Muncie Times, Muncie, Delaware County, 21 November 1996 — Page 31

The Muncie Times, November 21, 1996, Page 31

* POETRY

Ctarence ‘Motky andFriends

It’s Easier to Quit Many times it’s difficult to fulfil what you say When no one expects you to be anything anyway For it’s easy to give up or give in Especially if you believe you can’t win Its’ even easier to borrow, rob or steal As you lose your ability to feel Plus, it’s easy to blame someone for your trouble When you should be blaming yourself double Yes, it’s easier to teardown than to build up As you overlook your needs for your wants Therefore it’s easier to get into feuds and fights Even when you realize it isn’t’ right And it’s hard not to complain or argue When feeling you aren’t given your just due But your dignity won’t be won in a fight And what shall you gain if you lose yOur life For this is the real world, .not TV And fighting is “giving in” you must believe You are judged on the validly of your word Even if it’s contrary to what you’ve heard Because honesty takes true commitment And daily, it will be opposed by resentment So, we must invest time and energy in ourselves Even if that means depending on no one else For there’s nothing wrong with falling down So long as you’re not content staying on the ground For nothing beats a failure but a try And to quit is no more than to (tell a) lie

The Muncie Times retains the right to edit all materials submitted for publication. But because of the unique nature of poetry, we have suspended this rule for “Poet’s Comer”. African American poets often use the vernacular of the contemporary black experience. Their work is sometimes saturated with the language, rhythm and semantics of the streets. This language is their instrument, without which they cannot play their songs. At The Muncie Times, we will not try to stifle creativity. However, blatantly offensive, racist or sexist material will not be printed, of course, and we do reserve the right to choose which works to publish.

As Time Goes By

Trapped in chains.

More time goes by

More time goes by

Freedom doubted.

Violence attacks.

The world is in an uproar.

Hopes of Gain,

Parents in pain

People in total chaos.

Commands shouted.

Children on crack.

Families poor.

Time goes by

Nowhere to turn

There’s a message out there

Freedom obtained.

But life, we dread.

We pray will get across.

Laughter of triumph.

Someone hurt,

Stop the violence now

success remain.

Another one dead.

And maybe we can avoid this loss.

White supremacy

How long will it take

Cancelled out.

before our eyes will open.

—Carlita Marshall

The eye of equality

Will we let the world go by,

Shown with doubt.

unspoken.

A PSA on Being Black (Public Serice Announcement) The U.S. Surgeon General and the Congress on Racial Equality wish to report that Being Black is not contagious, Nor is being black carcinogenic; Loving black will not result in natural disaster, And loving black has no bitter aftertaste. Touching black will not produce open sores that will not heal. And research shows that touching black does not generate terminal side effects. But be warned that Black America is on a terminal course that Displays open sores of racism that refuse to heal when left unattended, Sores that ooze freely, resembling the rears of a forgotten tribe. Whose scares cut by hate due to barbed whips of bitterness Have proceeded to rip our souls from our Homeland, and finally Relocated our bodies on carcinogenic plantations that drove us apart from one another, Because the slavetrader know that Black Freedom and Unity would be A danger and a threat to his egotistical health. So rest easy American, because Being black is not contagious. --Cynthia Lewis Reed

"Crossroads"

—Clarence E. Motley

The Mind The mind is like a machine A powerful tool used many ways The mind can be creative The mind can be humorous The mind can be destructive No matter what the mind can be Always mind your own business —Mary Whigum

As my eyes open by breathing increases from what seems to have been a very long sleep. The truth to the matter is that I have been asleep for weeks. As my vision comes to me I can’t see a thing. So, I shake my head to make sure this is not a dream. I rise up from what I thought was my very own bed, to find out to my surprise it was not, but my coffin instead. As I climbed from my coffin not wanting to believe my eyes. Trying to remember the events of the last day of my life. I looked down at my coffin and at my clothes. Then up at a sign in the middle of the nowhere which read, “Crossroads”. —Clarence E. Driver