Publishing News

Guest blogger, Lillie Lindsay's poem, 

"Red Riding Hoodie," 

is now published in 

The Assault on Communities of Color: Exploring the Realities of Race-Based Violence!

Congratulations, Lillie! 

Guest Post

I hate painful endings
Hungover beginnings
Feet up counting my winnings
From last night
A ticket on the last flight
Home
I can feel you slipping from my grip
My body dangles hanging off a cliff
Your hand around my wrist
You're about to let me go
You watch me plummet to certain death
I'm running from reality unable to stop and catch my breath
It's grabbing me by the leg
The reason my uncles dead
Reality , reality just set in
Most relations are just dead ends
Notice no ships to sail on that relation
Cuz I'm not no cop, cuffing not my occupation
Eyes looking like I'm Asian
My heart darker than some Haitians
Painful endings
Hungover beginnings
You running with a broken leg,  no Greg Jennings
Got a pool and I'm swimming
Life's a pond and I'm fishing

Guest Post

Every time we have this conversation

I'm lost in translation 
mastered The Art of Persuasion 

Your soul white, Caucasian 

As white as the cocaine air forces 
I Had A's on all my courses
Back when I was in middle school 
Got distracted by a swimming pool 
That I would frequently visit 
I would frequently hit it 

My grades dropped 

My waves stopped
Cuz I grew my hair out 
I didn't really care bout

Nothing 

After all why should I ? 

After all how could I ? 

In this world that I'm living in 

Most children illegitimate 

Judge giving sentences 
Putting periods on lives 

Devil in a new dress

Gave birth to a new stress 
I'm there for her but maybe I should care less 
Maybe she could care less 
If I'm dead or alive 
If I'm down or I'm live
Perhaps it doesn't make a difference 
Her child will be  bastard

I'm ghost just like I'm Casper 

Never wanted to be a rapper
I never had aspirations 
I made mistakes before 
But underwent maturation 
But every time we have this conversation 

I got lost in translation

My soul black, I never waited 

My heart pure, I never hated 

I cried tears next to the devil 

I just reached a new level 

Of hell 

I dwell 

Never talkin , in my shell 

Cuz down here you can't tell

who's real and who's fake

Who's a rat and who a snake 

I took it through the wire like Kanye did in 04 

Still I want more 
Even if I'm sore 
I'll go until I collapse 
I'll die on two feet
Never knees on the floor 
A lot of people don't want to see me shine 
But I'll come out on top every time

Things are never fair

My guest blogger today is Z.

Read his work in

Z's Corner.

Things are never fair, I still play the game
I can hear Atlanta calling my name
Her voice is the sweetest
Lack of knowledge leads to destruction
In a world marked by deep corruption
In a country where the government don't function
Just yesterday I was learning conjunctions
Now I'm dealing with all the rumors and assumptions
I'm the heir to the throne
Stay close to the chrome
Ghetto people stay close to the chrome
They'll bring the toast to your home
The rich man sleeps
The broke man grinds
Rich man lost his luster
Broke man just started to shine

~~ZJ

Worries of the Day by Z

Worries of the Day by Z

 

 

Worries of the day

are merely memories at night

I'm in complete darkness, unable to see light

Wondering if life would be easier if i was white

Or would i still be seen as a hooligan

not enough people schoolin' him

fresh out of jail out being a fool again

These are things many blacks are seen as

Portrayed as

or viewed on television as all bad

It's time for us to stop and redefine black power

Many souls lost via that white powder

Selling and using

violence and abusing

We're killing each other

and leaving our mothers

Alone to moan and weep

And try and try to get over us

instead of themselves, they chose us

But then we would grow up,

That lean we would pour up

Mess around and get tore up

Our enemies show up

and drop us on the spot

Hearts are cold

Now The block is hot

Lead flying

Innocent children dying

Catching strays

hanging out the window with AKs

Like it’s our time

It’s our day

We think we've won but in actuality we all lost

Take a second to pray for all my souls lost

We used to have a goal, and now that goal's lost

Like a track meet, sometimes i wish i could pole vault

Out of this hood

Men on the porch, smoking good

Old heads in Cadillac bendin' corners and grippin' wood

Two options, School or Selling

it’s hard to do what i know i should

A black male is worth less than a dog

I feel clenched tight

By the jaws of the law

I envy you all

who walk without this dark cloud

Created by dark complexion

The reason for a lot of stressing

I can't fall victim to your stereotypes

But worries of the day are simply memories at night

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like Lillie Lindsay, my guest blogger today, Z, was inspired by what happened to Trayvon Martin.

