by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner

In what stilettos will they Electric Slide

On thin ice, above fiscal cliffs of foreclosure,

Joblessness and poverty?”



by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner



Mayday, a million militant Mexicans

Strapped on wings and flew

Over the City of Angels, scaring

To death, rich devils ruining it;



A December Night In Tunisia,

Burst into Be-Bop regime change

Flames, masses heard and jammed

To in Egypt, North Africa, the world over...



A quarter million militant

Wisconsinites caught Spring

Fever flowing from North Africa,

Experienced seizures of capitol, town,

Imaginations, conversations—even

General strike plans—forward



Mindful gangs of youth occupied

Wall Street, hearts, minds, dreams and

Talk of the town for two months, metastasizing

Like crazy cancer cells, clear across the country…



Ephemeral, proletarian internationalist moment,

Tens of millions of anti-austerity activists, workers,

Students and supporters, downed tools, seized

Streets and shut down Europe for a day...


These tiny tremors continually reminding US,

That like scorching magma, class struggle

Bubbles, just beneath business as usual...



A million miles from reality...Cloud Nine Negroz

See what they wanna see in 1600 Pennsylvania

Avenue, Psychedelic Shack where big Negroz go

Under COINTELPRO; a Psy-Op where lil' Negroz

Have their fortunes told, and chase after fool's gold:

Solidarity with a Wall Street-vetted, Madison Avenue

Messiah, bequeathed by J. Edgar after Medgar,

Malcolm and Martin were shot for inconvenient truths


Nothin' but a Democratic party in Cloud Nine Negroz

Psychedelic Shack, belting, "Don't Worry, Be Happy!"

"Extraordinary Rendition's" 'bout when Motown dropped

"Grapevine" on Gladys & Marvin # 1, the same year, & “Black

Sites" are spots where you can go and get your groove on..


In Cloud Nine Negroz Psychedelic Shack, their mountain top,

Disco ball and all, debate orbits around burning questions of

Sub-contracts, franchises and what dare they wear to their king's



In what furs, with what flag sizes, or

Lapel pins, will they be seen, on TV?


In what clown suits and silly hats

Will they Happy Dance for Hell-

Fire Missiles on family farmers?


In what stilettos will they Electric Slide

On thin ice, above fiscal cliffs of foreclosure,

Joblessness and poverty?


What will they wear for their Fuhrer?

Will they mimic his corporate coat

Of many logos, his crown of five

Hundred jewels for Fortune 500

Companies—same thugs peddling guns,

Wars and gang-raping Mother Africa?


Will they come wearing coltan

For their king, or just show up

Looking like lewd lieutenants,

Lap-dancing, licking his boots,

Complicit in his bombing and

Burning babies in Afghanistan,

Pakistan, Yemen,Libya and Gaza?


Will they come dressed as jackals, with

Tuesday kill lists of "haters" in hand?


Maybe they'll dress down in vintage

War crimes and crimes against humanity,

Like deputies in the dock at Nuremberg?


Surely they'll accessorize in South

African gold, diamonds and platinum

Set luxuriously in Steven Biko's bones?


Perhaps they'll anoint themselves and

Their king in Ogoniland oil, expertly

Blended with blood of Ken Saro-Wiwa?


Should their Messiah suggest suicide

Vests, bet on a bunch of busy tailors...


Nude, or prancing like peacocks, fully

Festooned, they'll arrive in five, feting

Their emperor, making a mockery of

Militant tradition birthing Ben Davis,

Du Bois, Ida B., Hubert Harrison and

Fanny Lou Hamer in the crucible of


Class struggle…


Raymond Nat Turner can be contacted at Raymond (at)


Raymond Nat Turner (c) 2012 All Rights Reserved