 The San Francisco Public Library presents the 7th Annual Bayview N. E. Wadden Branch Library Poetry Recital. And here's your host, Larry Ware. Good evening everyone and ladies and gentlemen and welcome to our 7th Annual Bayview Wadden National Poetry Recital. It is indeed a pleasure to host in the program again and we'd like to give a very special thanks to Linda Brooks Burton, the branch manager. She's doing a wonderful job here. Let's give her a great round of applause. Come on up, Linda. Oh yeah, I got to get you on the camera. Linda, say a few words. Well thanks for coming out. This is our second evening in poetry. Last week we had a really special treat with some young artists that came out and we were very delighted to have them back and I'm sure you're going to enjoy this evening as well. Welcome and let's keep this poetry going. I hope to have more poetry in December. I'm going to have a Kwanzaa program and I hope that some of you guys will come out for that. December 18th and we'll do open mic poetry once again. So enjoy. Okay and we'd also like to thank Dave Swabey, our cameraman. Dave has been doing a great job covering this event every year. Since 1990 he does, I mean his staff does a beautiful job. So we're going to get underway with our seventh annual Baby Wine Poetry Recital. My first poet up, indeed a pleasure, always working with this gentleman here. He's one of the top poets in the country. He's being very modest but Rudolf Valentino Briehl and Rudy, he's one of the top poets in the country and we're going to call Rudy. He's a featured poet again this year so let's give Rudy a great round of applause. So I'm going to start off with two poems. So I'm going to start off with two poems. The first poem was a poem that was inspired by the procedure of expressing poems in a verbal way. Our poetry from the people was a class I took at City College and I wrote this poem that came out of the inspiration of Poem for the People. Now just saying words just to say words. Poetry for the people. Hungry lies within their eyes. Deep inside their body cries. There's need for food for some words of nourishment that help give the meaning of thought and encouragement. It's healthy and it's legal. Food you can understand it or get. And the soul will enjoy it the best. Energy that harmonize the heart. A few votes of spark to awaken the mind. It's long overdue and about time. Poetry for the people. From within all of us it flows. Within some it will flow and others it will flow and be unknown. The ears await to hear the words of faith. To hear the words of the truth is to be left the mind to lose because people are the poetry. Poetry for the people. Poetry you can drink. Poetry you can eat. Words you can digest and taste and feel the sweetness of the poetry because you are the poetry for poetry for the people. This poem is Beta Breakers. I've been a regular participant of the Beta Breakers. And by running it it inspires me, been out there with all the people, sweat, smiling and struggling. Beta Breakers. They are 71, 500,000 wide and strong, wide and awake, ready to go. Will I survive? Do this? I guess so. I've been here before. It's the Beta Breakers. Early morning, cool breeze, a start of a wonderful day. It's Sunday morning. It doesn't start until 8. The parade of feet and toes to greet the street. A foot raised at 7.6 miles of the San Francisco Beta Breakers. The gun is sounded. The street overflowed. The human wall opens up and releases the flow. Off on a journey through the streets of San Francisco, through the Pacific Ocean, man, women and children. People line the streets to watch while helicopters gaze overhead. Centipedes winding through the waves of people up Hays Street for a thrill. Pouring into the panhandle, the skitter into Golden Gate Park. Chariots of fun, Halloween and May. Examiner Beta Breakers, runners, 71,000 plus strong and long. I'm just another pair of ladies in the crowd. The San Francisco Beta Breakers, a huge costume party en route to the beach. A 12k race, a sweat and smile. The goal is to finish. It doesn't matter what the time for many. It is a time to breathe and communicate and relate. Within the time and the space of the San Francisco Beta Breakers. See how fast they go. See how well they flow. Thank you, Rudy. Our next poet is going to be Phyllis C. She's going to do some poetry. She's another one of the top poets in the Bay Area. So let's give her a great round of applause. Good evening, everyone. Today, I'm going to diversify a little bit. And I'm going to do a song, but in poem form. The name of this song is God, Send Angels. And this is a children's song. God, send angels here today. God, we need them so, I say. We see the mass confusion that our sinful nature yields. We implore thee for a change keeping eyes toward the hills. Angels in the land, please extend your graceful hands all around and throughout God's creation here and now. God, it's such a comfort knowing that you're always in our lives even when we're not our best. We