 

Talking to Lillie Lindsay about "Red Riding Hoodie"

My guest blogger today is Lillie Lindsay.

When I asked about Lillie's writing process, she wrote the following:

"I don't have a writing process, per se. I was inspired by the Facebook posts where everyone wrote, ‘I Am Trayvon Martin.’ I always make reference to the past whenever I write. In this case, I referred to Little Red Riding Hood, Emmett Till and Trayvon Martin."

 

Who influenced Lillie?

"So far as an influence, I remember reading a quote from Alice Walker some years ago where she quipped, ‘An ax went into the woods and the tree said, 'Look at the Handle, he is one of us.’ That made me think about how the shooter was a member of an ethnic minority himself."

 

Where did Lillie get her form?

"While I was in the Peace Corps in Jamaica, I used to go to Dub Poetry slams [and listen to poetry] from writers like Cherry Natural. They were into telling a story and not so caught up with rhyme scheme."

 

Do you want to read Lillie's poem?
 

"Red Riding Hoodie"

 

Red Riding Hoodie by Lillie Lindsay

My guest blogger today is Lillie Lindsay, an analyst for Hewlett-Packard and a Samsung Experience Consultant for Samsung Telecommunications.

Lillie shared this poem with me, and I asked for permission to share it here as an example of how we are often moved to write in response to what is going on in the world around us.

Enjoy!

Red Riding Hoodie by Lillie Lindsay

Let me tell the story of a goodie goodie,
A shortie by the name of Red Riding Hoodie,
She would take her Big Mama food for supper,
Make sure she was good and get up with her.

One evening she and granny were watching television,
She said, "Big Mama may I have permission to leave,
I will come right back."
Little Red just wanted to buy some snacks,

Granny gave her a look of concern,
She called Little Red very close to her,
She said, "Little Red, please listen good."
When walking throughout the neighborhood,
I don't want you to say a word,
Get your snacks, and get back here girl.

Granny was a little concerned,
It was not quite night, but she was worried,
She was not worried about the birds or the bees,
There was a crazy woodcutter, a vigilante.
He walked around with an ax,
Late into the night you would hear the wood crack.

Everyone thought he was a nut,
He thought he was protecting with every tree that he cut,
Every tree that fell to the ground,
Made such a terrible sound,
Their last sight would be the ax you see,
Held on by a piece of wood .....wood just like me.

Little Red was on her cell phone,
When she used it, she did not feel alone,
All she wanted was some candy and tea,
She and Granny would get back to watching TV.

Out of nowhere came the woodcutter,
He saw the Red Hoodie, and knew he had to cut her,
Cut her life short, "Racoon.” he sang,
He thought, "She is a member of the Pyru Bloods gang."

The next part gets confusing,
He told Little Red he would give her a bruising,
All we know is her life was lost,
He went back to the woods .......to the woods,
So he could gather his thoughts.

Next he built a website,
He said people, give me money,
Give me money if you like the way I smoked a child down in cold blood,
Then the money, the money, the money did flood.

Next, he stood before the magistrate,
He said, “Please your honor I just can’t wait in a cell with a criminal element.
The judge said, “Dude, that is irrelevant.”
Then they called,
Then they called,
Then they called in the witnesses..

She couldn’t read cursive so they said she was witless.
Tell me what kinda,
What kinda,
What kinda sense is this?
When the young lady can speak 4 different languages.

They had a jury of his peers,
They witnessed carnage, blood and violence
They didn’t give him any years,
Leaving the nation torn with tears in silence.

