To Anonymous…

The larger picture is this: Brooklyn is a bitch built on turmoil

blood, black and white, has steeped into its foundation

that’s the legacy we fight over 

and churn the butter to claim

when you from here

I will always do better 

but I giggle through your attempt at trying to tell me my history

my grandfather was a blockbuster

blacktaxed

he stood on our porch with a shotgun in hand 

as they scribbled nigger across his domain

it was as real as the bricks and mortar I reside in my mixed neighborhood

seeing as how that wasn’t the point though. let me stay on message

thanks for reading, for being a critic

for caring enough about the consequences of your words and mine to blot out your name so I can impartially give you these facts

shoutout to the first of firsts and to dissenters in the ranks

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The Lynching

His spirit is smoke ascended to high heaven.
His father, by the cruelest way of pain,
Had bidden him to his bosom once again;
The awful sin remained still unforgiven.
All night a bright and solitary star
(Perchance the one that ever guided him,
Yet gave him up at last to Fate’s wild whim)
Hung pitifully o’er the swinging char.
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view
The ghastly body swaying in the sun:
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.

By Claude McKay, 1922

misty eyed

somewhere in me beneath the mists

is a city on fire

burning like napalm bombs

im pissed,

and somewhere, even deeper

is also a calm feeding the flames

 

The Press

Hail the press, sword-arm of justice

once chosen for its resistance but the existence of fake news is a mass misconception because there has always been the fake and the real

since inception.

The black journalist, duplicitous in nature, was shut out of newsrooms

strung up by their necks 

literature spread that let the long-arm of the law snatch boys from their cribs

who fit the profile

The panther party persisted 

the so called Freedom Messengers

inciting revolutions with pens and passion

pantherp

What did the press and the president say of them then

the fake, the real. The red or the blue pill

John Henry’s Woman

my daddy’s name was john henry

my moms name was polly ann

he never sold crack 

but was a hard workin man who laid track in the subways

bent back like his people 

and when he died from all that 

he gave ma his legendary hammer

she had a slammer that was mean 

and took no shit from men, white brown or black

weary, she 

me and your daddy built this city

so you wouldn’t have to

now take this hammer 

and show’ em what you can do

 

 

Morning Song

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival.  New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety.  We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses.  I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s.  The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars.  And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

–By Sylvia Plath

Wingate’s Fitness Fest

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A group of men and women elegantly glide on roller skates to Motown tunes on the handball courts. A group plays soccer, ripping up dust as they run for the ball. From the track to the playgrounds, everywhere you look is movement. There is life sweating profusely in the hot sun, but finding the fun in fitness none the less. 

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Councilman Matthieu Eugene

Just past George Wingate High School on Saturday, June 16, the Brooklyn Fitness Fest in Wingate Park– Winthrop Street between Brooklyn and Kingston Avenues–was in swing making full use of the recently installed playgrounds and workout gym equipment.

In addition to the usual basketball and soccer games at the park, the fest offered inventive workouts and competitions for the residents; including toddler yoga, ‘afrobics’, ‘skaterobics’, battle ropes courses, drum fitness, and pilates.

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‘Cas’ and Dee Hibbert

Director of the Friends Of Wingate Park Vivia Morgan said, “The councilman and the parks department has been working on this for four years. We’ve been advocating and asking for eight so it’s good to see everything finally come together, but we’ve still got work to do on the park.”

Despite the improvements in some parts of the park, the parks inspection program still rated the overall condition as unacceptable in March for its athletic fields, fences and paved surfaces.

CEO of Ballstar Vaughn Caldon said that the courts were still sorely in need of repair since they are used so frequently by the youth in the community.

According to NYC Parks project timeline the design for the new courts has been completed and is currently in review by the staff and counsel.  It states the construction phase, set to begin in December 2018, will take about 12 to 18 months.

“First there is a vote. An allocation of funds, and then it has to go through the different departments,” said Councilman Matthieu Eugene about the budget, “It may take a while but we’ll get there.” It is the councilman’s last term, and has said that he is a doctor not a politician, but if the people want him to run again he will.

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Wingate Basketball Courts

Monet’s Waterlilies

Today as the news from Selma and Saigon
poisons the air like fallout,
I come again to see
the serene, great picture that I love.

Here space and time exist in light
the eye like the eye of faith believes.
The seen, the known
dissolve in iridescence, become
illusive flesh of light
that was not, was, forever is.

O light beheld as through refracting tears.
Here is the aura of that world
each of us has lost.
Here is the shadow of its joy

–by Robert Hayden