Category Archives: Poetry

My Era by F. Jacobs

My Era
copyright 2018 F. Jacobs
AKA Bumani the Prudent Pauper


I come from the era of dislocated family structures also known as broken homes,
where single mothers carry the mother load of filling both roles,
while baby daddy chased a dollar and a dream Donald Ducking his responsibilities,
he was never held accountable, but instead was given the title of Rolling Stone.
This era produced rock stars who never graced the covers of Rolling Stone,
who free based an illegal substance, destroyed their communities because a fortune was made from friends smoking stones.

Crack was the death-blow to Black love.
They declared war on a particular pigmented people, but publicly labeled the War on Drugs.
Understand that no one forced us to put those drugs in our hands, bodies or communities.
We stupidly pursued a false image
because we wanted a percentage of the devil’s pie,
with eyes wide shut, all around us was darkness
we became savages of the madness
pursuing a dream that was never meant for us.

This was the era of gang mentality,
increase in gangster criminality,
raising the death toll only made some of us
numb to casualties.
I cannot  stress enough the impact it had on me
growing up in a society…
scratch that, I’m just thankful my bones are not brittle and my skin is tough.

Even while I’m in prison the plight of my people is a struggle
the fight is for atonement, our communities are jungles
full of endangered species
where dreams get ditched in the gutter amongst the urine and feces
A generation that gets raised by detention centers and group homes,
T.V.’s, social media, play stations and music videos.
The teacher said we had to learn on a curve
which we understood as the street curb and
turned the corner into our classroom.

So let me ask: Who are you?
What is your purpose?
What good are you doing?
And, What good have you done?
Because at the end of the day
what’s worse: Being called a nigger
or being treated like one?

~ Bumani the Prudent Pauper


Abeng Urban Poetry: Redemption Cry (Reflections of A Fallen Soul)

Abeng Urban Poetry: Redemption Cry (Reflections of A Fallen Soul)

                         Cry My Redemption (Reflections of A Fallen Soul)

                                      copyright 2016 K. Omodele

Ever wonder what point a heart hardens and drops?

Vulnerability buried in emotional plots

At fourteen years old began to lose control

when booze-infused rage batter-bruised my soul

Glass shattered, bond severed, head bloodied by shards

Plus my arms were too short to box with God,

So I mentally laced up; mind squared, face upped

“Never weak again!” Then streets called, raced up

Toed the ledge of the abyss watching life unfold

Mama asked me ’bout my scars I left my Truth untold

Images too raw, memories water boarded m’soul

swallowed whole; Internalized, turned cold -like snake

Shed skin, re-emerged. Don’t blink! Don’t feel!

Veins buzzing current, nerves hard-wired steel

Wounds heal, but dreams shrivel like raisins ‘gainst sun

Innocence suffered and drowned when soaked in rum.

Hook (Chorus):

Vulnerability ridded, heart hollowed out, pitted

I got notches in my skin that mark the day of my descent

Certain crimes I’ve committed, penitentiary fitted

I carve verses bleeding penance, shedding tears of my redemption.

Vulnerability ridded, heart hollowed out, pitted

These notches in my skin mark my day of descent

Certain crimes I’ve committed, penitentiary fitted

I put my pen to this paper and I cry my redemption.

This poem by Kaya Omodele was first published on The Abeng and My Conscious Pen


photo credit: Historias Visuales <a href=”″>Cansado</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>(license)</a&gt;

Learning Is A Process by Drako Sullivan

Learning Is A Process
by Drako Sullivan

Notebook and Pen

There is one thing that should be recognized when taking classes or learning a new trade. Learning is a process. That is why there are levels to it. Each lesson is a step up from the last. You may not get it the first time around, so don’t be discouraged and never give up.

I had to use this advice in our creative writing class this past semester. We studied poetry, and I thought that I knew poetry with all the poems that I wrote prior to this. But boy was I wrong. Our course was based on the literary craft, and we focused on fixed forms, rhyme pattern, and rhythm. We also learned how important it is for your poetry to have vivid imagery; how figurative speech and word choice gives your poetry tone and style. We were taught the difference between free verse and fixed forms. After learning all of this and how to measure poetry, I had to admit that I didn’t know much about poetry at all. I realized that the first English Sonnet that I ever wrote, Soul Mate- ( wasn’t quiet an English Sonnet.

Now that I have the basic knowledge, I can work on getting better on the craft of writing poetry. So I hope that my second attempt of an English Sonnet, is just that, an English Sonnet. I would like for you to be the judge. It can be viewed at,

A Day In Hedgesville By Alejand Fernandez

Shadowy Trees

A day in Hedgesville (A freestyle poem by Alejand Fernandez)
Copyright 2016

Rhapsody, fragrance of violet, climbing vines.
I amble through the dead field
listening to the echo of the flickering leaves,
as they weave intricately
intertwining the labyrinth of my fragile soul.

