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
Prison/ Political
Spiritual
Love
Variety
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 -
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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.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
and
Insight of what to expect from Tribulation’s Eyes
Kenneth E. Foster Jr. is a young and thriving poet. As a spiritual seeker he has built a strong spiritual foundation and has composed a collection of
17 diverse and creative poems attesting to the strength of lyrical language to help us endure and overcome injustice and hopelessness. Kenneth's powerful formula for survival started with a search for inner-peace and is now channeled into a poetic vision for all.
In the face of great struggle, Kenneth found the ability to use words with passion and imagination. In this collection, he transforms ordinary words into descriptive tales of spiritual growth. By transcending so many stigmas and misperceptions attached to "spiritual revolutionaries", he hopes through his words of pain, struggle, and spirituality that he may touch the heart of many.
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!
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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
unbossed & unbought
i don't bow to the
lies concot by
belligerent's slithering tongues
seeking to systemize
my meditative system of
serene silence
allowing me to elevate above this
mental, physical & spiritual violence of
Texas Corrections molestings-
Republic,
Repugnant,
Repulsive
elections
checking me in
boxes of neglected
being.
my seeing came w/
over 300 murders
pacified by fries,
burgers &
whatever you want except
your life,
your rights,
your freedom,
a chance to hug
your mama
who'll die twice after this drama
unfolding on a new age cross.
season tickets are bought
in a new kind of box w/
plexi-glass &
front row seats to gas,
electricity,
poison
& laughs
from civilized
christian amerika
who passed on the chance of
reform,
rehabilitation,
redemption
for
revenge !
revenge !
revenge !
and a pension of
"I got payed back" checks
through this death
and these people got
Haman's , Herod's & Herbert's
pictures on they shelf
and they in prostration/
frustration
about theyself
cause they can't seem to decipher
this cycle of violence/
riots/ civic defiance/
this dissatisfication
w/ "freedom" in the good ol USA.
MAYDAY ! MAYDAY!
it's a melee
on the runway
to the gurney.
hurry! hurry!
we must bury
another killer,
another victim,
another innocent!
cause they all the same
and we don’t want the public
to know the difference.
cause the people are smarter than you think.
and i'm on the brink of
sanity
cause i've had to be insane
to sustain in an active coffin
for this long.
i'm singing over the rythems of
death rituals
lifting up
life music
cause Nikki said
they 'd hear us
when we raised a song.
i struggle cause
i know they want to kill us
ANYWAY!
so i relay this poem
as the Bat signal to the people...
HURRY! HURRY!
the needle
is so close to us all.
a republic riddle
Texas rivers are flowing
a polluted poison
through the veins of
condemned capsules
formerly known as
humans.
no longer considered
the kind of man with
spirit, flesh and mind
we have been confined to
Justice For All.
mistakes in America are fatal –
they lead to
transportable electric chairs
coming to a home near you.
here
they tie you down with
red, white and blue straps
and lay your head on a pillow of stars
cause you're definitely abut to get
K.O.'d .
the M.O.
was something serious-
Ghettos,
Gurneys and
Greed.
Good God america –
here we got video games with
Jesus fighting Allah
and Buddha is the referee.
Gandhi is drinking hemlock
and Martin Luther King needed and AK-47.
the truth is ugly
when you're yelling MONSTERS
and the words stick to your face.
it's nothing pretty about murder
no matter how neat you do it.
trumble weeds are blowing
through this old ghost town in Livingston
cause pretty soon we'll all be dead.
it's kind of ironic huh,
cause the Living-is-done.
row-row-row
your soul
rigidly down the stream
redrum, redrum, redrum, redrum
life is but a dream.
Lights out !
10:56 am 9-9-04
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
Me and My African Brother
watched the Sun go down (like warriors in the Sahara)-
firey red, complete ball of fire,
but did it relate to us?
NO independence this day, but Spiritually / Mentally Liberated.
God's Eye
disappeared in the trees
would this day be our last
to walk in the land of mortals or walking dead?
Time shared (excruciating),
Gone (indefinitely),
Goodbye (independence day),
SUNDOWN (fa-sho).
Shared a moment of Golden times -
the only one we could share
in this crazy place -
even with no words, only with eyesight / visual!
our minds so far
on the surface of all that's life -
purified,
times shared,
would this be our last?
gone,
goodbye-
SUNDOWN!
(7 – 4 – 01 8:32 pm)
(me and Howard "LD " Guidry)
at all cost
i`ve been charged with high
treason for trying to high coup
my way to freedom !
Yes, my high coups are
lyrical revolutions
undiluted by
capitalist evil which
i stand to destroy
by citing in verse
Socialist words like :
EQUAL ! FAIR ! FREEDOM !
i stand arraigned by
deranged men w/ no conscience,
so i Tanka my
way to say : "I RESIST YOU !
It`s all about the people".
This statement`s a high
coup too – to show you i will
never bow to you ,
so i gladly plead
guilty to these charges cause
liberation by
death is preferable to
life by oppression !
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.
the drum
has always banged
the best of resistance
through my veins of black blood/beating
away all fear when in the
face of freedom.
the drum.
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 5th 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!
i insist to make
a list of my "isms" &
"ist." i approve &
resist some of both.
it's a must to separate
& congregate those
that oppose and do
relate. this here analysis
is my intellect
inregards to the
definitions of things &
words that project a
meaning or feeling
that i have intercepted
in societies
ideology,
subconscious, thoughts & dealings.
i take root in
saying that i am an
Africanist, my culture
being the very
first to give birth to
all things that exist. we were
tribalist – living
communalism.
no word had a meaning of
possession. we had
no oppressor ´til...
up came the sick colonist-
his behaviors were
perverted, his soul
was literally deserted
of love, peace & care –
plus no compassion
nor rational thought about
any human life.
this brought extreme strife.
the Atlantic became a
cyst, a traffic jam
of stop, go, murder
& much worse. amerika
was the destiny.
slavery was the
reality & then the
segregationist
made degradation
seem small. gashes from beatings
became canyons of
vile wounds. scar tissue
turned to visual mountains
& the sweat & blood pools.
this was nothing but
satanism. We had to
battle it with God's
spiritualism.
by then capitalism
took root / racism
was a boot on our
throats. segregation was now
ghettos & ghettos
now bred a new
"ism" called gangsterism.
We badly needed
loveism & a
cultural transformation
from this ignorance.
Our revolution
had idealist & realist
inregards to the
problems. politics
became a vehicle to
problem solving if
you supported an
imperialist attack
on the poor & black.
i took a step back.
these ideologies aren't
me. i found peace in
socialism. a
wise french woman told me that
"socialism is
a state of alert " –
that my revolution can
not be a state of
berzerk, but network
intelligent thoughts against
the evil "isms"
& "ist!" i had to
position creative minds
for resistance &
uplift an oppressed
people from the prisons &
slums creating One
Nation under God
so We could finally mean –Free
at last, free at last,
free at last! My list
is a reminder never
repeating the past!
My list will be a
reminder of where not to
fall and how to stand!
African Tanka
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.
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