Black Boy Poems

  Black Boy Poems

  An Account of Black Survival in America

  by

  Tyson Amir

  Freedom Soul Media

  Copyright 2016 by Freedom Soul Media.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

  Permission to use quotes has been secured, and these remain under the original copyright.

  e-book ISBN-10: 0-9977985-0-5

  e-book ISBN-13: 978-0-9977985-0-0

  Cover design by Self-Publishing Services LLC (www.Self-Publishing-Service.com)

  Edited by Clare Wood, Self-Publishing Services LLC

  Formatted by Self-Publishing Services LLC

  Quotes from Martin Luther King Jr. reprinted by arrangement with The Heirs to the Estate of Martin Luther King Jr., c/o Writers House as agent for the proprietor New York, NY.

  “If we must die” (c)1919 by Claude McKay is used with the permission of the Literary Estate for the Works of Claude McKay.

  Quotes from Gwendolyn Brooks reprinted by Consent of Brooks Publishing

  Material from Audre Lorde (c) by Audre Lorde, 1988, 2009.

  Definitions reprinted by permission. From Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate® Dictionary, 11th Edition ©2016 by Merriam-Webster, Inc. (www.Merriam-Webster.com).

  This work is dedicated to the struggle for liberation of my people.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  41 Shots

  Family Tree

  Under A Different Light

  Dream Revisited

  Between Huey and Malcolm

  Out

  Blue Devil

  War Zones

  The Rose

  The Dirge

  Letter to Johnetta

  Material of Martyrs

  Black Child

  Death Toll

  You

  A Word on Mario Woods

  Aftermath, Thoughts, and Reflections

  Bibliography

  About Tyson Amir

  Acknowledgements

  I'm thankful and grateful for the opportunity to present this work to the world. It is truly an honor to be used as a conduit to carry forth the traditions of my people. I sincerely pray these words convey the truths of our story with a clarity that inspires us as we struggle on our path toward freedom. We will win!

  It is said in my spiritual tradition that the one who doesn't thank others doesn't thank the creator. This project is only possible because of the contributions of many. It is only right that I take a few moments to acknowledge those who played a role in making this work a reality. The first thanks is to the creator. I must also give thanks to my mother and father for their love, guidance, and support. To my sister Kira who always encouraged me to pursue greatness. My nieces Indira and Olivia, I thank you both for your love. You inspire me to want to fight long and hard for our family, and to make you proud. And a very special thank you is for the woman who holds my heart. She's the Betty to my Malcolm and has supported me every step in this journey. Alia, there aren't enough words to express my deep sense of love and appreciation for who and what you are. Thank you. To my sister from another mister, Mya, you've been down since day one and are partly to blame for my career as a writer. To sister Nora who completed the first edit of this work, thank you for your mind, eye, and belief in this project.

  To our ancestors whose shoulders we stand upon. Thank you for your sacrifices, we have been made better by what you've left for us. To my people, thank you for being your black beautiful selves. We are a people that have experienced some of the worst of what humankind is capable of, but it is our strength, resilience and resolve that has allowed us to remain and continue to fight. I am in awe of our people's fight for survival. It is that very fight that is present in these pages. I thank you all for daring to be beautiful and daring to live in the face of ugly hate.

  To my family, my grandma, uncles, aunts and cousins, I love and thank y'all. You've put up with my crazy militant behind all my life. It's your love and support that has nourished me throughout these years. And now to the homies, Jay Walker, Agin, Ise, Anas, Lloyd, Big B. Jake & Vanessa, B.J. Dooley, Oscar, KP, Chris, Jose, Noel, Prime, Istock, Soul Glo Fam, Jake Mason, Q, Shawn Green, Dre the 6th member of NE, illTrax, Rid, Mik, Ishaq, Kumasi, Erik Rico, Stevie, March, Marlon, Uthman, Mike, Kamilah, Vanessa, Kai-Ti, White Jake, Adisa, Khalil, Amir, Lil Anas, Saeed, Blue, Remarkable Current Fam, Midnight Basketball Fam, San Quentin Fam, the brothers on the yard, San Bruno and CJ 5 folks, my 5 Keys colleagues, Football Fam, Sylvandale, Leyva and Piedmont Fam, The Justice 4 Mario Woods Coalition, and all community groups organizing for the survival of our people. I can't forget the sisters, Big sis Phelicia, Ayoola, Nyimah, JoJo, Shana, Dahlia, Sabeen, Kamilah, INVST, Stella, Pam McCali, Mother Cristina, Kelli, Tanesha, Hana, and Fatima. Thank you for the love and support.

  To my teachers, Malik, Fred McCoy, Jeff Heard, Mrs. Malcolm, Ms. Munson, Prof. Rycenga, Dr. Harris, Imam Zaid, Imam Shuaibe, Imam Anwar Muhaimin, Sidi Yassir, Shaykh Alaeddin, Shaykh Hamza, Shaykh Abdullah Ali, Br. Siddique Abdullah, 850 Sinbad, San Jose, The Bay Area, and Cali. I'm indebted to you all for your knowledge, wisdom, examples, and guidance. Thank you.

