|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: One Knee
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: September 2017
One Knee
<>
Yes, I kneel down on one knee
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem
of a country that don’t honor me -
<>
One Knee
I was a SLAVE when
President Thomas Jefferson,
(who owned hundreds of SLAVES)
wrote the Declaration Of
Independence -
<>
“We hold these truths to be
self evident, that all men are
created equal, that they are
endowed by their Creator
with certain unalienable
Rights, that among these
are Life, Liberty, and the
pursuit of Happiness.”
<>
One Knee
Through
the racist Founding Fathers of
a new Nation from George
Washington to Ulysses S. Grant
<>
One Knee
When Francis Scott Key,
was inspired to write:
<>
“O’er the land of the free
and the home of the brave.”
<>
However,
these are the lines we don’t
sing to the Anthem we praise -
<>
“No refuge could save the
hireling and slave, from the
terror of flight or the gloom
of the grave. And the star-
spangled banner in triumph
doth wave. O’er the land of
the free and the home of the
brave.”
<>
One Knee
<>
Yes
I was down on One Knee
long before SLAVE owner
Francis Scott Key, wrote
the National Anthem -
<>
He wasn’t honoring me, and
the 6 million enslaved blacks
in these United States -
<>
One Knee
through
the Atlantic Slave Trade
in 1619 -
<>
One Knee
On the Slave Ship Brookes,
across the Atlantic Sea -
<>
One Knee
Through the induction of the
American Flag in 1777
<>
One Knee
Through
The Slave Trade Act Of 1783
<>
One Knee
Through
Jamestown, Virginia., where I
was a slave, sold off to work the
Tobacco crops for the North
American Colonies -
<>
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on One Knee
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem
of a country that don’t honor me -
<>
One Knee
A slave I be, solidifying the
South’s economy when I invented
the Cotton Gin in 1793.
<>
One Knee
Through
The Louisiana Purchase in
1803
<>
One Knee
Through
The Westward expansion in
1840
<>
One Knee
Through
The Abolition movement
to set slaves free -
<>
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on One Knee
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem
of a country that don’t honor me -
<>
One Knee
Through the American Civil War
(1861-65)
<>
One Knee
Through the Unions victory over
the Confederate South -
4 million slaves freed from
bondage.
<>
One Knee
Through the tumultuous
Reconstruction years (1865-77)
I kneeled -
<>
One Knee
Through the Emancipation
Proclamation 1863
<>
“All slaves henceforth shall be
set free.” Abraham Lincoln
<>
He was assassinated over my
black skin -
<>
One Knee
<>
Through
The Montgomery Bus boycott, 1955
when Rosa Parks, refused to give up
her seat in the front of the bus -
One Knee
<>
Through the Civil Rights Movement
in the 1960’s -
<>
One Knee
Through
The Civil Rights Act 1964
The Voting Rights Act 1965
<>
One Knee
through the assassination of
Dr Martin Luther King Jr.,
“Drum Major Of Peace” 1968
<>
Yes
damn right I kneel down
on One Knee
<>
Though I respect “Old Glory,”
<>
I will not stand with my hand to
my chest, to honor a country that
discredit, dehumanize, demoralize, oppress through racial injustice and inequality.
<>
One Knee
Through
Police brutality;
who kill us, and not be held
accountable
<>
One Knee
Through
the ignorance of a U.S. President,
spouting derogatory words to
black mothers, and sons exercising
their Civil Rights -
<>
One Knee
Yes, I kneel down on one knee
damn right I do -
I will not honor an Anthem
of a country that don’t honor me -
Copyright (c)., Ken Jordan 2017
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Deliverance
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: September/2014
d
e e
r p
t
i
o
n
\ _____________ /
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
"The eyes can be deceiving, what
you think stands before you is a sheep,
but, it could be a wolf in disguise.
Always trust your Spirit; the Spirit
never lies."
Poet: Ken Jordan
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Street Language
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: March/2014
Yo
What-up?
Mah
Um
Ain't Hip
Real Talk
Got Dat Papah
Shorty
Rich Bitch!
Benjamin's
Bro
You tripp'n
Fo Real
Jus Fun'n
Wit Choo
Mommy
Floss'n
Fo Show
Check It
Dats Dope
Ice
(Bling)
Yeah
Straight Up
Sweet
Hit Me Up
My Digits
Cool
Hollah Back
Don't Trip
Shout Out!
Word!
Homie
Keep It Real
100
My Boo
Say What
Gon Bounce
Real Talk
Deuce's
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Black Inventors
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2013
Black
Inventors
are
the forgotten,
There's
no mention
of them
in
America's
history
books -
And
school
goes on
as usual,
America,
is
not
telling the
truth -
Like
the lie
they
continue
to tell
about
Christopher
Columbus -
Did he
really
discover
America,
when
Native
Americans
were
already
here?
What
are you
afraid
of
America?