thank thee for the wealth of days you give for our salvation. So we say, send angels here today. God, there's magic men claim to have, but it doesn't hold a candle to the mercies we all share. God, send angels here today. Angels in the land, please extend your graceful hands all around and throughout God's creation here and now. I'll do ebony rolls. Rose in its fragility has a designated place in the natural order of the earth. Need I debate whether I and my ethnic kin appeared here by mistake like the dust within a whirlwind? Finally settling where it may. Like the rose in all its splendor, there are those who may lay claim to being quite as exquisite, but to a man are maimed by the selfish deeds of those who choose to look the other way and deny to them the basic rights. They sample day by day. In my appointed lifetime, I struggle to define what blackness really means to me comes now the rose to mine. It asks no man to rent a space in soil its home below, and neither does it ask of him the time to cease its growth. So ebony rolls keep pushing up and through it all be strong. The last will soon replace the first, at which time we'll be home. Some great poetry from Phyllis C. I see great things from her in the near future. Our next poet is going to be Nikesia Brown. This is her first time participating in our poetry program, and this young lady is very gifted. So let's give Nikesia Brown a great round of applause, and we see a lot of great things coming from her. Hello. Okay, first I'm going to do a poem I wrote myself called I Will Stand Tall. Stepping forward as I sway in my old, so central way. Coming upon the break in which I shall move forward. Strangely, the door is locked. So I, being the woman that I am, I enter, not knowing what's ahead I stand tall, with my hands on my hips, a stern look on my face, with the utmost determination to discover what lies ahead. You see, curiosity may have killed the cat, but only the inquiring minds receive mental satisfaction. You should never underestimate the capabilities of the unknown, and neither do I. For I'm aware it's going to be difficult. I know everything's not going to be just laid out, only for the taking, only for my benefit, but I enter to understand where I stand, you need to understand me. I've had hardships, I've had battles. I've wiggled in and out of one situation to another. So please, don't lift up your hammer and attempt to break me down instead. Lift me up, view the knowledge in my head, and multiple the strength in my arms, the big size in my feet, and with all the negativities I stumble upon, I enter. I may have a rock hard head or be set in my ways, but please, don't think of me as a stubborn old gal. Don't think of me as brittle and broken down. Don't feel sorry for me. I'm not sorry because I'm a woman, because I'm black, because I'm beautiful. In actuality, I am all women, don't you forget it. I am black, don't discriminate. I am beautiful, don't look too hard. For when I open my doors of freedom, I will stand tall. Okay, and this next one I'm going to do is a speech by Sergerna Truth. It's called Ain't Our Woman. Well, there are children where there is so much racket, there must be something out of kilter. I think that twix the Negroes are the South, and that women are the North, all talking about rights. The white men are being affixed pretty soon, but what's this here talking about? That man over there says women need to be helped in the carriages and lifted over ditches and to have the best of everything. No one ever lifts me into carriages or over mud puddles or gives me the best of anything. Ain't Our Woman? Look at me. I have planted in cloud and gathered into barns and no man could hear me. Ain't Our Woman? I've born 13 children and seen most souls to slavery, and when I cried with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me. Ain't Our Woman? Then they say it's that thing in the head. What's this they call it, intellect? But what's that got to do with Negroes' rights? Are women's rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my half measure full? Then that man in a black there says that women can't have as many rights as men because Christ wasn't a woman. But where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothing to do with him. If the first woman was strong enough to turn the world upside down, then these women together she'd turn it back and get a right side up again. And now that they're asking to do it, you men better let them. And if they do do it, won't they still be women? I oblige to you for hearing me and sojourner ain't got nothing more to say. But I'll leave you today as a woman. That was great, Mckisha. Outstanding. Our next poet is going to be Raja Cam. This brother's a gift that I see a lot of great things from this brother here. This brother's going to bring the house down. So let's give Raja Cam a great round of applause. Thank you all for coming out. It's a love to be in the house with my family. The baby, Hunter's Point this year. Tonight