stripe me like the American flag

Description

Purchase the book at:

http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/47328

Poet, photographer, and artist Donald Burlock Jr. delivers in a dual-book scheme highlighting a recent collection of reflective poems and well-chosen photographs. While "smiles like the mona" will embrace our appreciation of the precious moments in life, "stripe me like the American flag" will evoke challenging portraits of the world we know.

SAMPLE POETRY:

I> stripe me like the American flag

now stripe me like the American flag/
and put stars on my due rag/
and then call me rebel red cause blue’s too sad/
my soul white-washed like bleached bags/
and all I wanted was a little white name tag/
something to help me catch street cabs/
but my God tailored my tissue and flesh/
and often mirrors mirror me best/
and lovely women don’t want to address/
that I rumble hills on chest/
and that my beauty makes lips quiver, no rest/
yes, every eyebrow is blessed/
and now you want to dismiss me I guess/
and give attend to blonde pets/
so then ask me why two odds make evens/
and if words can be deceiving/
the very same words that are leaving/
you behind like school teaching/
now stripe me like the American flag/
and put stars on my due rag/
and then call me rebel red causes blue’s too sad/
my soul white-washed like bleached bags/
of cocaine from little white house name tags/

II> when the glass breaks

We marched around it like Jericho/
Meanwhile spherical winds stirred quarters/
Sea waters crossed borders/
Shame America, ceilings finally hit shoulders/
But there we were marching,/
Helicopters flying and tug boats in tow/
Treading oh so slow as if it were snow/
And though it wasn’t, they still felt cold/
As 2% milk on cereal in a superbowl/
Realizing that the toll was to be blood/
Fingers scraped at heaven’s above/
Yet they still marched along/
Down long paths of civil road/
By then covered boldly by the depths/
No praise or rest for trapped souls/
Until levies disobeyed orders/
Shame on us, ceilings finally hit shoulders/
March, march, left, right, left, right/
march, roof tops are land in sight/
Bright red blood, false words, and heartaches/
so is America when the glass breaks/