 The San Francisco Public Library presents the 8th annual Bayview Poetry Recital from the Bayview Anna E. Wadden Branch Library, hosted by Larry Ware. And now here's Bayview Wadden Branch Manager, Linda Brooks Burton. Hello, good evening and welcome to the Bayview Branch's 8th annual poetry recital. I am really happy to see so many familiar faces and a few new ones who will be reading tonight. For the past eight years, we've had a host for this recital and we're lucky to have him back again this year. His name is Larry Ware. Will you please welcome him? He will be hosting the recital tonight. Good evening and welcome to our 8th annual Bayview Wadden Poetry Recital, hosting National Poetry Month for the 8th year in a row is quite an honor and a pleasure. And to see all the wonderful people come out tonight. Before we get the program started, it is customary to pay tribute to those who are not here to enjoy this evening with us. And I would like to pay tribute to me and my wife Stella Landry's auntie Lulime Harrow. She passed away earlier in the year. And our great friend Mr. Landis Whistler, who is a fellow neighborhood council representative, this gentleman has done many wonderful things to support the public library system. Many of you don't know who he is, but I'll tell you the man is treasured. And David Molina, a friend of mine's son, a young man in the community, he is no longer here with us as well. And Jason Hibbet, another friend's son, we'd like to give a heartfelt tribute to those and many others who are no longer here with us. But we would like to dedicate this program to you. And again, good evening and welcome to our 8th annual Bayview Poetry Recital. And we're going to get into the program and our first poet is going to be Ariel Kindle. So let's give Ariel a great round of applause. Birds fly on bees bad like bats. That's what I'm not looking at now. I wish James would come with my cow, something like that I would never allow for now. But how did he know that I like the hoe in the field outside my dough? For years after my mother died, I stayed close to the woman that had raised me since she came to live in California as a child. That woman is my great aunt, the aunt of my mother, who is supposed to be here today, but instead I'm here representing her today. I call her Annie. Her real name is Marie Brown, but I've always called her Annie. It seems as if all people on my mother's side of the family had two names. One named to write on a piece of paper and one named to speak and savor with the ears. My mom's name was Eloise, but at home they called her Scoot. My grandmother was Carrie, but they called her Dolly. Annie, my grandmother's sister, is my only visible link to my family from South Carolina, spoken South Carolina. From time to time I give her a call to see how she's doing. Hello? Hi, Annie. Oh, hi! So can't you, so you can't speak to your old Annie, huh? Well, I just called to talk with you. Well, I'm glad you called me. Annie, tell me something about when you was a little girl. When I was a little gal, I remember Nook, Boo, Liza, and me, Beery, would play out in the yard like little dirt dobblers making houses in the dirt. In the daytime we would catch little sparrow in his hands and let him go. Ooh, they would make us laugh and we would make us grass dolls pulling up weeds. We combed the grass doll hair, put him to bed and we talked to him. All them peoples didn't pay us no attention. We were just little dirt dobblers. When people came to visit us house, we would crawl up under the house and look up the old folks dress. Through the cracks just peeping and my sister Dolly would catch us, make us take a bath in the sun and a tub, and then make us go to bed if we've been bad. Lots of time, we just want tension. I remember us grandparents, Grandma Matt and Grandpa Powell, they were slaves. They sat on benches on the porch or a crate. Pat Will was mean. He used to whip people with a whip. Them old people would blister you. They would take off your clothes and beat your hide, skin you like a rabbit. That's what the old people used to say. I'll whip the hide off of you. Pat Will was so mean, he spit to back in kids eye if they stared at him while he was eating. Every Friday Grandma Matt used to come and bring us a basket of bread. She would clean around the house while us Mama lay in the bed. Us Mama was light and had long hair. We would play under and around the bed while Matt cleaned up the house. We didn't know us Mama was dying. The day us Mama died, we thought she would sleep all day. That night, plenty people come to the house and they lay a pile of salt on Mama's stomach. Now, Nook was a baby and he crawled in the Mama room and got some of her milk. When they found him in the room sucking on Mama Titty, they whooped him and put him to bed. That next morning, we walk up and down the house crying for our Mama sucking on Coca Cola bottle. Matt told us, your Mama done gone to heaven. We keep crying