The Profound Poetry of T. Mac Mandela Zulu

By Tony McMillan

This book contains a talent that T. Mac did not know he had until 1976. I became very frustrated with the money I received on my paycheck, and I wrote my first poem, Minimum Wage. This book contains humor, terror, and the elation of freedom, when I gave my life to Jesus and let go of the world. Now I have peace of mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886540796

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The Profound Poetry of T. Mac Mandela Zulu

Tony McMillan

Copyright © 2022 Tony McMillan

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

ISBN 979-8-88654-077-2 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-079-6 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Positive or Negative

Democracy

Pussy Galore

She Used to Be My Girl

Revised Edition

And Then, There Were None

The Ability to Think

The Dominator

T. Mac's Nursery Rhymes

Little Boy Blue

Little Jack Horner

The Butler Bulldogs, Walking Tall

Better Than I Deserve

Wild Pitches, Wild Bitches

Mother's Day

I Forgot

When Right Is Wrong

The Old Pro

The Perfect Game

The Trifecta

Pitchers

God Has Forgotten America

Battle of the Bulge

We Shall Overcome

The Texas Strangers

The Orlando Tragic

Prisons

The Unabomber

Foolish Fires

History, the Mystery

The Babe

Coach Eddy Robinson

Who Do You Belong To?

The Upset

Communications

You Make It, They Will Buy It

Michael Jackson

The Cover-Up, to Uncover

The Rastafarian

Chocolate City

Serenaville

No Greater Love

Mission Impossible

You Wanna Play Guitar

The Enemy Within

The Private Investigation of A, B, and C

Back in Black

Scare Tactics

Tiger Woods

I Thank God

Global Warming

Plastic Pain

Disasters

Same Clown, Different Color

I Hear Their Voices Echoing

When Dogs Bark

I, Am, God

God Is Still There

I'm No Einstein

Charlie Hustle

Do You Remember

Steve Air McNair

The Well Ran Dry

Living on Death Row, Waiting on Life

On Your Radio Dial

Reality

Black Indians

Our Plea

The Fly Jock

Whose Struggle

The Horny Hornets

Mercy on My Soul

Careless Love

The Greatest Comeback

By Any Means Necessary

The Bailout

The Reasons I Love March Madness

The Feared Black Man

Space

Nicotine

Dealing with the Feeling

Coaching

The Inauguration of Barack Obama

The Night before Easter

Tony McMillan

Mount Everest

Divided We Fall

Black Jockeys

Act Your Wage

Life Goes On

What Has God Done for Your Soul

After the Mayflower (From a Slave's Point of View)

The NFL

The King

The Marines

The Dynamic Duo

Who Killed Doctor King

Michael Phelps

History Makers

Wrapped Up in the Wrong

The Black Cheetah

His Mercy Endureth Forever

African Ties

We Will Never Know

The Ear

No Offense

Lost

Beware of the Snare

When Is a Brother a Brother

Hurricanes

Denial

Unknown Forces

Defenses of the NFL

The Voices Spoke Out

The Voices Started to Register Voters

The Silent Majority

Fakers

The Soap Opera Prayer

Earl, Christian Campbell

Contact

Streaking

Do, Doe, Doh, Dough

Princess Di Bird in a Cage

The McNeil Report

Erasers

Jason Day

The Stars and Stripes

Beside the Stilled Waters

Wasting Time

No Wonder

The Powers That Be

The Devil in Disguise

The Propitiator

Exiled

Toothpastes

The Campaign of 2008

That Girl

Moving to Death

Taxes

The Wrong Arm of the Law

Black Power

Trouble with the Flesh

Flight Time

I Was Touched

Dummy

Think about It

You Are Kidding Me

The United States of America

Black Cowboys

Tony McMillan

Tony McMillan

About the Author

To Florida Mae Jackson,

From the one who was told, I never would amount to anything. Hate to disappoint you, Florida, but you have never known me! Only God knows my heart!

I thank God for blessing me with this talent.

This book is dedicated to the graduates of Emmett J. Scott High Tyler, Texas, and Captain John Gutter, USMC, retired.

Captain Gutter kept me out of Vietnam and was my football coach at Camp LeJune in North Carolina.

To my fellow marines, Eddie, Alexander, Keith Garvey, Kennedy V. Roman Larue, and Lil Gunny, it was a blast being in the Corp with you. Semper fi.

Captain Gutter coached our headquarters' football team to the Camp LeJune football championship game in December of '72: We beat Navy for the title.

If black lives matter,

when are we going to stop killing each other?

My brother!

T. Mac

Positive or Negative

As I walk about this planet

A part of the Negro race

Will I be an asset to my

People or will I be a complete

Disgrace

Will I be my brother's keeper

For together we stand divided

We fall

Or will I become an introvert

Believing in self and self that's

All

Will I believe in a God that's

Supreme

A God who made mountains,

Valleys, and all living things.

