Fragmented Blues

By Marcus Uganda White

Fragmented Blues merges poems affected by the influence of traditional southern writing along with worldly explorations across two decades. The author, being typecast as a romantic blues poet, has studied and infused the elements of poetry writing as was formed by the English Romantic Poets, the poets of the Beat Generation, the Harlem Renaissance, and the Black Arts Movement predominantly. In travels, the poet has met poets and peoples representing every nation of the globe, mostly. Becoming part of the underground art life scene through Jackson (Mississippi), Chicago, Ft. Pierce (Florida), D.C., Naples (Italy), the Middle East (Bahrain, Dubai, and Iraq), invigorated the movement of the poetry between variable tones and moods. The impressions of a simple day is Fragmented Blues; an exploration of true love, the remembrances of times before in youth, the details of troublesome moments in times of uncertainty, the coming of age poem by poem is Fragmented Blues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 12, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462838127

Marcus Uganda White

marcus uganda white (1972 - ) is a poet, Mississippi born. White attended Tougaloo College, served in the U.S. Navy, and graduated Kaplan University. White is a traveler exploring cities and countries as an Information Technology professional while writing. Email: [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2009 by Marcus Uganda White.

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Contents

Fragment\ed Blues

Black Swan

By Breath of the Sun

Like

kisses blown in the wind

Silence and Sensibility

To be

Nothing is the same

As Black As They Are

Magnolia

A Poem for Dorothy West

A View Off Standard Life

The Ballad of Pauline Pudwater

Baritone Songs (A poem for Prentiss Mckinney, Sr.)

At Dawn (from Momma Zora’s porch)

exploding at my typewriter

Love

When My Sister Speaks

until the night was done

Unaccepted

Affliction

And so

Green eyes

Sassy Girl

Unity’s Letter (Rho Epsilon, Tougaloo College)

Xplanation

to remember you

Flashback to Problem Number 54

Mahogany Heart

Haitian Paul (Incarcerated Youth of Southern Florida)

Cut!

Jukehouse Dancer

Twenty-five lifetimes gone

out of my restriction

Barefoot I Stride

Neapolitan Madness / Arms and Verses

Stranger’s Compassion

Untitled

The Consummate Jungle

jazz is fine

Misty Monday

True Taboo

Little Bones (JLW)

Holiday of Love (Valentine’s Day Poem)

Maria’s Swing

She shivers in her sleep

Continuous Motion (Million Man March, 1995 – Washington, D.C.)

unknown ghost

Betraying the skin

a house that goes boom

Arts of Love

Stars to the ground

Solitary Mind

Taji Sunrise

Blues healer needed: Space available,

The Boogey Man must apply.

A world without passion

Three Seasons

Untouchable

Not by love alone

Obama, 44th

Writing Life

Dedication

Fragmented Blues is dedicated to those definitive of the history and of the future of Mississippi, to those who have worked/are working as catalysts in the development of my poetic considerations, and to the lovers and supporters of this craft across the globe.

Fragment\ed Blues

My blues are a fragmented song

keeping rhythms within the night

within the faces

whose time belongs

to darkness and noise,

whether soft or enigmatical

like dreams and thoughts

over time when I’ve seen

life and love,

death and dying

in an undeclared war.

Save me, comes from some body

on some street alone

listening to his very own life

unreeling like the end of films

where happy endings remain questionable.

Morning is the cure,

then my blues go

on again

and again

like time does

and nobody questions

why the sun rises the way it does.

My blues are fragmented

like Mississippi’s history

and melodious

like the blues songs

from muddy waters.

My blues are you, me, and a world

dancing erratically

in an isolated dark room

as consolation to madness.

My blues are liquor swigs

with loud music,

chaotic obscenities,

and condemned actions

of love in misery.

My blues are days still,

sitting to Shubert and Mozart

while nobody cares-

and I evolve like sweet cakes in ovens

rising and falling.

My blues are love songs

to girls and women

who I could not love enough

to keep me from me,

from you,

from quiet deliriums

raging against the world.

My blues are exchanges

living among themselves

until I see them

laying before me,

before their birth

into outer dimensions

as I dream of.

My blues are rocky mountains too high

for careless thoughts to climb

out of plains too bare

for waterfalls and rivers

and flowers.

My blues are dues

paid and owed

as memories to the old

who no longer worry about

nor mind the blues.

My blues are an anthem from solitude

calming manifestations of mind

in times when I become

like songbirds returning from winter

and no one has realized, until then

that they were gone.

My blues are fragmented like my life

pulling together pieces of dreams

trying not to forget

that I more than my dreams,

and trying not to