In the black and white of life, I see vibrant hues
by Renee Matthews Jackson

In the black and white of life, I see vibrant hues
Reaching God’s promised years, I’ve paid most of my dues
Prefer singing sultry jazz, not songs of salty blues
Realized that some I have known truly have no clues
In the magic of each exhale
I breathe in the breath of good hope
Because of witnessing all too well
The Great Spirit helps me to cope
When rainbows dissolve into crystalline bright stars
The new world crumbles the old, leaving fresh-faced scars
Blatant evidence of fright in border patrol Czars
“Alligator Alcatraz”; humans caged behind bars
I retreat to my happy place
Where colors dance and tend to play
And leave this world without a trace
Eyes wide, unveiling God’s great grace
*
For man is not meant to live in chaos that abounds
But enjoy all of creation with its sights and sounds
Feet planted in the soil to get the source from sacred grounds
And if they might be tilted, straighten up our crowns
*
Paint a pretty scene in your mind
Let go of the tension and grief
Be humble, stand tall, and be kind
Charge your soul and summon relief
Don’t move about like you are blind
Harness the powers of your belief
And stick to your Muse, it will bind
Renee Matthews Jackson [2025]
Artwork by Renee Matthews Jackson
Freedom in me
by MARY SEYMOUR

Sefira Lightstone (Artist)
Hiding behind the self-inflected visions of who I am
Visual images flood my mind every day of who I’m supposed to be
Look and Feel from the color of my skin to the thoughts in my mind
To the music I hear in my head
Living life and experiencing the layers of conditioning that have been imposed exposed to every living, breathing part of my existence
Today, I freed myself and took out the weave to experience another self-imposed.

https://medium.com/swlh/work-is-freedom-is-opportunity-2d6b24c706bf
Looking in the mirror, trying to see the beauty in me, the me that is always with me
The me that is the internal part of the collective universe
Yes, I am Black with hair exactly in the image of Gabby and Angela Davis
Today, it’s called Afrocentric. Yesterday, it was called militant
I am a part of yesterday’s struggle and a part of today’s challenge
COPYRIGHT © Mary Seymour /
Iforcolor.org – DRS / © 2024
June 2, 2024
admin
Poetry
Mary and Her Cello

by Mary Seymour

Amanti Allure
SALAAM MUHAMMAD – (Artist)
When Mary played the cello, a warm, strange, yet sensitive feeling would slowly move through her body. She didn’t understand this different and sometimes intense feeling that started below her belly button and traveled straight down her stomach towards both legs. Sometimes, the sensation began in the center of her chest where her training bra sat between her stomach and these new things called breasts. She loved to play the cello, especially at school, since she sat the first seat first stand, and sometimes the music teacher allowed her to play the A chord so the entire orchestra could tune up their instruments.
🎻
On Wednesday, Mary would go to the rehearsal room to practice instead of eating lunch. She would slowly take her cello from the case and gently place the instrument on its side. Then she would take the Rosen in her left hand and run the bow up and down, making sure the bow was perfect for touching her cello’s strings. Mary would then pick up the cello and carefully place the cello’s body on her right breast and thigh, pick up the bow, and begin to play. The warm, comfortable vibrations from the cello caress the air. Mary and her cello were one; she would sway back and forth, and her left hand would move up and down the cello’s neck.
🎻
Until yesterday, all of Mary’s thoughts have focused on her beautiful cello and the mysterious feeling she feels every time she plays the instrument. But yesterday afternoon, Peter asked if he would walk her home. He even asked to carry her cello. Mary said yes to both questions; when they arrived at her door, Peter slowly leaned the cello on the side of Mary’s house, grabbed her, and wrapped his arms around her waist in one slow, quick move. Peter planted a very sloppy, wet kiss directly on her lips. Mary fell back, stunned by this warm sensation; she started to feel again the feeling went from her belly down and through both her legs and then up from her belly button to these things called breasts. Mary experienced her first passionate kiss. Now, the two most important things in 7th grade are her cello and maybe, Peter
🎻

“Ethereal Strings” SALAAM MUHAMMAD (Artist)
“Amanti Allure“
SALAAM MUHAMMAD – (Artist)
“Ethereal Strings”
SALAAM MUHAMMAD – (Artist)
COPYRIGHT © Mary Seymour /
Iforcolor.org – DRS / © 2024

I wake up in the Bahamas,
which is my bedroom,
then eventually I travel down to London in the living room.
Eventually, I make my way to Detroit( dining room )
and then travel to Kentucky to get some good home-cooked- meals.
Sometimes, but not often, I’ll travel to Denver
because it’s a little cooler down there in the basement
and last, but not least
I come back to the Bahamas and rejuvenate, until the next sunrise.”
~ I wake up.~
Angela Winborn

@Iforcolor.org
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED {Angela Winborn}
Movement impulse feeling in the hands.
old|young|tired|hands music guitar talks
don’t need to play just close my eyes and
fingers fly close my eyes play this play
that see I don’t’ play guitar
guitar plays
me fine! Fine.

