by Pat Parker
minds staring thru
windows.
they are,
that we may see
our touches
magnified.
1960s m
There are so many bags to fall in
There’s the pimp gliding down the street
the pig cruising down his beat
The fag beating some dude’s meat
whole lot of bags to fall in
There’s a lot of labels to pin on
Cock sucking uncle Tom
jive ass whore
bull shitting pork chop
& a whole lot more
I’ve seen a lot of faces
running down their cases—
people in many places
can’t honestly say
i’ve met any body
in the same bag
in the same place
day after day after
day
October 1969m
Uncollected Poems: 1970s
Speech by a Black Nationalist to a white Audience.
why you people
don’t even know
what Black means.
I AM BLACK.
I AM SUPER BLACK!
I am Blacker than coal,
Blacker than tar,
Blacker than the
Blackest Black,
you ever did see.
Why I’m so Black —
night time reflects off me
and I hate you —
I am angry.
I am bad.
I am the angriest, evilest,
baddest cat ever —
Why, I hate you so much that,
when I holler
HONKIE!
my teeth sends out Black Sparks.
yeah,
I can’t stand you—
Looking at you makes me sick.
In fact,
the only reason I’m here
in your rotten presence, is cause
your treasurer promised to pay me —
with a BLACK check.
August 1970m
Growing Up
a small boy
on a tricycle.
a 4 foot board
with a 1 ft.
board across
it’s top
An intriguing
T.
a small boy
on a tricycle
a 4 foot board
across his
knees.
resistance
to progress
a struggle.
a small boy
on a tricycle
a 4 foot board
hooked on
the foot
stand
& great
progress.
1970m
Fleshy Soft Sea
cold,
spreads
from my neck
across my back
muscles
become
warm—
a second of
no feeling
then sweaty fire
then swing
1970m
i will not always be with you
even as i hold you
trace strands of your hair,
i dance though mazes
search the end’s light.
i will not always be with you
as my mind journeys,
i return
sometimes stronger —
caring even more.
August 1970m
not by chance
did our union begin.
no—
a long wait
now moving in and out
among silences
ah
such explosions—
i am weak,
but gain strength
— with each touch.
August 1970m
Transit Lady
you move
into night, softly
like the touch of lovers
and
return
into a new day
smiling rose petals
—leave a question
answered by the gods
or yourself
or both—
the same
leaving closed kisses
and a new day
1970s ? m
A Woman’s Love
I have sat in a lonely room
cluttered with words
of other’s voices,
Making wall paper figures dance,
Dance for me,
Like jesters before
a queen’s court.
I have lain
In our bed while,
you, love
Made word pictures
For other’s eyes.
I have listened
As your keys clicked,
Snapped to your orders,
Like scared soldiers
In your private war.
I have hated your words,
The thousands of words.
Words in a citadel
I can never share.
I have hated your words
More than any woman;
Yet, loved your words,
Because they are yours.
1970s ? m
“Good morning, Mrs. Parker. Are you interested in working?”
work
one can go for
long periods of time
without food.
…but if your stomach
is spoiled —
ladies and gentlemen!
a spoiled stomach
stomach you bastard
a hungry writer writes best.
YES
poets should go hungry.
my stomach
is a poet.
a capitalist poet.
Yes, I’m interested
in working.
1970s ? m
i have seen
your hands
old
cracked with creation
i have seen
you
honest
drawn with creation
i have seen
you
mold life from clay
why?
why is it so hard
to mold
yourself
mold yourself
take your old—
cracked
clayed hands
& mold
a free you
mold out
fears & doubts
Take cracked with clay senses
& mold
a creation
an artistic creation—
mold, become
a person of art,
a free person.
early 1970s m
To Lynda
Sometimes
i don’t want
to be a butterfly -
& fly dipping,
off trees & things -
would be
a caterpillar,
Wrapped
in a cocoon
& you
are the threads.
early 1970s m
from my bedroom window
the city lights are calm
and i think of you
my fingers touch my body
& i wish it was you
here, tracing love over me
Even in my orgasm
my body screens
touch me, please
My screams won’t reach
they lay here trapped
in the calm of city lights
early 1970s m
Sunday Morning
Good morning
Garbage man
the sounds
of your labor
jar
me from
slumber.
you look tired —
angry—
Does the clang
of the lid
&
nbsp; soothe
your mind?
Next week,
garbage Man
i will leave
a flower
on the lid—
to muffle
the clash
of metal.
August 1974m
To Tamara (Tami) Kallen
Sister, we welcome you
our ranks are many
yet we are so few
within us
there is a place for you.
Sister, we welcome you
we will sing, dance & play
make joyful sounds
laugh and be happy
celebrate your womanhood today.
