Three Poems

Jacquese Armstrong

Jacquese Armstrong

the illusion of walls

Faith (the substance of things Hoped for)
should flow like a river
anticipating a breeze

(should be non-exclusive
meditating on the present
birthing a Future not frigid
from the cold air of entitlement)

there are no compartments
to inhabit as mongrels
comb occupied territory

(we are
bathed in Grace
we are God
control the Universe)

my ancestors died in Hope
now i
am imprisoned by it
we stand from birth

…trees understand
they grow
or apart
do not shun different species
in their air-space

we need them to survive.

(fear is the wall that permeates consciousness
with hate)

pay attention
to detail.
                 the Universe is listening.


why i listen (to music)
and don’t watch tv

the money soldiers line up
like the million grace jones
dolls in demolition to pry your soul
loose from its integrity

they sell cheap dreams

tv invades a
once innocent brain
and takes human dignity
infusing limitations
to line unrestricted pockets

castigates imagination
for being
the technicolor response
in the brain’s capacity
to absorb

is vibe Eternal
i dig it.


woke up this morning in
the middle of a poem in
the middle of a cry for humanity

i can’t recall
a language i feel

i can’t recall
a language
i feel

i can’t recall a language
i feel is my own

and you came to me with reason
and sanity but i heard
your voice in a language
not my own

you spoke it so
i could hear
i cd see and feel
(but the language antiseptic
     not my own)

this conundrum with a
sound no whimper no
weep no timidity of voice
we cop sound

fills empty spaces
in castigated

sound fills empty spaces
fills empty spaces of things
we know we have forgotten
but never knew

you sell your sounds american
among voices of hate/contempt
they use your sounds for their gain
(i guess you got to eat)

i clutch my sounds dear
to my chest/let them
approach a voicing
(i guess i’m lonely)

lonely for hunger and Truth
(i guess i’m lonely)
from the injustice
that robbed my cry
        (or wouldn’t hear it)

hear my cry

tried to break it down
for every u to dig
like i heard in the 60s/70s
but that language
that language
never graced my ears
and so i alone
wolf the cry

the cry
that slept on a back porch
for a summons

the cry
keeps my soul in a state
of readiness
(language not my own)

the cry
approaching that
                  blues sound that
                jazz sound that
           hip-hop and even that
gangster that insists on callin me a slave name
(‘cause i know he’s in pain)

i’m not angry
i just approach a sound
i can hear sounds
i can see sounds
can speak sounds/feel them

i clutch them to my chest my brother
‘cause the killing has to stop

i clutch them to my chest dear brother
‘cause the selling has to stop

i clutch
‘cause contempt/hatred/fear
have to stop

i clutch them to my chest dear sister
‘cause the self-hatred has to stop

i clutch them to my chest my sister
has to stop

as we approach
our only language
all we know

i clutch it to my chest
tryin to approach a sound
every u could dig
like she said in a 70s poem

approaching sound
the remnants of our collective languages
(we are the melting pot of africa)

approaching that lost legacy sound
a sound
to imitate a language
we lost we never knew we had

…sun is shining
   the weather is sweet
   make me wanna move
   my dancing feet
           to the rescue
here i am…*
am the rainbow
i will see
after the cloudburst
after the hail
         the storms

after the cry

and here i go
gathering sounds
to approach a language
i never heard
unable to forget

approaching language
sound approaching language
Universal sound approaching…Love

a cry for humanity

Love and only Love can


*bob marley, sun is shining