and crying. They give us big piece of cheese and tell us go outside and play. I'll always remember that day after that. Our Pappy ran off with this young girl up in Orangeburg. He didn't come back. And so, we was old friends, Ariel. I had red hair like my Mama. That's why they called me Annie, because I had red hair. Well, I guess I'll let you go, Ariel. Nice talking to you here. Bye, Annie. Bye. Thank you very much, Ariel. That was some beautiful porch. Let's give her another great round of applause. Our next poet is going to be Brother Mike Hivot. Brother Mike's going to wrap on the mic. Let's give it up to Brother Mike. I like to come up here so soon. A little bit of history on this poem. I wrote this poem in 1971. I wrote this poem in 1971. And a cousin of mine, he ran the New Bay View. He had a community newspaper. It's New Bay View now. It's a Bay View, but back then it was a New Bay View. And he published it for me in 1978. So this is like when I wrote this, I was 20 years old. So this thing is 26 years old. So when I wrote this, I was depressed. I remember this. Larry asked me if I wanted to come here. If I had anything to poem or something. I said, yeah, I got one poem. So this is why I'm here. I got one poem. I said, this is it right here. And I remember. I hadn't had this thought since I wrote this thing. When I wrote this, I was real depressed. I was, I think I was crying when I wrote this thing. So I wrote it while I was in, I was feeling, I forgot what the reason was. But, and it's like, I was writing it to myself. But then I think it applies to everyone up there. The name of it is the skin you're in. Inside your skin is you yourself. And no one can tell you nothing else. You're a captivated ego inside a cage, walking around filled with rage. So you think you're unique under that skin. Let me tell you people, that's the ultimate sin. You think you're alone under the sky. But everybody's watching out of one eye. I'll tell you something else. I'll think you'll agree. You're the only one who can set yourself free. But your head gets big as your ego grows. And you're the only one that knows how life is supposed to be. Let me tell you this. You're no different from me. Everybody feels they're holding the ace. Is that what makes you different from this human race? I know how you feel behind those eyes when you can't let go of your inner cries. When all you hear is nothing but lies. But it's never too late to do what you know. Just stop your spinning and take it slow. If you can't take it slow, then run, run, run. Cause whatever you feel, it's only just begun. You can live with your enemies. That's no sin. But if you feel like you want to hurt, remember the skin you're in. It's a beautiful poem by Brother Mike Hebbett there. All right. Yeah, we're going to get on down the road here. Get on the road. How we won with our next poet, Brother Walter Jordan III. Let's give Brother Walter Jordan a great round of applause there. This is his first time. Good evening. The title of the first poem is called Webbed Confusion. Did you know that ain't nobody's business when I were a brother who knows and sister somebody got a hold to the story and the story haven't been the same since? Well, it was no. That's not how it started. But did she say, yeah, but that's not right. It wasn't her. No, that was not how it was not her. It was her cousin. Thought they know don't go there. Had heard they had, huh, yeah, that was a mistake. That weren't real. But didn't they know that was his fault? They had left together because, well, you know, no, I don't spill it. I was told they, I was told no, they lied. Walked around, walked around to see, to understand all of this, couldn't hang, will, well, been there and I won't go there. Because I guess you just know why the truth hurts. That was Brother Walter there. All right, let's give another great round of applause to that. Okay. Our next poet is going to be, this gentleman here is a very gifted poet and you're going to be hearing a lot about this next brother coming up. He's participated with us a couple of years and let's give a brother, Arnold Fitzpatrick, a great round of applause. He's going to come to you with some thoughts. Good evening. My poem today primarily deals with days of the week and the weather. I hope that each of you look around the bay and recognize the beauty that you're surrounded by and all the mother nature that it really speaks and can really help to heal any depression or whatever that may be ailing you. So this one here is called a foggy day. For those who live near the bay, it was what some would call a gray or gloomy day. I let my happy, cheerful inner child come out and play. So my disposition was sunny and bright anyway. On such a day, there's usually an abundance of negativity. That is when I readily use my metaphysical philosophy. It maintains and sustains me in a state of positivity. I am as happy as can be and I beam forth with glee. A meditation or affirmation