Newspapers / Winston-Salem State University Student … / Nov. 1, 1969, edition 1 / Page 3
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NOVEMBER, 1969 THE NEWS ARGUS PAGE THREE EXPRESSIONS My Bag than what my heart feels. No matter how much I disapprove or refuse to accept this fact. can do no more than what I know. And I can't do what I don't know. Fool's Fool More niggers kill niggers than honkiesJill niggers 'cause niggers hate niggers and honkies hate niggers but a honkie figures why should I kill a nigger? when I can get another nigger to pull the trigger it's safe and slicker that way and then I figure that one day I'll kill the nigger that pulled the trigger and eliminate them all that way. —Alvin Rush (Untitled) Mathematically exact percussions Of time beat within my soul As the needle of my curiosity Floats in the groove of my being. —Gregor Hannible When I find myself going for myself - I then know that this is my bag. Destruction The foolish world stood Facing the mirror of time. A chaotic history reflected; Yet, she turned her back In search of the ultimate goal Destruction A Try I am going to try to be Black each day, each hour With all the soul and Black Power Which my Black heroes gave me I am going to be Black I am, I will try or die. I am going to be the Angel that will light life's way For all my brothers and sisters So they can laugh and pray to the god of All our people The god that loves us today. I am, I will try or die. I just gotta feel my soul burn so deep in me Until I will rise and really let myself be. Be black and proud and yet still kicking A Black nappy-headed sista Saying "Hey, God, this is me" Black at last. Life is beautiful, inexhaustible The poet sees beyond the sunset He is universal. —Sister Brenda Jean Buie Poem of the Future Citizen I came from somewhere from a Nation which does not yet exist. I came, and I am here! Not I alone was born . . . nor you, not any other . . . but, brother, I have love to give in handfuls. Love of what I am and nothing more. I have a heart and cries which are not mine alone. I come from a country which does not exist. Ah! I have love in plenty to give of what I am. I! A man among many . . . citizen of a nation which has yet to exist. Song of the Negro on the Ferry If you could see me die The millions of times I have been born . . . If you could see me weep The millions of times you have laughed . .. If you could see me sing The millions of times I have died And bled . . . I tell You, European brother. You would be born You would weep You would sing You would cry out And you would die Bleeding . . . Millions of times like me!!! Reminiscences? I ’member then musta been nine maybe ten: I useta play cowboy John Wayne, my man. I iiad my blue eyes too. Blond hair. two big white stallions, spurs on boots I galloped through meadows me and my imagination; Indians hot on my trail Dirty, stinking redskins but lo! I'm hungry, homeward I turn. My word is crushed, my Indians have vanished, washing hands in kitchen sink you know how we did it; dirty nails, are you kidding, 1 guess that’s the nigger in me. There's a wind calling me And the noise is very strong. Can't you all hear it? It's calling a long line of us And I believe we all hear it too. Look at sista changing that hair and brother finally seeing that he's a man; He's big; He's strong. Even little children know who they are They say it loud that they are proud. That wind rings in my heart It rings in my soul This wind is telling me Mortally rich inspirations of what I am going to be. Winds keep calling "Come home, my children of the East." -Sister Dora Ann Hinson Our House Deep in the backwoods of hate lies my house and my fate Rats, Roaches, and Dirt. —Brother John Brewer A Black Woman's Pleasure A black woman's pleasure Is pleasing her black man. A black woman's pleasure Is bringing hope to her king. A black woman's pleasure Is standing beside her ebony wonder. A black woman's pleasure Is her blackness — personified. —Sister Norma Stewart There was a time in my life when I Wanted to experiment with passion. I felt I was a woman and man had to satisfy my needs. I never got around to it. Society's code of morals choked me. —Sister Dora Ann Hinson
Winston-Salem State University Student Newspaper
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Nov. 1, 1969, edition 1
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