I'm going to do a few poems, man. A couple of them just come straight from my heart. One of them y'all heard last week. This one I'm going to do right now is called Brainwashed. And I wrote this one. One day I saw my folks and I knew the reason why. And it goes like this. The jungles' muscles tussle, why they hustle? Chasing sin and the devil's way to win. Many of our kind are deaf, dumb and blind. Deaf because they refuse to hear. That which is loud and clear. Blind because they refuse to see self and kind. And just plain dumb because they satisfy. We're being pacified. For 400 years the devil and its peers have used and abused all related to black to increase its wicked stack. Why I say do we cling to this savage while it ravages our tribes with Nathan the Hyde? When we search, we find our answer deep within the church and it's through religions that the savage man is incision. When you read the Bible, your notice is manipulated by your rival. Although it's divine, barbarians have altered it to work for their kind. Within their demonic schools, there are rules and fools by teaching Satan's rules. Your location designed to produce slavation. Through our heads, our race is brutally fed. Genocidal bread causing us to be lost. Brainwashed when our life is the cost. Brainwashed. This is a dedication to the sisters in the audience. I hope y'all enjoyed this. And this one is called Black Chair. The essence of all beauty and grace makes its home on a black woman's face. We're loved by plenty. Blessed with sexy curves seen only by the soldier who deserves the right to serve. Black cherry, I look in your eyes and I see your ability to control a household and at the same time, handle a household. Always outspoken and never could be broken with no wealth and only knowledge itself. She teaches young soldiers to be bolder. Black cherry, sweeter than any other berry. A chance to please brings one to his knees. My eyes tear with lust. Only to be... excuse me. My eyes tear with lust. Only to be stopped by lack of trust. The mere thoughts of your treasures brings dreams of lifelong pleasures. My heart marches to that beach you sung the night we became sprung. It took not penetration to bring sensation. Just love at first sight to make the night tight. As I glanced at her black face my mouth waters for a taste. Sweet black cherry, my choice to marry. My soul may tell I'm buried. To you I shall be true. Like signs of times your love is purely divine. O sister of mine, mother to all. And mankind, hang tough. And it will all be fine. With the conclusion of the scene, I express my dreams and aspirations to see the black family's resurrection. Black cherry. Thank you, Rhino. Some great poetry. Well, you can see I got a little person in my arm there. This is last year. Well, she was born June the 20th. This year is my daughter, precious, unique. Say hi. Say hi, baby. This is her first recital. She got me speechless now. Say hi. Look, say hi. Yeah. Well, and that's my wife there, Stella, and my mother is Dorothy Mitchell. I want to do a poem. First of all, I'd like to dedicate this recital, our seventh annual, to two very special people. My uncle, Sammy McKeever, who passed away this year, and not only was he my uncle, he was like a big brother to me and my brother and my sisters, and we love him very much, and we're going to miss him. And also, I'd like to dedicate this to my mother-in-law, Miss Ethel May Landry. She passed away as well, and we're going to miss them both very much. Okay, baby. This first poem is, I feel overjoyed, like to be a first-time father, and like I was saying, know how to say it, you're going to spoil a baby? I think she didn't spoil us already, but I would like to... This poem is so special. This is really what this poem was written about. It's entitled, Love is Life. Love is life, and life is so very, very nice. When the atmosphere is pleasant and thoughts are peaceful, life for living is like a warm and beautiful feeling, touching me, touching you. As I look into the beautiful horizons, I see children playing warm and safe under the loving eyes of the friendly skies, vivacious, energetic, and so full of life, and love is life. As the wonderfulness of the day settles in, a lovely lady places a warm and very sweet kiss on my lips. A heart has been touched and blessed. This beautiful feeling created by me and you was made to be shared. Always remembering the beautiful days of summer. Love is what we make it, and may it always be something beautiful in our hearts. Love is me touching you. Love is you touching me. Love is being in touch with each other's feelings. Love is giving, sharing, and caring. Love makes two hearts sing in harmony. Love makes wedding bells ring. Love brings rain to the flowers and trees and helps them grow beautiful and tall. Love is you and me and a family together. Living for this love, this beautiful life is giving us, love is life. Thank you. And you know also, as I said, to be a first-time father and to be there with your wife, to