Sister, we welcome you
to help us share the pain;
to fight our enemies—
both outside and within;
to join us on our Freedom Road
in a tiring struggle with no end.
Sister, we welcome you
our ranks are many
yet we are so few
within us—
there is a place for you.
October 1974
Gente
G is for girl,
where you at?
A common expression
to find out the facts.
E is for energy
which fully abounds
when this group moves
it don’t fuck around.
N is for niggers, niggers,
all over the place.
It covers us all—
regardless of race.
T is for tactless
And this is a fact
If you jump foolish—
You’ll be on your back.
E is for everywhere
Cause we continue to grow
Our isolated days are over
We’ll have these no more.
And before very long,
& mark my words as true;
Folks gonna be chanting—
Me too — Me too — Me too
November 1975
Cop took my hand
led me to his car
led me to his car
Say I’m busting you
for tearing up that bar
Drove me to jail
Shut me in real tight
Shut me in real tight
Lord, I’m so sorry
for getting in a fight.
Went to the judge
Slam his gavel down
Slam his gavel down
he says thirty days
for acting like a clown.
When I leave here
gonna make a trail
gonna make a trail
Keep away from bars
Keep the hell out of jails
March 1975
Anatomy of a Pig
I’m a “negro” leader
I always try to please
Lined up at the man’s slop feeder
Call me hoghead cheese
I am the black preacher
I humbly steal your MEAT
For Christ is my teacher
Call me pig feet
I am the intellectual
Kissing the man’s cock
I’m clean cut & professional
Call me ham hock
I am the militant black
Telling the honkie to stop
I charge highly for my act
Call me pork chop
1976m
[Limericks]
Left my home in Texas
Waved bye to my ma & pa.
Said, I’d come back someday
tho I tried my best
I never found the way—
ma & pa long been laid to rest
*
Met a guy in Indiana
From a rich family in Savannah
Wanted me in luridness with him
said he could make me rich
In two years without a bitch
but I couldn’t stay & shake my traveling whims
*
On the road again
going through the country side
making friends
& leaving them behind—
Can’t rest my head
till this traveling urge is dead
got to keep going & see what i can find.
*
Met this gal in Denver
She really care for me
Treated me really fine
She wanted me to stay with her
& tho i loved her true
I couldn’t stay
cause i’m the traveling kind
*
Now my head is getting gray—
and i got no place to stay
Cause I left everybody behind—
I hope on that day
when the Lord calls me home
There’s plenty of space in heaven, for me to roam
1970s ? m
Agua Riseuño
i looked that up
when i was supposed
to study —
learn about Mt. Eden
& i smiled
laughed with you
loved you
left you
& went to Chino, Lake Mary.
Now i return
to listen to your
breathing
agua riseuño
so says Valasquez
& i took you
to the beach
of Santa Cruz
moved away to people
just you
the sand
the water
laughing
& i listened.
1970s ? m
Poem #4 for Ann
i walk into your life
& ask you to come with me.
i’m not sure where we’ll go
but i know it won’t be easy.
i ask you to come with me
among people who won’t understand.
They ask how can we love?
never why or how much.
i ask you to come with me
thru good time and bad
we will be crazy happy
hurt, pained and sad.
i ask you to come with me
among people of color
who will doubt us
and not trust me
who will say i fraternize
with you — the enemy.
i ask you to come with me
& we spend 10 hours in a boat
trying to catch fish for dinner
play pioneers of old
& we eat potatoes instead
giggle in front of the fire
feel good — cause there’s no one
politicizing our feelings
just the night and stars.
i ask you to come with me
and we go into bars
& people say hello
& shake my hand
& smile at you
acknowledge you as the hand
i’m holding this month
& i want to scream
hey, this is my woman
but i don’t
so no feminist will say—
i’m being sexist
& miss what i’m saying
i ask you to come with me
& we go to a supermarket
grin and dance inside
cause we bought a pot holder
and it’s important
cause it’s for our home
which to most is a raggedy barn
with independent stairs
going their own way.
i ask you to come with me
we walk down the streets
and i am afraid
of the bold one
who will say
what the others only look
& of what might happen.
i ask you to come with me
& we spend five hours
cleaning out a basement
& we sit on a broken couch
&nb
sp; & you get a dirt mustache
combination Chaplin & Ronald Coleman
& we are two goddesses
surveying our creation
agreeing — Yes it is good.
i ask you to come with me
& we eat at other couples homes
& i think of my past fears
know how long and hard i ran
away from that label
blank and blank
& think now how proud i am
of the conjunction that binds us.
i ask you to come with me
into a world that grow smaller
people are defining the enemy
are defining away more people
day by day.
i ask you to come with me
into a future not known
uncertain, but surely difficult
i ask you to share your life
not knowing what will be
but knowing if we’re together