Emmett was a tree cut down,
When he fell, no one else even heard the sound,
He made the shelter called civil rights,
Our parents took up that fight.

Trayvon was a tree as well,
He too was cut down, his story I tell,
He made a shelter too strong for hate,
A beating heart full of love awaits.

A shot to the heart couldn’t kill,
A spirit of love and goodwill,
HE watches us all from above,
Now we all stand our ground on love.
--
Lillie Lindsay

Do you want to read about why Lillie wrote this poem?

Talking to Lillie Lindsay

Would you guys be interested in reading my poems?

Today’s guest post is by my son, Z, of Z’s Corner. Enjoy!






I was thinking about how I could connect to the people more by doing more than just talking about what I’m doing or what’s going on with me. The reason I was thinking about this is because my mom told me that people were reading and talking about what I’ve written so far, and when I hear things like that, I always think about how I could take things to the next level and achieve more. And one of the ways I thought of that could help me achieve more is creating an image for myself.

I mean, do you guys even know what I look like?

I Googled my mom and she has an image. I typed her first name and the rest of her name instantly popped up. I want that too, I must admit. I clicked the images tab and I saw a picture of myself from who knows when with a book in my hand and a shooting sleeve on. How embarrassing is that?  Anyway, I’m way off topic.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, how to amplify my image and connect with the readers more.

Well, first off, I need to tell you guys something. I write poems and I think they’re pretty good. But I’m afraid to show them to you guys because you guys would probably think I was crazy or something!

 

 

But I also feel like a lot of people would really be able to relate to them. I always speak on things that I see through my own eyes. I can’t stand rappers who rap about things they have no experience with or no nothing about. No, I am not a rapper, but the reason I reference them is because a rapper is basically a poet. The very foundation of music is poetry.



 

I would rather stick with poetry. I think the words pack a greater punch when it’s just raw spoken word.

 

I write about my views, the world, my girlfriend, my thoughts, my feelings, my aspirations and regrets.

 

I want whoever reads my words to feel as if they were me after they finished reading them. I want the reader to feel the emotion I felt as I typed them out. I’ve written over 300 and I started in the 7^th grade and I’m currently entering 11^th. 

 

What made me start writing poems was a crush on a girl.

How cliché is that?

I gained my most potent talent from a childish crush.

I’ve sure grown up and learned a lot since then.

My vision is much different now.

Back then my writing was very one track minded.

The only thing I could seem to write about was that girl.

That girl is now an afterthought, but boy was I good at expressing my admiration.

 

Since then my writing has gotten 100 times better.

The raw emotion needed was always there, but I could never make the words sound as dope and clever as I felt inside as I felt about whatever the topic was.

My writing period has matured since then and the reason I’ve written all of this is really to set up this simple question:
 

Would you guys be interested in reading my poems?

 

Writing a Research Paper by Z

Today’s guest post is by my son, Z, of Z’s Corner. Enjoy!

How I Chose Cloning for My Topic for a Research Paper (Oh, my goodness! This is the longest title of a paragraph ever J) by Z

Full Disclosure

Ok, so I’m only writing about this because my mom really wanted me to tell you guys.

I didn’t really care to write about it, but I guess I’m going to even if I don’t want to,ha ha. . .




Stumbling Upon a Topic

So, I was sitting in class, and the teacher was saying topics, and if you wanted the topic, you had to raise your hand.

Everyone took the easy topics like abortion and stuff, and I thought, Hey, cloning might be something interesting.

Boy, was I wrong.

Cloning was a boring topic, but I got the job done, reluctantly.

How Did I Get the Job Done?

Well, first I Googled cloning because I only vaguely knew what it was.

I found this whole huge essay by someone at Stanford, and it explained everything.

Basically, I paraphrased most of it and cited it because the assignment was to explain what we picked as a source.

This was a really boring and strenuous paper to write, and

that’s basically how I wrote it.

Later, folks.

How I Write by Z

Today’s guest post is by my son, Z, of Z’s Corner. Enjoy!

