Free Kenneth Foster

The greatest poet in the English language found his poetry where poetry is found: in the lives of people. He could have done this only through love- by knowing, which is not the same thing as understanding, that whatever was happening to anyone was happening to him.

The people who produce the poet are not responsible to him: he is not responsible to them. That is why he is called a poet. And his responsibility, which is also his joy and his strenght and his life, is to defeat all labels and complicate all batlles by insisting on the human riddle, to beat witness, as long as breath is in him, to that mighty, unnameable, tranfiguring force which lives in the soul of man, and to aspire to do his work so well that when the breath has left him, the people- all people!- who searched in the rubble for a sign or a witness will be able to find him there.

Where the people can sing, the poet can live- and it is worth saying it the other way around, too; Where the poet can sing, the people can live. When a civilization treats its poets with the disdain with which we treat ours, it cannot be far from disaster; it cannot be far from the slaughter of innocents.

(James Baldwin)

All Poetry on this page is written by Kenneth E. Foster Jr.

Kenneth Foster's Poetry Books

• How to buy Kenneth's Poetry Books
• Poetic essence - Tribulation's Eyes
• Texas Tears

Prison/ Political

• My Habeas Corpus to the World Court
• Tango
• Sundown
• At All Cost
• Ressurection
• Re - Birth
• Discovery

Spiritual

• The Drum
• Spirit Guides
• She-God
• Synchronized
• Spirit Earth

Love

• A Garden awaits
• Long Trip Home
• Kismet woman kiss
• A-More

Variety

• Endangered Species
• What's Going on?
• She Loves
• My List

To inquire about orders you can email: HERE or send a $6 money order or check to :

Laura Brady

1413 Valleyridge Dr.

Unit B

Austin, Tx 78704

Please specify if you would like "Tribulation's Eyes" or "Texas Tears". If you would like to purchase both, then you can purchase both for only $10.

If you would like "Tribulation's Eyes" in another language (Available in French, Italian and German) then email us here at: kenneth.foster.jr@hotmail.com and we will process that special order for you.

If you have any problems with your order you may contact us at the above email address or contact us through this site.

 We hope you'll support these projects as these are Kenneth's attempts to help himself and to raise money to support his fight for freedom. At the same time we are sure that you will find something deep, special and meaningful in his words. So, it's a win-win situation.

 Thank-you all very much for your time and support.

- Poetic Essence -

Poetics is a meditative enterprise that privileges the poetic image, or the unique expressive sound of a culture, as the founding or generative force of the culture. 
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
and
Insight of what to expect from Tribulation’s Eyes

 While it's not an excerpt from his book, below Kenneth offers us a glimpse at his poetic voice. He hopes you will find something special in his voice and will be inspired to seek out more of his work.
Kenneth hopes to do more poetic work in the near future.
Please support his book and share it with a friend.
All purchases will go to his Defense Fund to help his appeal. 
Thank you and enjoy!

native tongue

souls of black folk i walk
i spirit talk to u-
my ancestors-
ringing my ears
like Kissi drums banging war cries-
eyes seeing tribal visions
please guide me through these vicious
paths where brutality lies.
i spirit walk to u-
my people-
like selma legs
that hurt for sanity
and million man stance
of searching for identity.
my spirit walks the walk
and talks the talk
of death row stories
told in voices
echoing through empty cells
that vibrate out
Journeys,
Condemnation,
Self-affliction,
Redemption.
my spirit talked to me-
told me embrace his peace.
we line on
Infinitely,
together
as one
we spoke-
words unspoken
soul speaking
we talk

a lone star statement

Download Flyer here.

Too Flawed to Fix

is the mix

i find myself simmering in/

a faulty functioning system

of fanatics

that foam at the mouth

getting their fix off

MURDER!

these be experts in Inquisitions &

Injections,

media propaganda/puppet masters.

they be pros

for the killing of cons /

politically correct at deception.

just ask Iraq soldiers' parents.

just remember "I'm not a crook"

as you look deep deep deep

into their honest abe eyes.

what's the reception

on their tellalievision?

invisible walls surround our children

and their minds/

learning patriotism

and how to salute flags with a crisp snap

at the age of 5.

by 15 they've got berettas in their backpacks

coz your version of the Bible

made them assassins.

eye for an eye/tooth for a tooth

is now clip for clip

on high school students hips.

it's sad, i know.

i know sadness on texas' death row

where souls evaporate.

they must know magic

coz bodies disappear in rapid succession.

justice is knocking on doors/

judges are jumping out of windows

and it's not even September '01,

but is a 9-1-1.

