I Use to Fall Down: 50 + 25 + 25 Selected Poems: 50 + 25 + 25 Selected Poems

By D. Alexander Holiday

This edition of I Use to Fall Down: 50 + 25 + 25 Selected Poems contains all of the fifty (50) original poems that first appeared in the original chap book of the same name plus twenty-five (25) pieces that first appeared in Letters to Osama: Old and New Musings on Foreign and Domestic TerrorismAnd Other Matters with an additional twenty-five new poems.

The original chap book was a labor of love, having comprised many of the pieces which appeared in the book during the Amadou Diallo trial of four New York City police officers charged with this young unarmed African males murder. The murder was senseless, but the trial was a travesty of justice, a mockery of both the justice system in America (and specifically how it relates to people of color) and Black people in general (and very specifically to black men in particular). The trial was to put Amadou (ergo black people/black men) on trial and to make whites see that black people are just guilty, guilty of being the wrong color. So, I had written one, and sometimes more than one, poem per day during the duration of the trial, which began at the end of January and primarily took place during February. What is sort of ironic, and lends credence to my position about racism in this country, is that Amadou was shot and killed in the month of February, which is Black History Month, and his trial was conducted and ended in the month of February, again, Black History Month. Amadou was found guilty and his murderers went free, innocent of all charges. Tragic, but this oftentimes is justice for blacks in America.

In addition to writing all those poems during Black History Month, about the trial (and I had been working nearly two doors down from the very courthouse at the time), I hit on the idea of putting a few of the trial poems and others that I had written into a chap book that I would sell locally, but the chap book would primarily be for me, something to have in my personal library, a monument to Amadou (and others), a testament for Black America. I worked on a computer at the local public library, drafting each page and getting my printouts from the reference desk librarians. After doing all that work, the manuscript was ready to be printed into book format by a local Kinkos. Amazingly, once I actually had a few books in my hand, one of the very librarians who had been working at the times I was in and had helped with getting my printed pages for me, offered to buy a few copies of this very chapbook, putting one in the local archives and about three in general circulation. The library even hosted a reading for me.

I am very proud of the chap book (and I had done about three others prior to this one), which has gone through several versions of both the cover and the very style of the book, and this is why Im making it available again for readers. A few of the poems would later in appear in Letters to Osama, my first major publication of my work, which I am also very proud of. This new version of I Use to Fall Down now has a new and exciting cover design, twenty-five poems from Letters to Osama, and some new poems about everything from deaths of celebrities to politics and wars. There is humor, sadness, revenge-writing, and plain anger at people, places, and things. Being misanthropic is just not easy.

I hope that readers will both come away from my work having learned something and enjoyed the way I attempted to present the message.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 21, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462801909

Book preview

I USE TO FALL DOWN

50 + 25 + 25 Selected Poems

D. Alexander Holiday

Copyright © 2005 by D. Alexander Holiday.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