Guitar play me fine music just come don’t know how.
Music just come just close my eyes and fingers fly just close my eyes and fingers fly smilin’, rocin’ and clapp’n in time see fingers fly starts to sings a new song close my eyes singing this time.
words just come don’t know how words just come don’t care how guitar say slow, guitar say go guitar plays me Fine! Fine!
guitar plays me Fine! Fine! Fine!

MARY SEYMOUR All rights reserved (c) Mary Seymour – [Iforcolor.org] NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED

Me
Mary Seymour
Choose|Chose
Choose|Chose
i chose to believe whatever i chose to believe
I choose not to care what you think about this poem interesting? For feelings are me. This totally unique member of humankind
chosen to be on this planet for one second at this time don’t want to rhyme i choose to choose to use this time as wisely as wise
i chose not to blame my parents, husband, children or grandchild for what I will or will not achieve in life.
i choose to see the beauty in everything that is beautiful determined by my standard and not others
not others
i choose to get excited and smile when music takes over for one moment I choose to be proud of Black Skin and Kinky Hair
I choose to embrace the history of my ancestors with love and respect
I choose to liberate what I chose from the layers of conditioning that has been imposed on choosing.
i choose to be the a educated Black woman understanding the complexity of my blackness.
when I choose I chose not to impress just write what’s right for me.
i choose to love the energy of honest love
i choose to write and write until I write the chosen truths in my soul
maybe the first step I choose to believe.

All rights reserved (c) Mary Seymour [Iforcolor.org] NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED
I, Too
by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED

Lorraine Hansberry singing. Photograph by Molly Malone Cook, circa 1957-1958.
I LIKE
Mahalia Jackson’s music
My husband — most of the time
dressed up
being admired for my looks
Dorothy Secules eyes
Dorothy Secules
Shakespeare
Having an appetite
Slacks
My homosexuality
Being alone
Eartha Kitt’s looks
Eartha Kitt
That first drink of Scotch
To feel like working
The little boy in “400 Blows”
The way I look
Certain flowers
The way Dorothy Talks
Older Women
Miranda D’Corona’s accent
Charming women
And/or intelligent women
I HATE
Being asked to speak
Speaking getting
Too much mail
My loneliness
My homosexuality
Stupidity
Most television programs
What has happened to Sidney Poitier
Racism
People who defend it
Seeing my picture
Reading my interviews
Jean Genet’s plays
Jean Paul Sartre’s writing
Not being able to work
Death
Pain Cramps
Being hung over
Silly women
As silly men
David Suskind’s pretensions
Sneaky love affairs.

Lorraine Hansberry, 1959. Photograph by David Attie. (National Portrait Gallery)
NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED

I listened as they called my President a Muslim.
I listened as they called him and his family a pack of monkeys.
I listened as they said he wasn’t born here.
I watched as they blocked every single path to progress that they could.
I saw the pictures of him as Hitler.
I watched them shut down the government and hurt the entire nation twice.
I watched them turn their backs on every opportunity to open worthwhile dialog.
I watched them say that they would not even listen to any choice for Supreme Court no matter who the nominee was.
I listened as they openly said that they will oppose him at every turn.
I watched as they did just that.
I listened.
I watched.
I paid attention.
Now, I’m being called on to be tolerant.
To move forward.
To denounce protesters.
To “Get over it.”
To accept this…
{Author Unknown}
*

“Let’s all take a moment to remember those Presidents who carried out their duties even when water fell from the sky.”

“You Matter. You Count.” – President Barack Obama walks with mentees on the South Lawn of the White House, Oct. 14, 2014. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)
“Sorry” Memory 2017
by Lisa Kaelen

I’m sorry that a Congressman was shot.
I’m sorry other people got shot at that baseball practice.
I’m sorry that Trayvon Martin was shot.
I’m sorry that those Amish schoolchildren were shot.
I’m sorry that Gabby Giffords was shot.
I’m sorry that the Aurora theater victims were shot.
I’m sorry the kids at Sandy Hook Elementary were shot.
I am sorry those kids at Columbine got shot.
I’m sorry everyone at the Pulse got shot.
I’m sorry that Congress voted to allow mentally ill people guns.
I am sorry my neighbors got shot and killed.
I am sorry that man in the car who told the cop he was carrying legally got shot.
I am sorry Black men are at risk of getting shot every single day.
I am sorry the governing bodies don’t see fit to keep domestic abusers from owning guns.
I’m sorry that the NRA means more to Republicans than anyone’s child.
I’m sorry that Congress didn’t extend the assault rifle ban.
I’m sorry that you can get a gun while on the no-fly list. I’m sorry that you can take a gun into a bar.
I’m sorry that people would rather send their thoughts and prayers instead of actually doing something.
I am sorry our Congress is gutless to pass any meaningful gun control.
I’m sorry people think the writers of the bill of rights were thinking about automatic weapons when they wrote the second amendment.
I’m sorry that we are all so desensitized to violence in our country that everyone’s first question is, who did the perpetrator vote for?
I’m sorry that there is such a stigma regarding mental health.
Until we actually make changes, all any of us are ever going to be is sorry.
All rights reserved
(c) Lisa Kaelen
NO COPYRIGHT INFRIGMENT INTENDED