His Hand Never Falls

To the hand that was raised
and solemnly swore
to defend the defendless
through the battles of war

His hand never falls

Hands that pushed up and pulled up
despite being too tired to even look up

His hand never falls

Hands that shake the hands of many
and wipe away the spit of plenty

His hand never falls

To carry the burden of freedom's cry
even if it means he has to die

His hand never falls

It begs the question he'll never say
but what will your right hand do today?
dunk a ball or make a play
I hope it'll join the left and pray

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Watching My Step

I've always had big feet. It's true. There was never a moment in my childhood when my feet were not an object of frustration and ridicule. And those "dogs" were all over the place, facing the wrong direction, tripping over themselves, tripping over coffee tables, desks, chairs, other people. It was embarrasing. Watching my step was a full time job. Since becoming a man, I've mastered my former oppressors (my size 14's) and you would hardly noticed my attention to detail. However, today, at 40, I'm still watching my step. With so much experience and success with walking and watching my step, I've discovered that the same is true in my spiritual life as well. I haven't always watched my step in life and of course, it resulted in me finding myself in all kinds of traps, snares and dead ends. I've spent years tripping over my sinful habits and walking down dirt roads that lead to nowhere. To no one's blame but my own. After experiencin...

Eulogy (part 2)

My father never found his kingdom on earth. The multimillion dollar inheritance that he often spoke of with such hope and promise would never be realized. That two dollars and fifty cents? I still have it today. When I first discovered in his wallet, among his belongings, I wept. Such a proud and successful man should never die with so little. I now keep it among my prize possessions in honor of what my father did leave me. He left me with something greater than a kingdom on earth. He left me with a desire and a passion to be the father that he couldn’t be with me. He left me with a thirst for love and family. In the end when I think of my father, a number descriptions come to mind: bold, passionate, angry, driven. But I know that he loved me best way he could. In his own way, everything he did was for me. The way he lived his life and even the way he died. His cause of death was congested heart failure. Indeed my father had so much on his heart th...

whatever

when you notice me do you really know it's me cause i'm a be what i'm supposed to be whether your near or not that close to me fact is, i really don't practice this and i can careless how black this is you can't charge me like paying taxes and turn around and ask me to act like this drag your feet, slur your speech grab your crotch before you teach i understand that's some of the things you see but what does that have to do with me seriously...like, i wanna know how many brothers do you know not all of us are quick, some are slow some, like me, say "four" some brothers say "fo" just because i say "for" don't make me no better i just know how to dress for the weather whether i need to be direct or clever if i'm still not black enough...whatever

love is an offering

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