Read Online The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni by Nikki Giovanni - Free Book Online Page B

are just not fit to rule
    these are sorry but true facts—not one honkie is fit to
    rule
    the worst junkie or black businessman is more humane
    than the best honkie
    no black person would have allowed
    his troops to be so slaughtered
    and before you scream “king king”
    his promise was your picture in the paper
    and your head in bandages
    mccarthy (the administration’s official dissident
    candidate)
    was not so honest
    there are those who say he began with lyndon’s blessings
    and the promise of good speaking engagements
    and since we have witnessed the assassination of one who
    didn’t need the money
    or have the blessing
    we are inclined to agree
    and daley talked of teddy not making up his mind
    he said no
    that’s pretty definite
    only it’s sad that once again
    we have a chance we aren’t fully
    utilizing
    the honkies are at war to decide what to do
    about us
    and here we are
    trying to get
    into what every sensible person should be running
    from
    when we integrated the schools
    they began moving away from public education
    when we integrated the churches
    they started the god is dead bit
    now we’re integrating politics
    and they’re moving to a police state
    we ought to beat them to the punch
    and pull off our coup
    and take over, with arms and everything necessary,
    our communities
    post-election note:
    those of us breathing easy now that wallace
    wasn’t elected
    check again
    that’s gas you’re smelling
    survival is still the name of the game
    black people still our only allies
    life or death still our only option
    let’s me and you do that thing
    please?

Cultural Awareness
    as we all probably realize
    on some level
    people are basically selfish
    and perhaps in some cases
    a little more than thoughtless
    mostly i would suppose
    because of the nature of life
    under this and most other
    systems
    but someone came by
    and brought to my attention
    how ridiculously mean
    i was being
    most people
    he assured me
    have followed the teachings
    of the honorable maulana elijah el shabbaz
    and do not have anything at all
    to do with pork
    and here he found
    when visiting me
    that i didn’t have
    zig-zag papers
    for a kosher
    substitute

For Saundra
    i wanted to write
    a poem
    that rhymes
    but revolution doesn’t lend
    itself to be-bopping
    then my neighbor
    who thinks i hate
    asked—do you ever write
    tree poems—i like trees
    so i thought
    i’ll write a beautiful green tree poem
    peeked from my window
    to check the image
    noticed the school yard was covered
    with asphalt
    no green—no trees grow
    in manhattan
    then, well, i thought the sky
    i’ll do a big blue sky poem
    but all the clouds have winged
    low since no-Dick was elected
    so i thought again
    and it occurred to me
    maybe i shouldn’t write
    at all
    but clean my gun
    and check my kerosene supply
    perhaps these are not poetic
    times
    at all

Balances
    in life
    one is always
    balancing
    like we juggle our mothers
    against our fathers
    or one teacher
    against another
    (only to balance our grade average)
    3 grains salt
    to one ounce truth
    our sweet black essence
    or the funky honkies down the street
    and lately i’ve begun wondering
    if you’re trying to tell me something
    we used to talk all night
    and do things alone together
    and i’ve begun
    (as a reaction to a feeling)
    to balance
    the pleasure of loneliness
    against the pain
    of loving you

For a Poet I Know
    if you sang songs i could make a request
    does the same hold true of poems
    i’d like a poem about me
    i’m black and exist and for real
    i’d like a poem about your uncle
    who got out of his bed to let us screw
    yeah and maybe a poem
    about how i tried
    to talk to you one night
    and you suggested i read my own poems
    what were you really thinking
    i’d like to hear a poem about your wig
    everybody’s got a wig
    aretha’s is on her head
    james brown’s is humphrey
    mine is