My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: When will we overcome?

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: When will we overcome?: "Yesterday was the day the American Government appointed for us to celebrate Martin Luther Kings’ birthday. His birthday was on the 15th of J..."

When will we overcome?

Yesterday was the day the American Government appointed for us to celebrate Martin Luther Kings’ birthday. His birthday was on the 15^th of January, he would have been 82 if he hadn’t died in 1968.

It was heartwarming to see people of all races and nationalities pay respect and praise the work of our beloved Dr. King, who was a true humanitarian and a sincere ambassador of peace. A man who had a dream, who in his wildest night mare could never imagine the horrors America has become.

Dr. King with many black Americans marched and were imprisoned fighting for equality for all people in America.  He and loyal supporters, were tired of the injustice endured, by black Americans since slavery. They were subjected to police beatings, dog attacks and the masked Klansmen riding in the night killing men, women and children for such crimes as looking at white women, drinking from white only water fountains, speaking out of turn to a white person. Things that today we take for granted.

There were blacks who didn’t march, who accepted their fate as ‘Negros/colored people’ and others who did not believe in Kings’ nonviolent philosophy. There were hustlers, drug dealers and gangs.  There were fights, killings and disrespect in our communities, but one thing for sure they came together to fight prejudice, to obtain equality and the privileges of the constitution.

We had and still have some of the fighters of justice, like the Nation of Islam, the Black Panthers and the preachers, Father Divine, Reverend Ike and Noble Drew Ali to name a few.  They spoke to the masses fighting for each of us, a fight still being fought today. Thank you Al Sharpton and the others voices that aren't as loud..

Black folks are in every walk of life today, doctors, lawyers, politicians, athletes, musicians and business men.  I am proud, just like James Brown said, “I’m black and I’m proud.”  Yes, black, not African American.  I was born here, in America; I cannot trace my ancestry back to Africa.  My mothers’ family says we were part Indians; my father side came from Spain. But me I was born and raised here in the good old United States of America, that makes me American.  To classify me further I am a black American. It’s all I know.  We don’t say European American, do we? Why can’t we all who were born here just be Americans?

With all the accomplishments we have obtained in the last fifty years. A black president, he’s African American, he may not be a descendant of slaves, but I’m sure he has a cousin that were. Yet he is our first black president, does this mean we have over came? I don’t think we have.

Dr. King had a dream that little black boys and girls will hold the hands of little white boys and girls. Yes that part of his dream came true; they marry today and have mixed children, like we weren’t mixed before. But he didn’t see the nightmare.  He didn’t see little black boys and girls killing each other over sneakers, a word considered disrespectful. He didn’t see us stealing from each other, selling each other out. The sad thing is we think it’s’ normal.  We’ve always made songs of our environments, during slavery, during Jim Crow, during the civil rights movement. So those who blame rap for the mind set of our children need to reevaluate that thought. Our kids are shouting about the plight they face today.

We are so busy trying to live up to the Trumps’, Oprah's’ and Jay-Zs’ that we neglect our education.  We fail to give our children values, the ones our parents instilled in us.  It use to be on Friday night, Saturday night we drink, get high and cut up. But Sunday morning we went to church and bow down on our knees and prayed the Lord forgive us, we asked for guidance and strengthen. Then worked all week to pay the rent, put food on the table and clothes on our backs.

Today we get high everyday of the week. Smoking weed, crack, PCP, ecstasy and whatever else we can use to get a cheap escape from reality.  We spend our rent, food and clothing money on a get high. Then yell at our children for being children. They get in our way so we give them to the streets and cry when they get killed or locked up.

Dr. King would cry if he saw the horrors of today. Strippers, drug dealers, bank robbers, child molesters, those who rape and kill. We do it to ourselves and cry foul when innocent people like Sean Bell http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/.../sean_bell/index.html and Amadou Diallo http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/.../d/amadou_diallo/index.html get shot by the police 50-40 times.  I’m not saying its right but this is the image we portray.  We need to clean up our own trash so we can be the dream that the Great Dr. Martin Luther King foreseen. Having a black man in the white house is progress, black millionaires, billionaires is great.  But what about the little babies born in the ghetto, to a strung out mother, absent fathers.  What kind of dream does he have?

Yesterday we celebrated D. Kings’ birthday and today another black person will be killed by the hands of a black person. We came together to vote for the first black president.  We marched for the million men march and the million family march.  That’s fine and good but marching doesn’t get things done. We need to teach our children to respect life and understand the struggles of Americans throughout history.  We need to realize it’s takes a ghetto to raise a community and become a better class of people. A people who love one another and help each other, be the best we can be. Our children must realize that although we’ve come a long way, there are still prejudices in this country and we need to hear Rodney King, who was beating by the Los Angeles Police Department in 1991, asked the world, “Can’t we all just get along?”

In the memory of Dr. King, we shall overcome the hatred we reflect on each other.

But then this is just my 2cents and it aint worth a penny.

copyright Kimberly Floria 1/18/2001

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Life through my eyes.

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Life through my eyes.: "Breast Swollen in Pride. With the sun rising gold and orange,against the soft blue sky,you stood with your chest held high,in pride. O..."

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Life through my eyes.

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Life through my eyes.: "Breast Swollen in Pride. With the sun rising gold and orange,against the soft blue sky,you stood with your chest held high,in pride. O..."

Life through my eyes.