Strolling through the arterial of shattered dreams,
I feel the wrath, yet the stillness of the oak trees,
ascends and soothes me too;
the whisper of the sensuous dance,
the twirling wind caressing a layer of my skin.
Alone the semicircle of the twisted field,
fettered, constricting my gait, yet not my insatiate soul.

I sit still in silence to a thousand marionettes,
walking, playing, running and not a ventriloquist in site.
I feel the convulsion, connection and the essence galaxies.
The blade of grass, oak trees, and mockingbirds,
misery in the depths of compassion in heights,
and the fabric of fallacy everywhere.
Men practicing the Zen of their beliefs,
Nuances so carefully woven in unfounded speech,
slowly unraveling, beseeching freedom.

I am back in my room facing the shocking walls,
lost to the note indwelling within the soliloquist in my head.
To be committed, to be confused, and follow through,
gentle thoughts invade my head.

To see and feel,
the delicate nature in its balancing act.
Egregious depravation and daily degradation, only
on their head, not on my hungry heart.

To be committed, and confused,
To have conviction,
and follow through,
my gentle thoughts,
invade my head,
I see and feel the balancing act,
of nature’s things, trying,
to do the right things.

Despite desecration,
in spite of segregation,
beside degradation,
and the self revelation,
which built our perception,
of self protection,
to never again, again,
fall to degradation….

I am black and I am white, Rican, Dominican too,
I sense my African, flowing thought,
brownish gray, brown and blue.
In everyone of you,
I descry my child, sense of pain, anxiety, and poetry, the sound I hear is that, of flickering leaves…

Sunday Morning Worship (An English Sonnet by Jerry Sutherland)

“Sunday Morning Worship”
An English Sonnet by Jerry Sutherland
copyright 2016

God Carrying a cross

Sunday Morning Worship Service Begins
I kneel to pray, praising his holy name.
It is our God, our Lord, I praise yet again.
His love for us is always the same.

The bible talks about the Lord’s great birth
This birth his act of love for him to show.
He made the heaven and he made the earth
Up high he sits and looks on earth below.

He promised that my needs will be supplied
Was laid and nailed upon a rugged cross
Jesus Christ he gave his life for me he died.
Three days he rose with power in his hand.

And yet some still are lost and don’t believe
And never will acknowledge and receive.

“Home” An English Sonnet

Home – An English Sonnet
copyright 2016 Jimmy

So far away from home my Sanctus Santorum;
Surrounded by many, yet so alone.
Forced to slumber on foam wrapped in decorum;
Encaged with snoring beasts, sleepless this zone.

Tossing, turning angrily between sheets;
Late the evening, early into morning.
Exhausted, at last comfortable between sheets;
Dawn has arrived, sun up time to get going.

Body heavy, sleep cut drastically short;
Administration keeps a tight schedule.
Indifferent of myself and cohort;
Keepers only care to maintain the ritual.

Tired alone, how I miss my dwelling.
Stuck in Prison, constrained to this living.

INCARCERATED a poem by Drako Sullivan



Grounded Eagle- Broken wings
Circus Trained Lion- Longing to be king
Ash-gray walls and dull steel surround me
Searching vague dreams to be free
Congealed heart, Marooned Soul
“On your feet, count time.” “Fire in the hole.”(*)
Single file line- Shirts tucked in- Boots spit shined
Chow- Mail Call- Yard closed- Quite time.

(*)Correctional Officer is present

Alone by Brian Calloway


Alone- a poem by Brian Calloway
Copyright@2016 Brian Calloway




Its like I’m in the world alone, the capacity of one.
Trapped within myself, no where to hide, no where to run.

I wish I had a friend, to comfort my pain.
I cover my eyes, to hide the tears, I’m filled with so much shame.

My thoughts, they go untold, no one to hear my voice.
This journey through life was destined for me, I didn’t have a choice.

I am a novel of importance, without a page being read.
A perfectly painted portrait, with no words to be said.

Empty space of loneliness, it tears my world apart.
How can I lift this heavy burden from resting on my heart?

If what, I feel is a sickness, I need to find a care.
To be lonely as a state of mind, is too much for one to endure.

Depression By T. Raines


Copyright 2015 T.Raines

I’m losing my soul
Della, my bones are achin’ cold.
God, don’t let me fold!
Help me stand Mandela bold.
Lucifer says, “It already been sold.”
Della, catch my shaking soul.

Universe By T. Raines


Copyright 2015 T. Raines

Lighting is seen
Storms roar mean
Earthquakes viscious
Tornadoes madicious
Sun shines fine
Rain’s my desire.