Quotes about patton, page 24
What can I say of myself
What can I say of myself
That others has said of me
Even though they were always wrong
No, I do not grow a tail at night
No, monkeys have straight hair not I
They say that I abandon
My children for a jail cell in the company of men
They do not know that I do not hate my dark skin
It is the money of whites, their power
That denies me; keep me in the yoke of self hatred
They fear my power to survive
It is greater then their to enslave
Financially and sexually as is the American way
By my black American culture am I made brave
They think that I want their daughters and sons
To bring then over to the beautiful dark side
As they are entice by the art of being black
They want me to mount them to bring
Them closer to the animal that we all are
To praise me they say that I am to articulate to be black
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poem by David E. Patton
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Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
When you are found in the common face
My heart can barely wait to take your place
I see your look in the common race
For there you have placed
In a love that bares no disgrace
Cupid is blind this is true
So do not blame him when he strike you
And a man you find not fair
For half of beauty is within
This you can not see till you woo
And his inner beauty will overthrow
All of your misconceived notions
About what beauty mends
Beauty my man beauty
The common face capture me
The common love I can not see
But this love of the common he
Is what most that moves me
I have no shame to call upon the name
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poem by David E. Patton
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The God of justice
The God of justice
Support the color eye
That identifies the God of rain
In the presence of the instrument
Of clouds of a venerable question
That dares to interrogate the heavenly sky.
The outer bark of the God justice
Sap the inmost layer of nerves
That root the cut spring tough as speech
That meditates upon the intelligence
Of ancient lore offering its result of history
That eagerly approach the attain supreme knowing
Instructing the sacrifices of the accepted teacher
Of good mothers as descendants of opinion
Taught to the desires and woes of a wooing woman
Whose cause of bliss benefit the stability approached
By the humble secret released from the body.
Justice is not a scholar of theoretical knowledge
Not an endower of the present dreaming identified
With deep sleep of the right eye in its waking dream
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poem by David E. Patton
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Let the Sky Cry
She said, “Don’t be afraid, boy,
I’m right here.
I’m tired and yawning
And glad you’re near.”
The sun is setting and we’re winding down
The time we’ve spent is worth having found
This quiet little place in this quiet little town,
So don’t make a sound
Just lie here next to me
And sing this next verse
As we slowly fall asleep.
When the sky cries
I’ll always be here,
To wipe your eyes and catch your tears.
When the sky cries,
Ill shield you from the falling rain,
The cosmic perfection and love will remain
When the sky cries.
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poem by Braden Patton
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I am artist
I am artist
Maker by my hands
With paintbrush or pen
I transcript existence
I am painter and poet
A maker by poiesis
Of language of dialect
A hymn or poetic picture.
Color is my light
My green a perception
Of wavelength of yellow and blue.
I am emerald like ocean to grow my way as chlorophyll
I am camouflaged
In green seen being through
The Chinese cuckold green
But dark skinned men
Green eroticized
Green will decay
When jealousy and evil lay
The green eyed monster lives
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poem by David E. Patton
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When the Parents Refuse to Come Home
When the parents refuse to come home
The children sleep beneath the babysitter’s skirt.
She will eat you out of house and home.
When the parents refuse to come home
The children shall set the house on fire,
And the babysitter shall save the family pet
That is content to be hand fed at the breast.
This night the parents are outside the loop,
They are out for a night on the town to renew their bound without the incessant want of children who shall burn the house down for attention.
The babysitter is watching TV under the blaze of the burning house where the family pet snicks beneath the smoke colleted by the ceiling.
When the parents stay out all night the children are discontented with the babysitter who have no time for children, she rather babysat the TV.
The babysitter refuse to pay taxes on her earning, she have parked the children in their beds where they learn the art of conversation from the TV.
The parents are having fun while the children are safe in the dream shatter of the right brain telling midnight stories of the day’s doings and the babysitter has invited her boy friend over for the night and he will eat you out of house and home while in their dream the children are buring the house down.
When the parents dance the night away in the night club the children are dreaming of the violent of the babysitter who eat the last of the pot roast left over from dinner.
When the parents refuse to come home the babysitter is contemplating the meaning of death and dying in the burning house.
The babysitter will grow up to become a parent and she will hire a babysitter when she go out to dance the night away as her children burn the house down.
poem by David E. Patton
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Sisterhood
Sisterhood
Desperate names
She of fore came
Good town of wood
Down to the front porch
When them banned children
Was birthed river children
Of Orion’s light and
Of all that is bright
Worth weight right earth
The mean majesty of arched
Lovers back to front
Being in their bodies else-minded
Toward sex pressing together
Their comfort feeling each other
The sister touch
Black arch women about
Being women over gales
Of Wales and thickly quails
In Kansa corn growing woman
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poem by David E. Patton
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With All Your Wishes
With all your wishes
We wish your pursue toward humor
For the first free flower’s bloom
It live to grow soon
Let it be the fat that govern the moon
There is no sense in trying to out live the suicide of the sun
Often we wish for the handsomeness of horses
Or the river running its watery way forever young
Pass the rain each dropp baptized by the wind
These words are the same as the song we sing
As sure as the poets will tell you that you are the same as them
A telling from deep within the realness of their hearts
Tell you that you are their longing loving needs
Their drama writ by the people the earth the air the infinite of the sun with its glorious morning fair
With reasons to know where men go
With reasons of the everything right and the doing of wrong
The thrill and the glory of victory’s success
Of the grief that war makes when the banner of peace is dead on the throne of conflict between opposite
Their pens of swords be not lost in the paradise of words
Their trumpets speak running around the same old tune holding on to you to tell you true that they are a lot like you
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poem by David E. Patton
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Roots crack concrete
Roots crack concrete
Dump blue replace green
Light component beams
Steady warm wonder brim
The tops of cascading things.
Yellow flux orange’s beauty
Widen smiles blend its back bone bent.
Creation overlapping its source
Of what it meant.
Rough white foams the night
A fleet of red floods the death bed.
Mind scar is poured unheard by abstract rivers
Forgiveness sits at the kitchen table
Where understanding widen its brand.
Westward went west fingers of men.
Chill is lean in the skin.
Distance is concentrated on a nearby hill.
Persistence out last imperfect knowledge.
Deteriorating hearts nuzzle the soul.
The original day decays into darkness.
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poem by David E. Patton
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To my mother (a forgotten Martyr)
To My Mother a forgotten Martyr
Neither listed in a textbook,
or in the passing of a scripture
But the model of parental virtue
A saintly jewel of unyielding endearment
Who binds the spell of a child's love
Through Crafting a soul from the mold of her hands
Your deeds are multi folded
A Jill of trades of myriad talents-
Diplomat to teenage rage
Physician to a child's tears
And warrior of dirty diapers
Yours is a resume of impeccable qualities
A polyglot from minervas school -
Teacher, provider and moral compass guide
You exceed your occupation with amazing degree
And for that your certified with honored praise
If I had all the fortune from the world for you
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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