we've got some deadly speculations

on behalf of some

determined southerners

dedicated to break the union

of anything sensible.

we've got stop being

simpletons/slow/&selfish

and fight what's

sadistic/stigmatized/& just flat out sick!

like i said

Too Flawed To Fix

be this system,

so let's make a new one!

rain falls down

in my cell

from my eyes

as death reaches up

through my spine

turning me into

a puppet.

reflecting shadows

on the wall

of crucifixes/

cotton fields

and carousels

and I dance around

my cage

chanting in tongues

dragging my feet

on concrete

that’s been

callousing my soul

for 7 years

my pace quickens

my knees lift

my spirit drops

my heart listens

to the beat

of others

Mother

pendeza*

Father

asante*

Brother

cut my strings

Sister

hold me

I’m tired

I’m fire

consuming faith

confronting my future

revealed in sweat beads

racing down my face

fate

hello

goodbye

tomorrow

I’m struggling

to canoe

down Rage River

and climb Pain’s Peak

but I make it

I refuse to quit

I wave my fist

death restracts

lets go

cuts my strings-

"we’ll

dance

again."

Ki Swahili for

*please

*thank-you

My Queen is pregnant w/ flowers

embeded w/ godly seeds

a Sun Belly

so golden brown and crisp

it`s firm and tight

because i rub it w/ hot coconut oil every night

she `s so fertile

Sun dress rainbow colored

toes open letting prettiness flow free

she`s getting ready to birth me

a brown tone lily

dedicate high yellow rose

some dark daffodils

we`ll brush our nose against their little bellies

and smell their little pink feet

let their fragrance enrich our soul

these precious flowers i´m waiting to meet

we`ll hold them

as the Sun kisses our faces on summer days

and the wind cools our backs

i hold on to my Queen`s stomach

kissing it, rubbing it waiting for this magnificient batch

find u'r way to me sistah

dancing on dark vibes

that brings our lives

into a weave of

black skin / brown eyes

loving self / cultural pride

2 hearts

1 mind

find u'r way to me sistah

be my radiant smile

inside me thrive

w/ yo beats

w/ yo sweet

sweet feet

pitter patting in me

running through all that i be

come find u'rself in me

let us dance sistah

to tunes that

soothe our struggles

let our nakedness

become familiar as lovers

i ask u sistah

come home to u'r naturalness

u'r blackness

u'r universe needs u

find u'r way to me sistah

Kismet woman kiss

me deep with desire. my

fortune was ease found

in your lips. yes, Queen, you're Karma

loving me intense like oooooh!

her scent was like aloes, cinnamon and myrrh/ stirred up in one pot of

desire / her attire was hieroglyphics of silk from Egypt wrapping her

immaculate figure that causes fingers to tremble when they trace her

softest regions/ her breathing was like silent winds on clear cool

nights/ a refreshing blessing of serene secrets whispered in my ears

like a seraphim spilling sweet spice to me / her face was light / a golden

bright spoken word sun / a rattling tongue of mystic chants and songs

bringing the universe to perfect order/ there is no disorder in her

being/ she is a fine design, almost a deity is she in her grace/ her

lips gave wisdom a place to dance /off her hands gloated instruction

and direction of divine introspection causing you to think she was

the beat in your heart/her feet walked ever so gently on rose petals/

her eyes shone like gold medals penetrating your soul/fine oils makes

her skin shine more/ gentleness makes her desired by more/ the more

she isn't/the more she is/simply irresistible cause she's a /Moor.

each speech i make

might be my last

as i blast

through glass

pipes and vicious sights

found in blk streets

where tennis shoes

cover feet

identifying the names of streets

and AK-47`s are in reach

of youths 13-

23!

passage rites

be found through synthex chambers

that puts young

and old in danger

simply for watching TV at home-

Big Bucks No Whammies

3 slugs

1 body cold

makes me pray 4 times a day

for souls.

each speech i make

might be my last

as i decided not to laugh

but act out against ignorant violence/

pave a way for the silent

natural revolutionary who i be

that was

covered in hats, nikes & dickies,

spliffed out on sweet leaf

& mickey's

drowning me in amerikan politicing

that says,

"NIGGA KILL YO` SELF! "

some of our hoods

could be a remake

of jewish/palestine hate

fighting for state,

but we wasn't guided by scripture

rather "Set It Off" scripts

and gangsta limps

passed down

generation

after

generation.

i decided to make a dangerous statement-

that i wanted out

so i could be in/

friend to grandmothers walking to the store

and looked at as more

than just a lost cause.

our cause

was lost in the gauze

wrapped around our heads

holding in our brains

from stray bullets after leaving the mall.

i'm holding mama from falling

as her weak fist beat my

face & chest

no longer protected by vest

being stung by pain hollow tips

& conscious clips

laying my nigger-self to rest,

ripping bandana nouses off my neck

now making me

this mamas new son

as i attempt to

wake up a nation!

footsteps move quickly,

doors slam

eyes watch me as cadillacs pass...

i'm determined,

i feel the true danger

as

each speech i make

might be my last!

my last daze was spent

holding strong from

cavity searches of my soul &

long lines of hearses for ghost

that gurneys gobbled up.