  To Sista Elaine Brown and the brothers and sisters who are alumni of the Black Panther Party for Self Defense and other political movements of the 60s and 70s. I thank you all for your sacrifices, dedication, and bravery. It was not in vain. That spirit of struggle has taken root in your offspring. We will carry it forward.

  A sincere thank you to the team at Self-Publishing Services LLC. I've learned a lot through this process and your work has brought this from vision to reality. A quick thank you to the folks at Brown Sugar Kitchen, Arizmendi on San Pablo, Cosecha, Sukho Thai, Grato Burgers and Los Cantaros Taqueria for the nourishment. And to the Vitamin String Quartet and their renditions of Tupac's “Dear Mamma” and “To Live and Die in L.A.” I wrote most of the book to those songs.

  Lastly, I want to thank all those who granted me permission to use their material in this book. Special thanks to the Amaru estate, Lorne Cress Love, Tommie and Delois Smith, Equal Justice Initiative, Dr. Kapperler, Brooks Permissions, Faith Childs Literary Agency, the estate of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Penguin Random House, Ron Hussey at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Richard Hazboun at Pathfinder Press, and everybody else who was kind enough to allow me access to their material for this text. Your contributions are greatly appreciated. Thank you.

  And thank you for taking the time to read this book.

  Introduction

  First, I dedicate this effort to my creator and my mother and father; they are the ones the creator selected to be my first instructors in this world. They taught me how to love; they taught me knowledge of self and of my people. For that I am a better man and eternally grateful.

  Second, I dedicate this effort to my sister, my two nieces, and my family. My sister, my womb-mate, was the first person to challenge me to become better. She never accepted anything but greatness from me. I love you, Kira. My nieces, Indira and Olivia, and my family, you all have provided me with the strongest of foundations to stand upon. You've given me the greatest motivation and support. Your stories have filled my heart and soul with love and adoration. I am you, and I am nothing without you.

  Third, I dedicate this to my ancestors who struggled with all their power and ability to make a better world for me to inherit. Your lives were not in vain. Your hopes and dreams live on in me. I honor your existence with my words and my work. Through these words may your struggles be known and celebrated, for it is your sacrifice that made this moment possible.

&n
bsp; Last, I dedicate this to my people. We are the proud offspring of sons and daughters unfairly and unjustly stolen from their homes in Africa. We are the children of those who were forced into the most wretched and inhumane system of slavery ever invented. We are the children of those who survived the tragedy of slavery and created the most intelligent, beautiful, strong, resilient, suave, stylish, charismatic, soulful, and memorable people on this planet. This is the blood that pumps through our veins. Our genetic inheritance is precious. It is not a badge of inferiority for us to be ashamed of. On the contrary, we carry the struggles of our ancestors with pride. We carry the sacred traditions of our people in our hearts and souls. May they forever guide us and instill in us a deep sense of self and purpose. We are survivors, and we will win.

  An Homage to Richard Wright

  As an artist, educator, poet, man, and now author, I have had mentors and role models who have influenced and, from time to time, guided my development. My mother is responsible for my introduction to Richard Wright. I cannot recall which birthday it was, but my mother gave me an unwrapped gift with a simple yet powerful disclaimer. She put a book in my hand and told me, "This is my favorite book." In my young hands was a copy of Black Boy. I remember staring at the cover for days. The book seemed to carry an ancient power that I didn't quite fully understand. I was intimidated by the energy emanating from the text, so much so that I didn't know how to approach it. Eventually I peeled the cover back and cautiously began to explore the content of the pages. Keeping it as real as possible, I wasn't ready! Wright spoke of his world in a voice that was superhuman to me. His words flew off the page with a strength and focus that I had never experienced before.

  My initial read left me broken, fragmented into millions of pieces by the raw power and eloquence of Wright's pen. I felt like I was a sorcerer's apprentice attempting to perform a master incantation, and being the novice that I was, it blew up in my face. I was moved by the text in a way I had never experienced before, and, due to my novice status and Wright's literary sorcery, I had not been able to fully assimilate the data.

  It took several years before I attempted to understand Wright's magic again. This time when the pages opened, I was invited into the master's inner sanctum. The growth and maturity I had undergone made me worthy of the secrets buried beneath the words, and Wright patiently explained the source of his magic to me. I was present in every line, critically analyzing every movement, and, as a result, I was forever transformed. I inhaled every phrase and made it part of my being. I traveled the dusty roads of his childhood walking barefoot through racist Mississippi. I felt the pangs of his ever-present hunger turn my stomach upside down. I stood next to him as he suffered silently watching his mother's illness worsen. He shared his schemes for escaping that dark southern night and his hopes and dreams for a better life in Chicago. More than anything else, he shared the power of his analysis with me. Like any great teacher or sorcerer he taught me how to find the power and ability to do the same for myself. In this exchange he became something like a literary father to me. Like him I wanted to harness the power of my pen for the benefit of my people. Wright's words are weighted with the experience of hundreds of years of black suffering. His magic is the result of his refusal to be conquered by the strictures of his society. Like a true sorcerer, he conjured a new world for himself, and in the process shared that magic with millions of black men and women in his stead.

