I DIG OF THEE: SEVEN KWANSABAS
For Barack Hussein Obama
For Barack Hussein Obama
By K. Curtis Lyle
1
Brother, you made the white house hip
I want to ask you in person
If you need a brown eyed poet
To help you bag the spoiled murmurs
Of the Bush man’s con artist heart
That still stink up the oval office
If you do, I’m your main man
2
From the rim of the Grand Canyon
A cobalt blue Rolls Royce turns left
The voice of a dry saint unfolds
Like a violet dream turbine in reverse
The black smoke of a spirit nurse
Takes the voice inside and quietly repeats
“Barack, you are soul central to me”
3
The first black woman is a drum
The first black man is a rumor
She is an old song sung roughly
His gravel voice full of good liquor
They are the price to be paid
For seeing terror and wonder in being
The line between the human and divine
4
I rub two sticks and let fire
Form the front side of my origins
Let water soothe my raw back side
Where Kenya and Kansas made my sense
If you try to erase my mouth
Milk from the new world will flow
Telling the whole story of my love
5
Does the invader ever bring good news?
When we have entered the prayer time
Where aroma bends the world like notes
Where people, places, things are all singing
Where doors open to ecstasy and touch
Is primal, cordial, allied to the body
Here is a rare episode of beauty
6
Sip with me from the Holy Grail
Prepare the day and lay the trail
Then set the hawk against the wind
See his silent mind and arc ascend
What now happens is the only way
His nature is to kill the prey
That is how the game is played
7
I dig of thee, because you said,
“One love can touch the whole world
Without it, no man knows the word
A man asleep cannot see his blood
But awake he can feel his will
In the cellar of the darkest temple
The voice of sacred work is love”
*
Photo by Wiley Price of The St. Louis American, from the same exclusive shoot that produced the world-famous image of AME bishops praying over Obama in St. Louis.
1
Brother, you made the white house hip
I want to ask you in person
If you need a brown eyed poet
To help you bag the spoiled murmurs
Of the Bush man’s con artist heart
That still stink up the oval office
If you do, I’m your main man
2
From the rim of the Grand Canyon
A cobalt blue Rolls Royce turns left
The voice of a dry saint unfolds
Like a violet dream turbine in reverse
The black smoke of a spirit nurse
Takes the voice inside and quietly repeats
“Barack, you are soul central to me”
3
The first black woman is a drum
The first black man is a rumor
She is an old song sung roughly
His gravel voice full of good liquor
They are the price to be paid
For seeing terror and wonder in being
The line between the human and divine
4
I rub two sticks and let fire
Form the front side of my origins
Let water soothe my raw back side
Where Kenya and Kansas made my sense
If you try to erase my mouth
Milk from the new world will flow
Telling the whole story of my love
5
Does the invader ever bring good news?
When we have entered the prayer time
Where aroma bends the world like notes
Where people, places, things are all singing
Where doors open to ecstasy and touch
Is primal, cordial, allied to the body
Here is a rare episode of beauty
6
Sip with me from the Holy Grail
Prepare the day and lay the trail
Then set the hawk against the wind
See his silent mind and arc ascend
What now happens is the only way
His nature is to kill the prey
That is how the game is played
7
I dig of thee, because you said,
“One love can touch the whole world
Without it, no man knows the word
A man asleep cannot see his blood
But awake he can feel his will
In the cellar of the darkest temple
The voice of sacred work is love”
*
Photo by Wiley Price of The St. Louis American, from the same exclusive shoot that produced the world-famous image of AME bishops praying over Obama in St. Louis.
No comments:
Post a Comment