28712

Contents

PREFACE

I USE TO FALL DOWN

IL WALAD

SOMEHOW, MAMA KNEW

SMOKEY ROOMS

I SAW YOU SMILE

POEM TO ASSATA SHAKUR

MY BROTHER MAKES ME REMEMBER

SORRY TO HAVE STOPPED AND SAID HELLO

JAZZ MAN

COP KILLERS

NOT AT HOME

THE WANT OF YOU

SILENT VOICES

POEM FOR THAT LADY IN MOZAMBIQUE

WANNABE

CLOSET CASE

JURY SELECTION

LONELY

SHE DIDN’T KNOW

WASHERWOMAN BLUES

I DON’T WISH TO RETURN TO WORK

STOP LAUGHING AT ME

OOH

NO ONE WANTS THAT MOTHERFUCKER

THE LADY IN THE HARBOR

WHAT DAD MIGHT HAVE SAID

I WILL NOT STAND HERE

ELIAN, I AM ASKING YOU TO GO BACK HOME

WHY DID I DO THAT

THIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT YOU

JASAN

DELIVER THEM FROM EVIL

BROKEN KALEIDOSCOPE

MOTHER, WHERE AM I

CASE DISMISSED

YOU SURE HAVE CHANGED YOUR TUNE

RUN, GRADY, RUN

DID YOUR MIND BREAK DOWN, TOO MAMA

TAKE OFF YOUR SKIN

A BLACK MAN SPEAKS OF INJUSTICE

OPENING REMARKS

THE JUDGE CHARGES THE JURY

HE SAID/HE SAID

REST IN PEACE

DON’T YOU DARE

SISTER ROSIE

THE LITTLE HOSTAGE

WHEN THE COPS DRIVE BY

ODE FOR THE STONE THROWERS

FROM LETTERS TO OSAMA: OLD ABD NEW MUSINGS

ON FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC TERRORISM …

AND OTHETR MATTERS

LETTER TO SADDAM HUSSEIN

DADDY WAS A LIAR

GOODBYE

HOW’S YOUR INVASION GOING

MAMA HAS BEEN WEEPING

WHITE TRASH

NO REPLY AT ALL

WHAT MOM MIGHT HAVE BEEN THINKING

SUNDAY 1-28-90

THE PRESIDENT AND HIS FORKED TONGUE

WHAT THE DEAF MAN HEARD

THE MAKE BELIEVE COLORED MAN

MOURNING SONG

LETTER TO PALESTINE

ANOTHER FEBRUARY DEATH

‘O MY PEOPLE’

WHAT THE BLIND MAN SAW

ENDGAME

THE WANDERING

WE KNEW BEFORE OUR KNOWING

LETTER TO KOFI ANNAN AND THE UNITED NATIONS

DADDY’S EYES

TO THE DIPLOMATS

MOTHER TO SON

FATHER TO DAUGHTER

THE MAN IN THE MOUNTAINS

NEW POEMS

DEATH BY FIRE

JEWISH NAZIS

THE BONES OF MR. JONES

OLD SAD SOUR BITTER BITCH

THERE’LL BE SUCH A CELEBRATION!

LETTER TO YASSAR ARAFAT

THE SCARS

BEST VILLAGE IDIOT

A CAUCUS OF BLACK WOMEN

THE HAMSTER CHRONICLES

LETTER TO M. NIGHT SHAYAMALAN

CLOWN ACT

WHEN BLACK PEOPLE GO DANCING

VOODOO DANCE

FINAL CURTAIN

ODE FOR THE LOSERS

LETTER FROM THE FRONTLINES

WRITING A POEM

TSUNAMI

MY MOTHER TOLD ME… ,

EVEN AA WON’T HAVE HER

ABU GHRAIB VS NBA

WHISPERS

GOING BACK TO NÜRNBERG

THANK YOU

ENDNOTES

DEDICATION

As was the case with the original version of this book(minus the additional poems), this one is, still, dedicated to Thomas Tommy Angelo, who has been better than any brother. Thank you.

Oh, all right. This is dedicated, also, to Curtis. Four legged friends are welcomed, too. Meow.

PREFACE

With this re-release of I Use To Fall Down, which was no more than a chap book which I had produced entirely on my own(except for the printing which was handled by a local Kinkos), I am having my publisher, Xlibris, produce the book in hardcover and paperback formats. The original version only had fifty (50) poems, laid out here from the original, and I am offering an additional fifty pieces for this new release, twenty-five taken from Letters to Osama: Old and New Musings on Foreign and Domestic Terrorism . . . and Other Matters(which has eighty-four pieces in total) and an additional twenty-five (25)new poems/pieces.

Readers will be exposed to both old and new pieces, depending on which book they were exposed to earlier, and the new poems will, hopefully, be eye catching, as well, to everyone. I won’t attempt to explain away any of the poems/pieces. All people have to know is simply this: If you attempted to hurt me, or others, usually by demonstrating some act of racism, you most likely wound up in a poem/piece or two. It really is just that simple. Moreover, people often inquire of us writers, once they know that we are, in fact, writers, . . . are you writing about this place… , am I going to be a character in your book… ? Usually the ones that are asking such a question are usually people I’m not in any way interested in writing about, so the answer is usually, no, you’re not. The ones that do go on to become characters for a piece are usually the typical assholes and it works to a greater advantage not to mention to them that they will appear in a poem, etc. I usually just sit quietly and say little while they’re writing me up(hey, how come they get to write about me, but I can’t write about them?), as an example. I usually just let them think that they’ve pulled a fast one on me, all the while I’m listening to what’s said, making a mental note on the doings and the sayings, then I go back to paper or a computer and I transcribe events. For example, kindly look at Old Sad Sour Bitter Bitch, Even AA Won’t Have Her, Clown Act, and Thank You, and you will see me at my best/worst in my revenge frame of mind. In short, certain people f#*ked with me, I f#*ked them back. They told me to stop writing, blah, blah, blah, and, now, look what they’ve made me go and do. Not only did I publish the very thing I was told not to write, but a poem or two even came out of it as well. This is my quid pro quo, something for something, this for that, a kind of tit-for-tat, if you will. I don’t really like profanity in poetry, but sometimes it aids in getting the angst out. Short of storming into an asshole supervisor’s office and cussing up a fever, or blowing somebody’s damn brains out, I prefer to calmly sit at a computer and draft a narrative of what transpired, what provoked me into writing what I felt compelled to write. And, if you mess with me during Black History Month, that’s the month of February for those of you that pretend not to know (What?! Christmas is December. Black History Month is February, what’s not to know), well that’s just worse for you. You’d be better off walking on the other side of the street during this period. One needs to find a constructive way of getting the s#%t off of one’s chest. This is what I do. This works for me.