 

With a poem, I start writing because
I am inspired by something that is
happening around me,

has happened recently,
something I see, or
something I’m thinking or feeling.
Writing is very emotional for me.
My relationship with writing is like
an off and on, in and out of love type relationship.
Sometimes I’m hot, sometimes I’m cold.
We all have our days.
When I have my days,
I start with a line and then build
something much bigger, and then all of a sudden

I have a poem.

Where Do I Start? by S. Lanier Lovejoy

I know it’s been a while since I’ve had a guest post. Hopefully, I will be able to provide them more often. Today’s post is by S. Lanier Lovejoy. Enjoy!

Where Do I Start?

by S. Lanier Lovejoy

I want to write but I just don’t know where to start. What subject should I tackle today? I know that I love to write, so why is it so difficult to determine what to write? Does my desire to write far outweigh my ability to write?

     The aforementioned questions ring loudly in my head while dipping my toe in the water to write my first piece.  This “true” novice has long desired to pen something of interest to the world, provide a glimpse of things as I see them. Yet, my dogged companion at the end of the day is always a blank screen.  I keep telling myself I can write. I have a vivid imagination. I never let the facts get in the way of a good story.  Why can’t I convey these thoughts in an appropriate medium?  After every attempt and failure, I simply put away my instruments of doom and move on to something else. Yet, there is always this nagging voice within me that draws me back to the pen and paper, or that dreaded computer. So what’s a beginner to do?

    It is my belief that a beginning writer like me tries to write that epic tome right out of the gate. I have to show that I am the best undiscovered writer in the world; just wait until they get a hold of me! When in reality, it is probably more advisable to take smaller chunks out of that elephant before crowning myself a clear descendant of Hannibal. Sure, this is easier said than done, but I have to start somewhere. So where is this starting point?

     I asked a question of a friend once, “What are you passionate about?” I qualified my definition of passion as something that you have a fervid desire to do and nothing can detract you from it. Surprisingly, this friend had initial difficulty providing an answer. She wavered on things she liked to do, but couldn’t classify them as things she’s passionate about.

     My suggestion to anyone that desires to become a writer is to determine the one thing you’re passionate about, the one thing you probably can be considered a near-expert in, and start your magnum opus on that subject. Think about it. If you’re possessive of a writer’s spirit, and are able to write about that thing you’re most passionate about, then your commitment to this effort should rarely wane.

     Yes, this sounds simplistic and sophomoric.  Think back to your youth when everything was new, and every new toy brought about an unbridled desire. Whether it was a bike, computer game, or hula hoop, you just had to have it. You went to sleep at night thinking about that one thing. That, in my opinion, was passion (albeit slightly misplaced). We still possess those same strong feelings within ourselves, although the toys we’re passionate about today are slightly larger and more expensive. But if we can just bound that desire, that passion into an act or activity, or maybe even a person, and shape our topic around that subject, therein lies our starting point.

     Start with a description of the object. The beauty of writing is that you can always modify it later. Convey to your intended audience the depths of your passion on that subject. Why are you so passionate about it? What is the draw or allure you possess toward it? If you’re going to use a person as the object of your passion, please ensure that you define and bound your description of your passion towards this person. A trip down Thesaurus Lane and you’ll find some interesting synonyms for passion as they relate to a person.

     As you write, write for yourself. This is your passion. You’re merely using the written word to convey it, but it’s yours first. Ignore your impulses to write for others, and simply let the words flow. Like a great work of art, the observer will sense the passion in the author’s work and draw their own conclusions.

     Lastly, enjoy yourself. This isn’t a labor of strife, but a labor of love. I write because I have something to say. Shout it from the mountain top! Have fun with it and let the readers of your works glean passion from it.   

~~ S. Lanier Lovejoy

***Lovejoy and I talked about voice. You probably noticed the piece has more of a formal voice than my usual posts. I didn’t want to alter the voice because it’s “true.”

How do we name voice?

Is your voice always the same?

How do you decide which voice is appropriate for a piece?

Is it ever all right to write the way you talk?

How do you teach voice?

Is it even possible to teach voice?