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Song & Verse: I just wanna live by Keedron Bryant
My heart. Gospel remix I just wanna liveGod protect me I’m a young black manDoing all that I can (Can)To standOh, but when I look aroundAnd I see what’s being doneTo my kind (Kind) Every day (Day)I’m being hunted as preyMy people don’t want no troubleWe’ve had enough struggle I just wanna liveGod protect me(Just stay right by my side)I just wanna liveGod protect me(Just stay right by my side) So many thoughts in my head (Head)Will I live? Or will I end up dead? (Dead, dead)It’s an unequal sequelNo matter where I beThere’s no place safe for me (Me, me, me)Oh, oh, oh-ohI’m not asking for too muchSo Lord,…
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Isabel de Olvera: I Demand Justice.
Isabel de Olvera: I Demand Justice. "I am going on the expedition to New Mexico and have some reason to fear that I may be annoyed by some individual since I am a mulatta, and it is proper to protect my rights in such an eventuality by an affidavit showing that I am a free woman, unmarried and the legitimate daughter of Hernando, a Negro, and an Indian named Magdalena...." 1600 AD Follow link to read full post.
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When did you become radicalized?
When were you radicalized? A Self-Reflection Exercise. When did you first see yourself in the struggle? When did you become unapologetic? When did you know you wouldn’t turn back? When did you acknowledge your trauma? When did you acknowledge your helplessness? When did you acknowledge your rage? When did you acknowledge your grief? Follow the link to read and share your story as well.
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Poem: Trauma of the unseen by LaShawnda Jones
Impossible to know if the Traumatized have no awareness of their state One revels in solitude because loneliness has become a way of life ** Follow link to read in full. **
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Poem: Gwendolyn Brooks: America in the Wintertime by Haki R. Madhubuti
religiously taking note of the bloodlust enemies of kindness we hear your last words: america if you see me as your enemy you have no friends.
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Poem: Gwendolyn Brooks by Haki R. Madhubuti
into the sixties a word was born . . . . . . . . BLACK & with black came poets & from the poet’s ball points came: black doubleblack purpleblack blueblack beenblack was black
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11 Years of Blogging! Oh, my!
Eleven years ago today, I posted my first blog on these here inter-nets. “Can I Love You?” was written in the early days of my committed and purposeful faith walk. It’s as sincere and earnest as I’ve ever been in my writing. Several years later, it was followed by a post titled, “…and the People said ‘Hell NO!‘” Ha! Life certainly rings us full circle! Many believers attempt to paint the act of loving your neighbor – your fellow human beings – as such a delicate, soft expression of faith. That hasn’t been my experience with love in any form. Loving others has been a harsh, eye-opening refining fire for…
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Consolidating my blogs
Hello, All I’ve combined all my blogs into one. If you’ve been following Spirit-Harvest.com or any other blog of mine, please move with me to Harvest-Life.org! I’m looking Continued blessings! LaShawnda
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The getting-overness of it all.
Landscaper as Every Man People getting over on others has been a sore spot recently. Last fall I signed an agreement for landscape work in my back yard. Two days later I felt a need to review the details and calculate my own measurements. The landscaper’s quote was based on hardscaping 1700 square feet with pavers, stones, and artificial mounds for height variance. The second night, I went to bed thinking: my house is 1800 square feet, there’s no way I’m landscaping a house worth of space. The next afternoon I went out to measure what I wanted pavers and travertine for: two seating areas, the patio and a side…
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Pamela Turner: Two for the Carnage of One
Do this in remembrance of me. It’s psychological warfare physical murder spiritual bondage. Our sanity means nothing to the intentionally persistent assassins of our humanity. Our humanness has no value in the confrontation of violent entitlement& and moral disregard that assumes murder of “others” is the white person’s right – a privilege awarded to hunters; a prize for the domineering. I cried out to Jesus, only to be consumed by His weeping and grief. I raged at Democracy, only realize my own invisibleness. I shouted out to my neighbors but their thundering silence shamed me! I too may be America, but who is America? What we’ve become is who…
