Is The Church Dying?
Topic: Our Children
The Church is alive! We need to roll up our sleeves and go out to the children on the streets. Just the other day about 12 children collected across the street from me. It was a time they were still into Michael Jackson's death. I had a bunch of freeze pops from my grandson's visiting. I had my grandsons go ask if they wanted a freeze pop. Of course, the answer was affirmative. Then, I asked if there were any dancers, singers, and actors in the group. They all did something. Each day since I have communicated with those kids to see where their interests lie. We are working on an MJ tribute to present on Saturday at the "Mix-N-Mingle". My only issue right now is how to get them there. Maybe I'll have to make three trips but it will be worth it.

We have to walk up to the young dope boy and instead of asking if we can buy drugs, asking if they know of any other way to make money, what their gift is, do they know Jesus or even want to know Him? It is time that we stopped looking away from the children, from those who are lost and spirit-failed and go to them as Jesus did. There is a Revolution on the ebb of existence. We are it! We can do this. Not all is lost, and the Church very much alive. It lives in each one of us who sees that there is a need for a cohesive inactivate such as this.

It is a task to get people to unify, in and out of the church building. But nothing worth having is going to be smooth and easy. We can work this Terrance. Let's just DO IT!

Arabica, Salems & Dead Roses
Mood:  amorous
Topic: Fantasies of Life
?Copyright 2006 Renee Matthews-Jackson


We meet each Thursday
At Arabica
He's married
So am I
We're friends
Actors
Poets
Our spouses know
And pretend not be jealous
We're smokers
They aren't
We stir our coffee while we talk
They drink theirs
At the breakfast table
We each have four adult-children
(What an oxymoron)
We laugh and blow nicotine
In each others faces
Sometimes the smoke
Mixed with breath
Teases
Sometimes not
We tend to ignore
Those nuances
The dried flowers
Center stage
Give a deadly aroma
Almost toxic
As they glare
With unbridled suspicion
At our being non-illicit
We discuss
Politics
(which he hates)
War
(which I abhor)
Theatre and Poetry
(which I adore, him too)
Our encounter
Usually lasts an hour or two




It all started by chance
Back in late '04
I was sitting at a small table
Reading "Punishment and Social Control"
By Blomberg and Cohen
Engrossed on the chapter
That speaks on
The Crime of Punishment
Cigarette smoke billowing
Above my head
We could still smoke in public back then
I caught his eye
While he was in line
Ordering his favorite brew
I saw him too
But pretended to be oblivious
I really didn't want to be bothered
He walked over to the table
I rolled my eyes (at myself)
But was congenial to him
Smiled
Asked him to sit
Needless to say
He did




The conversation
Is always edifying
Almost zen
Spiritual
That book
Got us off to a good start
There aren't many topics
We haven't tossed about
Our sex talks are tantalizing
Religious discussions
Breathe life into our nostrils
Male/Female issues
Have made sex
With my husband
The ultimate rush
He's good for me
I'm good for him
We have plans
To change
Our meeting day
To Wednesday
A hump day rendezvous
May be rejuvenating
Especially with hot java
As the instigator



Author's Comments:

This poem is a figment of my over-zealous imagination. I have been married for 33 years ti the same man and love him. But, he knows my fantasy about Denzel Washington.

A Letter To My Sons (Rap)
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: Our Children

Renee Matthews-Jackson ? Copyright 2005

http://www.worldfreeinternet.net/news/nws21.htm


Hey Son,

I understand why you sellin' rock
In America on every single city block
Rollin' wid yo' semi automatic glock cocked
Got no time as the seconds pass on the clock

You can't make it work on minimum wage
So you flaunt yo' talents on the corner stage
This real life fo' you, page after page
Ventin' anger relieves all yo' pent up rage

You doin' what it is you think you gotta do
Don't condone it, but I sure as hell know it's true
I wish there was some way I could help you thru
On my knees each night I pray a special prayer too

I was caught up that world, what you sell I used
I liked the high, and I was self-abused
Demons runnin' 'round keepin' us all confused
I've got no regrets but wish I had refused