Breast Swollen in Pride.

 With the sun rising gold and orange,

against the soft blue sky,

you stood with your chest held high,

in pride.

On the smooth asphalt,

facing the fiberglass monsters,

racing toward you.

daring them to strike.

Were you really there?

Were you a mirage, testing my humanity?

I couldn’t see your eyes,

I imagine defiance,

Daring me to strike you with one final blow.

Your demise will not be at my hands,

not on this earthly land.

Around you I go,

leaving you standing,

 eyes you hide,

Your breast swollen in pride.

I pull in a lot, where I could see you.

What should I do?

Should I push you aside?

As I sat and tried to decide,

a car racing to who knows where,

took no fear and squished you with no care.

There I sat, my heart scarred,

my spirit marred.

Your spirit escaped.

A gory mess, left on the asphalt,

your demise not my fault.

Innocence murdered,

demon soul, had they saw you there?

Your breast swollen in pride,

Why were you there?

In defiance you dared.

small, yet a life,

what was your strife?

Were you thrown from your nest?

Left to do your best?

Was it defiance in your eyes?

Or a longing for a suicide demise?

In the early morn,

The world will miss your mating song.

Your wings forever in flight,

as you welcome death tonight.

There will be sorrow,

without you tomorrow.

I shed these tears,

innocent life not spared.

No respect for the life of a man,

how can a sparrow survive this land?

copyright 9/2008  K. Wilhelmina Floria

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Waking Conscious

The devil is amused,
by all the fools who lose their cool
        in the arena of shattered dreams.

Lost in the lust of want before the must.
Pleasing the greedy, that preys on the needy.
Concealed in the source, of freedom of choice,
        full of remorse.

Precious jewels, of no value, bursting with diluted morale.

It’s all about me, can’t you see?

Material gain, my private fame.
Family illusions, a future of confusion.

What is joy? An emotional toy?
        A paranoid schizophrenic void?

 Half pass the race of thought,
        personal existence is short.

 The clock of time slows to an end,
        a battle of amends.
Fortune accounts fill with selfish needs.
A chest full of guilt, regret and treasures of greed.

Praying for a cheating win.
Paying tithes, with hopes of liquidating sins.

A vanishing pass,
        And breath takes its last.

Final thoughts of waking conscious.

copyright by: K. Wilhelmina Floria 12/10/07



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FATE BE TOLD

Weeping sorrows,

full of illusions and dissatisfaction.

Stimulating anxiety,

a designer disorder,

yearning sedation,

requiring rehab.

Seeking amends

for a life

unfixable.

Really too tired to care.

Hiding,

deep in the shadows.

Invisibly trying to be seen.

Now.

Was it fate

that gave me this day?

Or,

was it the life I lived

that became my fate?

Once I tried to steal joy,

sure that happiness would follow.

So said,

that time is gone.

Today,

fires of hell are trying to engulf me.

Blinding my eyes

With oozing tears of strength.

Eliminating the dark flames of hell,

to a path where heaven  shines,

and warm my cold heart.

copyright By: K. Wilhelmina Floria 6/9/09

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Single Tear

A teardrop

spiked with salt

heavy with memories,

past and lost.

Living in despair,

hiding in fear.

Poverty I understand,

here’s my helping hand.

For those seeking more,

find an open door.

Love shared, given,

And not returned.

Lessons learned.

Tears filled to the brim;

daylight turns dim.

A child’s coffin,

abused once too often.

Mother’s bloody hands can’t defend;

an absent father can’t comprehend.

A twisted face,

a bitter taste.

Rolling free into tomorrow,

filling a river called sorrow.

An ocean of salty tears,

evolved over the years.

A single tear

spiked with salt,

no longer lost.

copyright By: K. Wilhelmina Floria1/06/08

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OUCH!!!

Lost inside a shell,

sometimes called hell.

Gorging on a diet of bullshit,

now I’m torn and sick.

Empty praises, false adornment,

tricks of torment.

Right from the start,

my blessings a bruised heart.

Gifted with endless pain,

to drive me madly insane.

Hiding inside a shell,

sometimes called hell.

Fueled by greed, it’s affection I need.

Constantly if you please.

I gave the best of my life,

and he took another wife.

To her he did wed,

me he took to bed.

I don’t belong here, there or anywhere.

Disappearing inside a shell,

sometimes called hell.

I believed in her affection,

thinking my heart would have protection.

Like a man it’s the same,

full of illussional game.

When she gets a call from Bacardi Le’mon,

it’s me left alone.

She lives her life and I live mine.

never shall the two intertwine.

Consumed inside a shell,

sometimes called hell.

Loneliness won’t you leave,

I want to breathe.

Ignorance is bliss,

spawn three from my pussy lips.

The children are grown,

and want to be left alone.

Stroke my delicate ego,

like a long ear beagle.

OUCH!!!

I got a boo boo.

Oh! Boo who who?

Crack that shell,

sometimes called hell.

copyright by K. Wilhelmina Floria 7/14/08

 

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Feast of Life

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Feast of Life: " Plow the rocks,pick the weeds,till the soil with thoughtfulness, Fertilize with love, plant seeds of humanity.Provide warm sunshine,an..."

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Feast of Life

My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Feast of Life: " Plow the rocks,pick the weeds,till the soil with thoughtfulness, Fertilize with love, plant seeds of humanity.Provide warm sunshine,an..."