God’s hand over my heart,
As the bullets fly into the sky,
Like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
It’s the kindness of Spring,
With the flowers blooming,
And my soul.
My soul is the soul of many,
Who has not died,
In the winter snows.
Returning to the Clouds
God is listening she always said,
Her dressed in that sundress,
Cooking Sunday dinner.
Brittle hands wipe away my tears,
In the middle of the night,
Remembering Heaven’s warmth.
Remember the tears of childhood,
When Mother watched over you,
While the world was so cruel.
Old black ladies singing hymns,
Chanting Jesus’s name,
Images of copper brown skin,
Letting go of all that pain,
Copper brown skin,
Washed in darkness as it rains.
For James Baldwin
Dark days and nights,
Cement burning in the July sun.
My dark skin,
My dark eyes,
Darkness flows through my veins.
Dressed in riot gear,
Batons dancing in the summer air,
Helicopters watch over head,
K-9 dogs tear my skin,
Glass melting from the heat of fire-bombs,
Rubber bullets leaves a hole in my skin,
while the canisters of tear gas explode,
Covering me and there so many tears
Inside the city limits.
Michael J. Robinson
Thursday, January 18, 2018