I'm yo' momma, I hanker that you have best
I know it's hard son, each and every last test
I mourn for y'all, with all your sorrow and unrest
Just to make it through a day is your conquest

I wish things were equal for the young Black man
I'm hard on you son, but I know you understand
I see you tryin', I know you got a plan
You gonna rise up, you can, I'm yo' biggest fan

Steady runnin', always checkin' yo' back
Don't you understand you under attack
There's nothing on this Earth honey that you lack
It's a beautiful experience my son to be Black

Don't let 'em trick you, it's the powers that be
The devil after yo' soul, he's the enemy
He is blindin' my children so they can't see
Baby listen to Momma, in Christ there's victory

He'll lead your footsteps, show you what is right
Turn yo' darkest day into brilliant light
Take it from me son, it's gonna be alright
Soon you'll fit into that perfect place, air tight

Got yo' own son now, gotta show him the way
I hope you understand what I'm tryin' to say
I pray for you, but it's you that's gotta pray
That yo' son is in the fold, and outta the fray

I know I'm goin' on and on, I can't help these tears
The longevity of a Black male child ain't many years
So, I rebuke in Jesus' name all of my fears
I got yo' back, behind you baby, holdin' up the rear

Glad you ain't getting' this letter in a jail cell
It's comin' to the house with the daily mail
Go now to the water son, set high yo' sail
Cause the life you livin' right now is a form of hell

I'm wid you son, yes I am, all the time
But how you make yo' money, to me is a crime
Put the blunt down son, you in yo' prime
It's fo' you I sat down to write this rhyme

These words I'm sharin' come straight from the heart
You gotta begin again son, make a brand new start
Your share is out there waitin', and the bigger part
Is that I know your potential child, you real smart

You don't need to stack dollars, start stackin' trust
Put your trust in God son, this is a must
I know you wound up so tight, you 'bout to bust
You after that Benjamen, that's yo' sinful lust

But God can make a way outta nothin' you see
You gotta stop what you doin' and listen to me
No I don't know it all, but some I do, can't that be
Encroach these words baby, check out my reality

I ain't tryin' to preach son but know one thing
Depression and sadness upon yo' self you will bring
If you swat the bee, kill it, or it comes back to sting
Reach far past the stars, grab hold of that brass ring

I gave birth to you son, then I watched you grow
I nurtured you, my best I tired to show
Whatever you do as a man, wherever you go
Take God with you, you can't ask for much mo'

Look to the hills, there's strength up there
I know you know that God knows I care
Ain't no more gone be put on you than you can bear
You right, you right, life ain't easy, it ain't fair

Understand that bad times won't last forever
Use your mind son, you know I know you clever
Don't miss out on the miracle, no, not ever
I'll always support you, I'll never stop never

You are a King son, this you gotta know
And if I didn't say it straight out befo'
I'm lettin' you fly son, you gotta go
Wid the stream, wid the wind, you gotta flow

I'll end this letter now 'cause I have faith in you
And better than that I know what God can do
But there is one thing my son, I gotta ask of you
That you love yo' self better than I love you

You my blood, you got me and yo' daddy in you
So think about what it is you got to do
Most of all to thine own self be true
I love you son, your good fortune is way overdue

I LOVE YOU

Your Momma

I really do, I know you love me too




Author's Comments:

This is for all the sons who are a product of their enviornment. I do not condone what you do but I know why you are systematically caught up in the design of a country that surely wants to see you fallen. Rise up! Take a stand! You should not be filling our prison systems. You are KINGS!

Non-violent criminals fill our prisons because of the fraudulent WAR-ON-DRUGS! The war is on poor Black communities. The US Government is responsible for the influx of addictive drugs in this country. Stop them at the ports!

Why are the low men on the totem pole incarcerated instead of the rich men with yachts, and airplanes who import drugs into our country?

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=940DEEDF153EF932A25755C0A96E948260

http://hrw.org/campaigns/drugs/ny-drugs.htm

http://www.drugwarfacts.org/racepris.htm

http://www.worldfreeinternet.net/news/drugs.htm

http://members.aol.com/digasa/stats57.htm

This poem was written in a rap style. Therefore, the dialect is of a street vernacular, and will remain as is written.