It's time to
re-write
the
history
books;
This time,
include
black
history,
and
all
that we
contributed,
to this
country -
Teach
the children
the truth -
America,
let them
know
that:
Dr. Charles Drew
(a black man)
Invented blood
plasma, the first
blood bank -
Dr. Daniel Hale Williams
(a black man)
credited
for performing
the first Open
Heart surgery
on July 9, 1893
Benjamin Bannecker,
(a black man)
successfully
created
the first
clock
built in
America -
Lewis Latimer
(1848 - 1928)
a black man,
Invented an
important
part
of the
light bulb
the
carbon
filament -
And
when you
re-write
the history
book,
don't leave
out:
Elijah McCoy
(1843 - 1929)
a black man,
Invented
an oil dripping
cup
for trains -
George Washington
Carver,
(1860 - 1943)
a black man,
Developed
peanut butter,
and
400
plant products -
Garrett Morgan
(1877 - 1963)
a black man,
Invented the
gas mask,
and
the first
traffic signal
light -
Madam CJ Walker
(1867 - 1919)
a black woman,
Invented
a hair growing
lotion -
America,
You say
that you're
one nation
under
God,
with
liberty
and
justice
for all -
Re-write
the
history
book;
include
black
history -
Teach
the children
the
truth -
The whole
truth -
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Four Little Girls
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014
Perhaps
you remember
the four little girls,
savagely killed
in the bombing of the
16th Street Baptist Church
in Birmingham -
Or
perhaps it's just a faded
memory,
vanished through
time -
Maybe,
you were too young
to
remember,
Or
perhaps you weren't born,
at the time it happened -
But,
if you knew
of
this seedy
racial attack,
on the
all
African-American
House
of worship,
then it's impossible
to forget.....
Forget that racist klansmen,
planted a bomb under the steps
of God's House.
Forget that four little girls,
was preparing a sermon:
"The Love That Forgives."
when the bomb exploded.
Forget that four little girls,
lie breathless in the ruins
of the church -
Forget that four mothers were left
behind to suffer a lifetime
with broken hearts, and weeping eyes.
Forget the most bloodiest,
heinous Sunday,
under Southern sky's,
that reigns horror,
in black blood -
Black blood stains, in the pew -
Black blood stains, in the pull-pit -
Black blood stains, in the basement -
Black blood stains, everywhere -
Black blood stains, that will never
go away - in Birmingham.
How can we ever forget....
God,
want let us forget.
For through the fire,
fallen brick
and
shattered stain glass,
God,
left ONE stain glass
windowpane
intact -
JESUS
leading the children -
My God!
My Lord!
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Happy
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: April/2014
Happy
Haha <•> <•> Haha
h ! a
a h
ha \/ h a
ha !
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Confederate Flag
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2015
O'Dirty South,.....U'Dirty South
your hatred, and storied history - is sadly
legendary-
Antebellum South, Your staunch
racist beliefs was in place, long before
the honourable General Robert E. Lee,
raised the Confederate Flag, in the battle
between the States -
Since the Civil War, your, "Stars and Bars,"
has flown over the worst of times
In America -
As recent a time, in Georgia,
North Carolina, and South Carolina,
where seven black churches burned down
to the ground -
Nine worshiper's were killed in
South Carolina, and the Confederate flag
was flown -
The White House, is looking into the
"on-going," black church burning epidemic.
Meanwhile, the deep, and deadly wounds
of my people, stains the Confederate flag-
My ancestors blood, is the RED
that covers the dirty "Symbol Of Southern
Pride."
Yet, to this day, it still fly's over most
State buildings, and in offices, in the Dirty South -
It have flown:
Over slaves on Southern
plantations -
It have flown:
Over
the lynching of blacks -
It have flown:
Over
the burning of black
body's;
cremated in public squares -
It have flown:
In restaurants, rest rooms,
and public water fountains-
It was flown
by an Ally of confederate's, who was willing to die in defence of Slavery's abolishment -
When the South seceded from the Union, all HELL broke loose, and the Confederate Flag, was born -
It
was the
Symbol
of
Treason -
and
A "Battle Flag"
for
Hate crimes
against
black people -
That flag, still fly's high today; through the
smoke, and ashes of black churches, burning down
all over the South - past and present.
Even now, The KKK, Ayran Faction, and
skinheads, all raise the confederate flag,
to honour White Power, and White Supremacy -
America, its been one hundred, and fifty five
years since the Civil War - it's way past time to put
an end to bigotry and racism.
Let your voice's be heard, the Confederate Flag,
should never be raised again, not now, not ever -
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Ken Jordan Poem
Poet: Ken Jordan
Story: Street Life
written: July/2014
Child, I have seen many nights
turn to dawn, out in the streets.
I was you once, left home thinking that
I could take care of myself at eighteen.
My parents told me what to
expect from my decision to walk away
from the one's who loved me.
Whatever they said, didn't matter,
because I was mentally gone, (lost) and
rushing to get out there in the unforgiving
cesspool of street life.
One thing is clear, once out there,
I learned very quickly what my parents
tried to get me to see.
The streets are cold , cruel , vicious,
and everyone's for themselves.
When your money runs out, your group
of so called "friends," are gone.
No one is going to give you
something for nothing, you make
it the best way that you can.
Looking back, the temptation of
being out there with my friends,
doing whatever I wanted to do,
without permission from my parents,
was the lure that motivated my
desire to leave home, and hang out
in the streets.
My parents fought tirelessly to
protect me from the hazards of
street life, but obviously, I wouldn't
listen.
They said son, you're too young at
eighteen, haven't finished high school;
you have no money.
What makes you think that you can
make it out there on your on.
You think that it's cool to hang-out, smoke
weed, drink alcohol, pop pills, do edible drugs, and stay up (high )
all night, and fallout wherever
you are.
The devil is a liar, he will set you up,
to lure you in, he'll make you think that
you're, "part of his street family," but, when
it all goes down, (and it will go down), the
devil will point a finger your way, and
leave you to defend yourself, and move
on to the next victim.
In street life, you better know which-a-way
the wicked come.
They wear false faces to hide who
they really are.
I played with the
devil, and crossed many murky,
dark rivers, but, the devil did not win.
I heard my parents voice's saying,
"Theirs only two places to go
from street life, prison or the cemetery."
The devil is a lair, and he's not your
friend. be aware of who and what
you follow, because, all feathers
ain't good feathers, choose the path
of least resistance, and your life
will change for the good in you.
Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014
|
|