I am to articulate to be black
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poem by David E. Patton
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Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
When you are found in the common face
My heart can barely wait to take your place
I see your look in the common race
For there you have placed
In a love that bares no disgrace
Cupid is blind this is true
So do not blame him when he strike you
And a man you find not fair
For half of beauty is within
This you can not see till you woo
And his inner beauty will overthrow
All of your misconceived notions
About what beauty mends
Beauty my man beauty
The common face capture me
The common love I can not see
But this love of the common he
Is what most that moves me
I have no shame to call upon the name
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poem by David E. Patton
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The God of justice
The God of justice
Support the color eye
That identifies the God of rain
In the presence of the instrument
Of clouds of a venerable question
That dares to interrogate the heavenly sky.
The outer bark of the God justice
Sap the inmost layer of nerves
That root the cut spring tough as speech
That meditates upon the intelligence
Of ancient lore offering its result of history
That eagerly approach the attain supreme knowing
Instructing the sacrifices of the accepted teacher
Of good mothers as descendants of opinion
Taught to the desires and woes of a wooing woman
Whose cause of bliss benefit the stability approached
By the humble secret released from the body.
Justice is not a scholar of theoretical knowledge
Not an endower of the present dreaming identified
With deep sleep of the right eye in its waking dream
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poem by David E. Patton
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