experience it for the first time, like I'll never forget, like when she was born, she lost her arms around her chest and smiled, and I'll never forget that. Right after she was born and they asked me, did you want to hold your baby girl? I said, the sugar-buried cereal. But, okay there, baby. I said, thank you. Another gentleman, a good friend of ours, he's going to come up and do some poetry. This is his first time as well. So let's give a great round of applause to Charles Hines. He's going to bring some poetry home to you. Give me thanks to God. I want to say it's a pleasure to be here with everyone tonight. Listen to some of you young poets. Kind of touched me back on a memory lane. In the 60s, poetry was a way of life for some of us. The brothers spoke about Vietnam over there and back then poetry was what we all knew. And to hear some of you young brothers speak kind of brought back a lot of memories for me. Poetry was something I used to do for my mother as a kid and I would try to sit down and just, whatever came to my heart and mind, it was just poetry for my mother. But I want to apologize for this being my first time in 79, my mother passed away. Poetry kind of got put on the back burner in my life. But it's a pleasure and an honor to be here. And while I was sitting back there, I thought I'd just come up with something right off the top of my head. What is poetry? What is poetry? Could poetry be black poetry with rhythms and rhyme? Or is it just a feeling from your heart or just a feeling from your mind? I think of poetry like the sun that always shines. It's like harmony. It's like balance. It's like a poetic line. Yet I still ask the question, what is poetry? Could it be like the flowers that bloom in the day? In the middle of the hour with a sweet fragrance, so sweet it attracts the bees in many ways. But I still ask the question, what is poetry? And I think I just might know like the gift of a mother's love given to us. Poetry is a gift given from up above. I heard the man up here, Larry, say that poetry is a message but I just want everybody to know the male man carries the male but the poet carries the message, the message of love, the message of truth, the message of faith and the message of the knowledge to tell everyone that we all can live in harmony and we all can live in balance because only a poet can put that in rhythm and only a poet can put that in rhyme. Thank you. Okay, our next featured poet is going to be Ginny Powell. She's published and she's one of the outstanding poets in the country and she's going to come up and do some wonderful poetry for you. So let's give Ginny a great round of applause. Thank you. I'm happy to be here tonight even though I have a slight cold. I'm going to read from February Voices and also from Cadences, my two collections of poetry. This first one is called Flashback. The house leans with a slow creek waiting. Ladybugs slip through tears in porch screens their explorations undisturbed. Dust clusters solemnly under a rocking chair still in its corner. Warned steps stand free of smudged calling cards generated by paws and fingers and bare feet. Dandy lion greens parallel cracked sidewalks reveling in their longevity. Backyard clotheslines gavotte with summer breezes burdened only with time. Under the peach tree lie wildflowers freshly cut, tangled, their fragrance bleeding through fallen leaves. This one is called Journey. The moment my souls touched the tarmac I did not think of you at all. The old gang enveloped me in sweet tasting tavern songs and marching chants, evoking times when walls tumbled and dreams lived hard but high up where all could see and gain the heart they had to have. In honour of my visit we would mourn Plum Street, conjure Canada outlaws, celebrate Greek town excursions, recall car treks to nine mile drive along rock-salted lanes to view Christmas miracles in the snow. I did not think of you at all. At times the traffic signal took too long to change and I would see your face in profile on an iced over sign warning of washed out roads or detours just ahead. Then friends would turn our car into an evergreen drive where warmer faces waited to rekindle select days as is proper on a journey of the heart. Once under the weeping willow in Louise's backyard I thought I saw a wedge from a croquet mallet faded paint blending into winter grass barely exposed. But from the porch came shouts reassuring in their heartiness that hot mulled wine was waiting and so there was no time to think of you at all. Thank you. Once again, thank you very much for our seventh annual Bayview Wild'n National Poetry Ossado and it's been a pleasure and a wonderful evening and we look forward to doing it again next year with our eighth annual a very special thanks again for Linda Brooks-Burge she's doing such a wonderful job let's give her a great round of applause and also the poets that participated but we'd like to give you a thank you as well again I would like to thank Charles Hines Laquice Brown and Precious too.