Genocide

has been bottled up

for 86.08-

the discount rate for

potassium chloride/

tears in a single mother's eyes/

cheers from Christians screaming tooth for tooth,

we'll bake brownies at a gas booth near you.

southern comfort!

a taste of reality

that you feel in yr stomach

like Bigger Thomas described.

be the bigger man.

it's hard when

gangstas got guns in they hands

& no money in they pockets.

& that’s just the police!

no pension got this pig pressing

his nightstick

on my neck

pinching off his piece of

this american pie;

and i've got a ghetto

to get home to.

the roaches are running thangs.

we Raid the roaches/

Rampart raids us.

aint no peace treaties anymore.

prisons are passage rites &

the Rights are starting to look better than

the Lefts.

damn shame.

sit-ins made set-backs &

social security meant they got this muthafucka

LOCKED DOWN!

amerika's on lock &

Hip Hop's putting us down.

aint that a bitch?

we pulling the switch on ourselves.

some of y'alls mamas need to cut a switch on you.

Actually,

we just need to cut a few of you fools loose

cause we done lost more than

Malcolm & Fred

as 50 Cent heads up

this generation's guerilla unit.

our current Black Liberation Movement

is rims that can't be stopped

when the car does.

spinners they call 'em.

they done spun a helluva web too.

what a tangled web we weave on

www.wecometodeceive.com.

Defcon 1

is in 5^{th Ward &}

World War 3

should have started when

2Pac was killed.

what the fuck we doing?

killed the coldest m/f

spitting spoken word.

dude comes from

panthers & poverty

and tried to pave some passion

in our hearts.

pass the Bacardi

while i

bust on bush!

he was ½ way there.

we ½ care.

we all 100-spokes & speakers.

creases & champagne.

diamond rings and ring tones.

don’t cry about

3 strikes,

Rockefellers &

Terrorist laws

while we still

hands on balls,

hands on the wall,

heading to the Walls Unit

in hatersville, tx.

heavy hitters suckerrrrs!

IV's dripping infront of human buzzards

circling my dead body.

i want my mama!

but it's too late now.

green mile walks lead me to

fake-ass preachers who talk about

pearly gates & golden paved streets

over a cheeseburger, freedom fries & iced tea.

he's going home to T-bone steak&

a warm bed though.

we going to cold graves

still hungry for life.

sterilized mics got me motionless

matching our motionless people.

they sticking it to us.

we sticking ourselves out.

we stuck!

Do you have a final statement???

Hey Mother earth

in Kente skirt

i've been missing you around my block-

i've been so

brain/

white

washed up

that i didn't notice you strutting

over fake nails,

eyes lashes

and hair.

i couldn't help but to stare

at u'r naturalness-

the way you can bless

gloomy ghetto alley ways

where

blooming 14 year olds play

with abandonment,

death

and despair

for the simple fact

mama didn't care

and daddy was a part of the "two-thirds."

i heard you breathe in urgent sighs

as young sistahs was on knees

with closed eyes-

not praying

or playing with jax,

but full of confusion/

crack

killing the black body.

i followed you into abandoned homes

and watched u hold

mother and child

caressing the racial profiles

of their high cheek bones

and melanic skin

and even allowed daddy to come in

eventhough he's always out.

u smelled like the South

of Africa/amerika

acting like smelling salt

awakening us

from suicide in

Cosmopolitan

and metropolitan

rubbish!

u was walking

love-in

an unconditional substance

coating our being.

makes me wanna holla

throw up both my hands

coz brothas and sistahs

aint believing

us is we.

i follow u to be

the living epitome

of cultural love,

pride

and identity

until my people finally see

the answer is

us in we /

us is we!

we must mimic thee

being black sacredness

savoring the black being

us finally being

SAVIOUR!

spirit guides be i

listening to the water run,

wind blow, hearts beat out

the messages of life found

in earth, from God- all in me.