  I did not share the same path as Wright, but our souls possess a similar unapologetic and unyielding desire to not be controlled by the world around us. I too am a black boy. I too have inherited this shortsighted and belligerent racist culture of America. I too, in the face of the hate of my society, wear the title of “Black Boy” with pride. It is mine, and it will always be mine. However, I will define the reality of what it means to be a black boy; America will have no sway over that. America and the larger world can try to deploy any and all machinations to serve as obstacles, but like Wright the master sorcerer taught me, black men and women possess a magic; it is an old and powerful magic, and that magic in the hands of a master sorcerer carries the power to conjure new realities and possibilities the world has never seen. It is an honor to have learned from the hand of Wright. The honor is weighted with the responsibility of carrying forth this tradition and practicing this black, bold, and beautiful magic for the benefit of myself and my people.

  The love for reading and writing was passed on to me by my mother. I've yet to meet a person who has the ability to read more than she did. Almost all of my childhood memories of my mother place her not far from a book. I honestly do not know how she was able to read so much in such a short period of time. Along with working full-time and being a wife, she had to raise two energetic kids with active extracurricular lifestyles, and still was able to finish multiple books a month. Through her I was introduced to the world of black authors. My mother read all different types of books, but her favorite thing to read was anything from a black author. She introduced me to Wright, James Baldwin, Walter Mosley, Octavia Butler, Maya Angelou, Audre Lorde, Phyllis Wheatley, and so many others. From her example I was thrown into a literary world that would help define who I was.

  And just like my momma, Richard Wright's Black Boy became my favorite book as well. His cutting insight helped shape my world view. I have been forever changed by the power of his pen and analysis. That is why a portion of the title of my work is an homage to the literary genius of Richard Wright. But it is also an homage to my beautiful mother because it was her who felt Black Boy would speak to me, and she was right. It was her who saw me pick up a pen and encouraged my attempts at writing. This is part of the reason why this book is so important to me. It's a celebration of what my parents, specifically my mother instilled in me. Momma, you were the first to believe in me. I'm truly grateful for that. This is for you.

  Home Life

  My upbringing was the furthest thing from a typical black family experience. At the time I was growing up, I didn't realize that, but it started to dawn on me as I approached my mid- to late teens. It was clear to see that my sister and I had a unique home life. Both of my parents participated in the civil rights and black liberation movements. My father was a member of one of the most "revolutionary" groups of that time, the Black Panther Party for Self Defense. There was no question that it would be my birthright to forward the struggle. I came out the womb, head first, into a world of deep black consciousness.

  Before I knew many things about the world, I knew I was black; this knowledge was more than a biological or scientific understanding of the term. I knew I was black culturally, spiritually, politically, and mentally. I was so entrenched in my knowledge of blackness that at the age of five, I started to question other people's blackness. My momma was the first to be questioned because I had to figure out what was going on with her. My mother was fairly light on the scale of blackness, but still very black. My five-year-old mind had a difficult time understanding how my father, sister, and I were all our deep hues of brown (which made us visibly black in American society), and she was light bright. This puzzled me, so one day curiosity got the better of me, and I had to ask. She, startled at the question, chuckled a bit, but assured me that she was certifiably black and that a light complexion did not mean that a person wasn't black. What I would later come to learn is that in America it did not take much to sentence one to a term of immutable blackness. As little as "one drop" of "black blood" was all that it took. As light as my mother was, she and others of her complexion still faced the institutional racism and discrimination pioneered and perfected here in America.

  At the age of ten, my family moved from the home I was born in on the East Side of San Jose to another home still on the East Side but in a 'better" neighborhood. This house gave us four bedrooms, and immediately my father commissioned that extra bedroom, "The Black Room." He filled it with artifacts, posters, pictures, and memorabilia from the movements of the '60s and '70s. It was our own museum to the
black struggle. I would spend hours in there looking at old Black Panther Party newspapers or trying to understand the messages on various protest posters. Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Marcus Garvey, Angela Davis, Amilcar Cabral, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and others decorated our walls. I remember when my parents brought home these giant portraits of Malcolm and Nelson Mandela. We put them both on the front facing walls of our home so every guest who walked in would be greeted by Brother Malcolm and President Mandela. Off top, you knew you had just stepped into a universe governed by blackness.

  My parents did everything they could to manufacture a black community for us in San Jose. I didn't understand how difficult a task it must've been for them, but they relentlessly endeavored to perform what might seem the impossible. I grew up in a city that had a black population of between 6 percent and 8 percent, but I couldn't tell that. They took that small percentage of folks and wrapped it around us like a thick black blanket, enveloping us in warm nurturing blackness. My sister and I went to a black dentist, had a black eye doctor, were taught by strong black teachers, and had mentors who were black firefighters, black actors and actresses, and computer engineers. They even created a black school for us and other children to learn the ways of blackness. Instead of going to Sunday school, my sister and I went to what we called “black school” where we studied black history and culture from a revolutionary perspective. Our classes were always held on a college campus or at a black community center. We had a textbook and other additional readings and assignments to do for homework. We even took field trips. Our goal was to learn and experience any and everything black.