is sure to start my day. I sometimes use them as reinforcements along the way. From my abode I depart with love and sunshine in my heart. My inner sunshine is a wonderful pearl and I share it with the world. I was here last week for the prelims and I did this one here called the plow. This one here takes me back to the summer that I spent with my grandfather. For miles around the sun was really beating down. For miles around the grass was turning brown. My sweat made my clothing wet. Times like these I cannot forget. As the sweat trickled down my brow I had a vivid flashback of my grandfather behind his plow. My grandmother took him some milk fresh from the cow. Just thinking about it chills the sweat on my brow. A little bit of sweat won't hurt me anyhow. Ladies and gentlemen, be thankful that you don't have to walk behind the plow. Alright, very inspiring poetry by Brother Arnold Fitzpatrick there. Let's give him another great round of applause. Our next poet is going to be this gentleman here. He's a co-employee with my wife Stella. This is going to be his first time. His name is Vincenzo Galati. Let's give him a great round of applause. Hello everybody. Nikki Giovanni is a poet I like. I thought I'd read something by her to start out. Poem for Emma. Though I do wonder why you intrigue me, I recognize that an exceptional moth is always drawn to an exceptional flame. You're not what you appear to be, though not so very different. I've learned not to... I've not learned the acceptable way of saying you fascinate me. I've not even learned how to say I like you without frightening people away. Sometimes I see things that aren't really there, like warmth and kindness. When people are mean, but sometimes I see things like fear and want to soothe it, or fatigue and want to share it, or love and want to receive it. Is that weird? You think everyone is weird. Though you're not really hypocritical, you just practice not being what you want to be. And fail to understand how others would dare to be otherwise. That's weird to me. Dreams don't flicker forever and mobs are born to be burned. It's an unusual way to start a friendship, but nothing lasts forever. When I was in high school, I had written a poem, sort of like an anthem I had for every beautiful woman I fell in love with. I tried to remember it tonight, and here it is to the best of my recollection. Delightful smile. In a moment, I smiled. For delight, I searched. In reaction, you smiled. Delightful, I thought. Are you from planet Earth? Wonderful, I think. Your smile, it was. I'd like to thank you for the smile you gave. The next one is a small part of The Prophet by Khalil Gabram. For those who may not be familiar, the story goes the way I understand it. A fellow appears from a ship to a small, let's say, Mediterranean town, and people ask questions, and so here it is. And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of children. And he said, Your children are not your children. They're the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself. They come through you, but not from you. And though they are with you, they belong not to you. You may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies, but not their souls. For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backwards, nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children, as living arrows, are sent forth. The archer seeks to mark upon the path of the infinite, and he bends you with his might, for his arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness. For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so he loves also the bow that is stable. Thank you very much, Gavin Chenzo. Again, this is another one of the, I believe in my opinion, one of the most gifted poets in the country, young brothers in the country. When I first heard the brother do some poetry, like, you know, it conjured up images of the last poets in Gil Scott Heron and the older Nicky Giovanni and Paul Lawrence Dunbar and the Langston Hughes stuff, you know, and the James Rosamond Johnson. And I believe one day this brother's going to stay on course and be mentioned in the same breath. Let's give him a great round of applause. Brother Ron Jacom. It's lovely to see all y'all folks in here today. What's up, Phil? You ready to do this tonight, bro? I got a little something here. I don't want to intimidate nobody with the way that I'm from the come, but I just want to let y'all know everything that I write is coming straight from my heart, and it's because I was raised in all this madness that y'all see out here, and this is what y'all see being manifested through me. And the first poem I'm going to do is called Devil Worshiper, and it goes a little something like this. Devil Worshiper. Hail, searcher, you're a disgrace to your beautiful race that birthed you. If you're sleeping with the enemy, you know friend of me, or my divine kind, so back the hell up and feel me erupt, or should I say explode