Or will I lean to my own

Understanding to satisfy this

Flesh

Or stand boldly on God's

Word, and pass the ultimate

Test

As I walk about this planet

A part of the Negro race

Will I be an asset to my

People or will I be a

Complete disgrace

Will I love thy neighbor

As I love thyself

Or ignore this commandment and show love to

No one else

Will I become a positive

Image so children can

look up to me

Or become a negative force

So blind that they cannot

See the light that forever

Shines throughout eternity

As I walk about this planet

A part of the Negro race

Will I be an asset to my

People or will I be a

Complete disgrace

Will I do anything for a

Thrill

Smoke crack, cocaine, or

Take any pill

Will I shoot scag

Become a fag, or be patriotic

And salute the flag

Will I become a bip bam

Thank you, ma'am, because

Papa was a rolling stone

Or accept responsibility

And make this house my

Home

Will I become an educator

Or an educated fool

Will I become a flash in

The pan

Now Brotherman, you know

That's not cool

As I walk about this planet

A part of the Negro race

Will I be an asset to my

People, or will I be a

Complete disgrace

Will I ever become a Marshall

Named Therogood

Or dare to dream a dream

Like that of Doctor Martin

Luther King

When adversity comes my way

Will I become easily vexed

Or come out with my guns

A blazing like my brother

Malcom X

Will I ever become the

President of these United States

I cannot use the color

Of my skin as an excuse

Anymore

Because the God that I

Serve is Great!

Be bold, my Brothers

Take pride in your race

Be graceful, my Sisters

And remember, a mind

Is a terrible thing to

Waste

As I walk about this

Planet

A part of the Negro race

Will I be an asset to

My people, or will I be

A complete disgrace

Democracy

Democracy is the freedom of speech

Democracy is the freedom to teach

Democracy is the freedom to learn

Democracy is the freedom to yearn

Democracy is the freedom to dream

To shoot for the moon and raise high

Your esteem

Democracy is the freedom to go to Yale

Or, if you choose to, live your life in

Pure hell

Democracy is the freedom to worship whom you please

To chant to Buddha or do salats on your knees

It is all about pleasing the creator

Democracy is the freedom to worship the creature

Don't call on God when you become his number one feature

Democracy is the freedom to live where you please

But here in America, it has become a racial disease

Democracy is the freedom to drink a beer, some cognac,

Or sip on some pink

Democracy is the freedom to be a homosexual, a lesbian,

Or a transvestite

But the choices you make are not pleasing in God's

Sight

Democracy is the freedom to be that freak

If satisfying the flesh is all you seek

Democracy is the freedom to be a man

To make ends meet by the use of your hands

To raise a family and buy some land

To enjoy the fruits of your labor

Democracy is the freedom to be a hobo

Or exert your mind and be at the controls of the spacecraft

Apollo

Democracy is the freedom to come out of the slums

To get an education because there is no life in being dumb

Democracy is the freedom to bear arms

But in the hands of fools, they cause bodily harm, even

Death

Democracy is the freedom to vote for the independent, the

Republican, or the Whig

So whoever you vote, your vote is big

Democracy is the freedom to fight against the wrongs of this

World

So don't ever give up that right

Democracy is the freedom to cheer for your favorite team

Democracy is the freedom to dream the impossible dream

It is the democratic thing to do

Pussy Galore

His daddy was named blowfly, and his mama was a whore

When he was born, they named him Pussy Galore

The doctors told the nurses to leave this one alone

They could tell by his eyes, that he was bad to the bone

When he was six months old, he was giving high fives

He was doing rap music at two, and that's no shuck and jive

At the age of six, he had a chauffeured limousine

The girls on the street would say, damn! That Pussy sure is clean

When he was seven, he wrote a song, no bitches in heaven

When he was eight, he made a statement, moolah is great

Talking 'bout those Benjamins, and when he was ten,

He told the president to kiss his rear end

Remember, his daddy was named blowfly, and his mama was a whore

Everybody in DC, knew Pussy Galore

He would cruise by the bus station, and throw the punks a kiss;

And tell them, none of you sons of bitches, will get any of this Dick

He would stop on Sixteenth Street, where the prostitutes strolled

And tell them whores that he is the godfather of soul

The cops didn't fuck with him, they came to adore,

A sharp motherfucker named Pussy Galore

He told Michael Jackson not to do the moonwalk

Because the politicians would rave and talk

Pussy never liked homos, but he dug the hell out of dykes

It wasn't that he fucked them, it was the head they gave that He liked

At the age of sixteen, he retired from the streets, bought

A jar of Vaseline, and began to beat his meat

His mama asked him if he was tired of getting laid

He said, hell naw, mama! I don't want to die from a whore with AIDS

So now you know the story of the famous Pussy Galore

His daddy was a pimp, and his mama was a whore

She Used to Be My Girl

I met her in the summer of '68,

She had a nice ass and dimples, when she smiled, I thought she

Was great

She became my childhood sweetheart, a sister whom I was soon to

Wed

She was a lady in the daytime and a super-freak in