While working on the material for this book, a lot of things transpired. Whew, let’s see. Lots of deaths. Shirley Chisholm, Rodney Dangerfield, Johnny Carson, Yassar Arafat, Ray Charles(Congrats to Jamie Foxx for winning the Oscar for best actor in Ray), Ossie Davis, and if these passings weren’t enough a whole tsunami takes over 150,000 lives in one complete motion. The political landscape remained the same and the Nazis remained in office. No surprise there(and, no, I didn’t vote). Kerry or Edward’s Campaign sent me a photo of the two of them smiling and holding hands or waving and I’m sending it back with a cover note(see poem). The immoral war in Iraq continues to be a hot topic, and whereas I hadn’t written anything about Rice, previously, she does figure into a piece or two among the newer pieces.

I don’t know what the planet is going to look like over the next few years, but one thing is certain, we are not safer following the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. The propaganda sprouting from the mouths of Rumsfeld, Rice, Powell, Bush, Cheney, and Blair is on a par with that which had come from Hitler, Himmler, Hess, Goebbels, Eichmann, Mengele, Goering and the other Nazis. Different period in time, same regimes.

Whatever. If you can’t love one another, at least try to love yourself.

Try to stay safe, everyone.

I Use To Fall Down

And if your friend does evil to you, say to him,

‘I forgive you for what you did to me, but how

can I forgive you for what you did to yourself.’

Frederick Nietzsche

IL WALAD

For the children of the Sudan and Somalia

Walking,

here you come

walking

walking in groups of

ten,

a hundred,

thousands,

ten thousand

some of you

are walking on

two legs, no thicker than a man’s finger

or one leg supported by branches

others are carried

or ride piggybacked

here you come

as young as eight

as old as twenty-something

with two outstretched hands

or single-handed, the other one left behind in a civil war

you are coming

finding no durra or mukheit on

this far trek

trying to flee from

the sharia

the Haddendawa

the Taposa

this Muslim-Christian war

and you don’t understand

why

Sadiq al-Madi or Omar Hassan El-Bashir

won’t feed you

clothe you

shelter you and

why

you must pick up arms

at eight

you are Dinka

you are Nuer

traveling through

the deserts

sifting through

dust and sand

for a grain of corn

or something to keep many of

you alive

for one more day

as you make this journey

through Abyei, el Meiram, Bahr El Ghazel(near Raga)

can you try to cross

the upper Nile, without drowning

the White Nile

or the Akobo River

coming through Equatoria, Muglad, Rumraadt,

meeting others in

Khartoum

Juba

Wau

Aweil

Fungido and Itang in Ethiopia

Malakal

Yirol

you will meet many others

coming from

Pinyudo, in Ethiopia

and the chain

continues to be linked

through Kongor and Ponchala, Akon, Babanusa,

Kosti(on the White Nile), Ler,

Safaha, Lokichokio, Yei, Narus,

Pibor, Kapoeta, Abu Hamed, Dongola, Asmara, Shendi,

Wad Medani, El Obeid, El Fasher, Kafia Kingi, Kodok,

Jebelein, Darfur, Kordofan, Torit, Ngangala, Bor,

Magwe, Atbara, Wadi Halfa,

Port Sudan, Omdurman

and you are caught in the

crossfire

between the Arab north

and the black south

but you

keep

walking

hoping to find

Bishop Taban Paride

who has also

walked

forty-five miles or more

and don’t concern

yourselves that

the world is