Bruised Art
“DON’T PUSH ME CAUSE IM CLOSE TO THE EDGE/
I’M TRYIN’ NOT TO LOSE MY HEAD/
IT’S LIKE A JUNGLE SOMETIMES IT MAKES ME WONDER/
HOW I KEEP FROM GOIN’ UNDER”.
The message by Melle Mel and the Furious Five (1982)
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The sizzling sound from the frying pan, mixed with gospel music became familiar the wider my eyes got. Though this two bedroom apartment was cold, the warm scent of pancakes and bacon eased my frigid Sunday mornings.
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Teaching creative writing has been a journey that has broadened my scope of purpose.
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Dirty red and white tennis shoes walk the middle of the road. Tsotsi takes slow, uneasy steps toward David’s parent’s house. Nervousness in one step, and regret in the other.
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After reading an amazing piece of prose by June Jordan entitled Difficult Miracle, this poem was born in my 8:40 Black Womens Writers course.
Published silence
for Phillis Wheatley
She walked on water
along side the shackled ships
and learned the language
of the waves.
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It’s hard being a dreamer in a place loaded with stiff sheets and hard pillows. Most of the time those who we swung with from monkey bars and slid down hot shinny slides, are just kindergarten memories.
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On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, myself and a few other artists went to visit a group of sun rays trapped behind the shade of incarceration. It was truly an emotional late afternoon. Young girls ranging from ages 13 to 17
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In 1996 a group named The Fugees (Refugee Camp) emerged on the Hip Hop scene and quickly put an indentation on the game. The camp consisted of Wyclef , Prazarel “Pras”, and Lauryn Hill. Though this trio was dynamic and brought a breathe of fresh air to the culture, Lauryn was the member that caught the people’s eye.
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This concept sucker punched me while sitting on a down town A train coming from the Bronx.
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I slow nod to naked chords.
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