sychronized with the

sunrise and sunset my life

becomes walking prayer

She-God , Shekhinah,

tells her-story that Grace shall

save the Earth through Love

i'm the phoenix rising
from the ashes of death row
i stand as the
love that just would not fold
we grew grassroots
under the steel machine
their hate couldn't stop our growth
i'm the hope
reinstilled inside the hopeless capsules formerly known as men at the end I found a way to begin the catacomb couldn't hold me i came out more holy death kissed my lips and said- "rise up hungry!"

 now my appetite is ferocious
for life
not a crumb shall be wasted
as  serve this 3 course meal of
struggle, spiritualism and liberation
and i won't stop
until our nation
is full
i'm lost in the tears
of those that got pulled
into this killer whale
can you feel my smiles across the miles
as my lips hold up the pain trickling down my face my brother said- "forgive them for they know not what they do."

 i left at 402
but not before i stood
eye to eye w/ the beast
a one way exit
under the release of
governmental poison
but the voices of the people
would not cease
i was at peace
but at war
i'm haunted by the thought
that there will be so many more
i implore the Ancestors as guides
i'm tore by the facts of
genocide on our backs
somebody replay the track to
"walk with me"

the execution chamber was calling me
i responded w/
"HELL NO I WON'T GO!"
they dragged me tho'
the CEDP hit 'em w/ political bombs
to silence their throats
crying for blood
never once did we light a candle
but kept the fire lit from above
if we did it once
we can do it again
let's be a radical wind
friend to storms that tear down the Walls i can still hear the calls of comrades drowned in this rain of terror i caress my scars & reflect on the 10 years when i was too stubborn to bow to stigmas i wouldn't listen to the system i survived on Nydesha's kisses when oppression was served on the tray it's a new day "No Struggle, No Progress"

the vanguard way
from Austin to Ithaca
they heard what we had to say
Rome to Venezuela
i'm not home 'til we persuade 'em
w/ the Power of the People
that i must be free
as long as i have breath in my lungs
freedom is within my grasp
until then i will be
on a Move &
on a DRIVE
alive, licking & mobilizing
we won't stop 'til we change the tide
one for our love that just would not subside I'm the phoenix that had to rise resurrected from the ashes of death row as i declared in "the prophecy"
victory is mine
victory
is
mine
!.

(In memory of DaRoyce Mosely and John Amador)

everything was anew

like i was born w/ new eyes

the glimpse of a world

once chained to my pupils

now loose

in orbit

spinning new 360° revolutions

in my mind

i was high

on life

lost in the crispness of the skies

even prison walls looked better

coz it was something refreshing

about a new chance

to build

many thought my fate was sealed

some thought destiny had another plan

but i knew my Personal Legend

was crafted in the hands

of a Higher Being

they drug me to the death chamber

& i couldn’t help but to feel

like James Byrd

ASHE’!

we raise the spirits of lost souls

lynched

in a legacy of KKKountry

of lies

but i had new eyes

baby awe-struck glimpses

coz i saw things

that only Ancestors saw

ghost hanging from my trees

raised their fist

saluting my journey

blessing my path

to resurrect some life

back to decaying men

they tried to strange fruit me

but i was a Black rose

blooming

exhilarating scents

of liberation

my aroma filled the Walls

they moved me out

quicker than quick

didn’t want me to awaken

the mummies asleep

in the great tomb of

12 building

i’ll return in a chariot of fire

across the skies

screaming-

“UHURU SASA”

for those willing to grasp it

at the bottom of death row

i became an unrecognized species

the pearl out the mud

the diamond in the ruff

i rebuffed the stigmas & hopelessness

i stood tough & endured

i give praise to those that were unmoved

in the line of teXas fire

the executioner’s time has expired

& now it’s on us

to make good of

this day that’s

anew.

discovery

my trepid fingers

anxiously reach outside the window

formerly barred to me

allowing me to feel

real fresh air

and not the stale fabricated breeze

blowing from the vent

i cannot deny i’m nervous

wondering if i’m being watched as i reach

i can see

OUT

free of water stains and smudges

blocking my vision

the grass is so damn green

i smell it freshly cut

like when i was 16

can taste the dust

i stir in delight

as i push my fingers

as far as the bars will allow

i wiggle my digits

as if I’m shyly waving at…

freedom

i looked askance at the guard tower

and wonder if they are documenting this

it could seem

insurrectionary

but it’s too late now

i’ve become dedicated to the act

the thought

it all has absorbed back into me

those suppressed feelings

of what it’s like to

be from under the

boxes and bars

it feels foreign

new

like I’m 1 ½ on discovered legs

but like riding a bike

you never fully forget

i smile at the fence

the dirt

the road

i realize

my time has come

i close the window with confidence

coz now

it’s all within my grasp