by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
Still the syn-tactical surgeon
With precision pen, atomic tenor,
Suturing my severed tongue
AB
by BAR poet-in-residence Raymond Nat Turner
Ho Chi Minh penned in
Prison Poems, the
Poet must also
Know how to lead an attack
Not a god or stamp, you
Are still my father, son and
Holy-ghost, post-Langston,
Sterling poet warrior
Still the syn-tactical surgeon
With precision pen, atomic tenor,
Suturing my severed tongue
Still the armory
Issuing anti-fracking ordinance
For strikes on Mengeles
At Monsanto
Still the arsenal
Supplying smart bombs for
Our war on government-guided
Attack-Negroz like
Da Men of Steele — Shelby and
Michael — Long Dong Silver, AKA,
Thom-Ass Clarence, Ward Connerly,
Colin Powell and dem imperialist Rice wenches…
I searched frantically for you at the end
Of the Apollo’s Sekou Sundiata celebration;
I jumped over a chair, just missing you, at
The Harlem Stage tribute to Abbey Lincoln;
Finally, caught you at the Schomburg’s
Langston Hughes Auditorium, at the
Fidel-Malcolm Meeting book talk—
Forgave you for slipping
On Iceberg Slim, and
Told you, “I LOVE YOU…”
Raymond Nat Turner © 2014 All Rights Reserved
Malcolm X explained it well. Every Black person in this country is a prisoner, sometimes literally behind bars, and sometimes on the outside of jail, but a prisoner, nonetheless.
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