and expose this sell-out episode. You're blessed with a gift which means you're eternally rich, so it's hard to dig your switch, but it's truly not your fault when your centricity is all your thought. But fool, wake up and feel this blackness that's real. Look deep in peep, as you sow, so shall you weep. Do you really think this devil is right, oppressing everything in sight, and you praise his ways? Have you forgotten he made your folks his slaves? In the midst of disaster, you're still a house-nigger for Massa, and it's hard to dig your switch. It's Devil Worshiper, man. I'll be a little bit kind of pumped over this because it's like everything that I write is just, you know, coming from my ancestors, and it'd be flowing, so, you know what I'm saying? I'm gonna do a couple more for y'all. This next one's called Ghetto Frustration, and it goes a little something like this. My mind is deep, so it advise you to peep. As I teach the ways of a ghetto slave, if you're stuck, here's some game to wake you up. A ghetto slave lives in a daze, amazed at street life and slave ways. It's such a shame, but who's to blame when all are afraid of revolutionary change? No need for whips and chains, just guns and cane to keep this slave contained. A-1 cream, smuggled up the stream, straight to the ghetto for each slave to fiend. From infested wounds, crack babies come too soon, bearing the mark of the beast and it's will to feast on any soul which has no control. Mentally stuck, so he hustles for a buck. The American dream, paid for by each fiend. A corner hustler, a baller, the devil's shot caller. Young gifted and black, enslaved by the lifestyle of crack. Whether it's smoke the soul, the devil's chains continue to hold. This powerful black race at a slow but no pace. Ghetto Slap. This next one is a dedication to my, you know what I'm saying? My little brother Maurice, kind of incarcerated right about now, and it's called brainwash. And they go a little something like this. The jungle's muscles, tussle while 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 with being pacified. Our people have been brainwashed and confused, manipulated and used. For 400 years, the devil and its peers have used and abused all related to black. Why I say, do we cling to this savage while it ravages our tribes with Nathan the High? When we search, we find our answer deep within the church. And it's through religions that the savage has made his incisions. If you read the Bible, you notice it's manipulated by your rival. Although it's divine, barbarians have altered it to work for their kind. Within their demonic schools, they produce tools and fools by teaching Satan's rules. Your occasion 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. Thank you. Let's give another great round of applause. We want to let our poets know that we appreciate their artistic integrity and the gifted word. We appreciate it. And the talent flows throughout the community, throughout the city, throughout the Bay Area. The talent is in abundance and it flourishes. And we see it here tonight and it continues. Our next poet, me and his brother, worked together. Here's another super heavyweight poet. And as I said, you're going to hear great things about this poet as well. He's participated a couple of years in a row with us and we welcome him back. Let's give a great round of applause to Phillip Hadley. All right. Give it up for Brother Phil. How y'all doing this evening? All right. This first poem I'm going to do is entitled by my brother's hand. And this is for, I just dedicate this to all the people I grew up with, my homies. I looked into the eyes of a demon and I saw he longed for those good old days. When blacks were strapped, whipped up and down their backs and crying, crying, plead. As he strapped to the tree, but as he bleeds, no one to hear his plea, no NAACP, no emancipation, proclamation, just the white man's whip and a strong indignation in hatred for what he knows to be true, that blacks will advance no matter what he may do. He wishes there never was a Malcolm X, black history, been hidden from the U.S. school text, never being told what was really done, how black children were murdered, and how our black men were hung, how our black sisters raped on a daily basis. And I swear sometimes it seems we forget and then actors of slavery never did exist when it still does. Though it be a different kind and during a different time the shackles taken off our ankles and placed on our minds and maybe even harder to escape when we refuse to realize that we're still being raped. See the demon got us raping one another, fatherless children selling crack to our brothers, blacks killing blacks but scrapped from the white man's table. I wish this was a fable, but in reality as far as I can see we got a ways to go for we're gonna be free. You see brothers and sisters, it's time for revival. It is a necessity for the black men's survival. We must awaken those who sleep, give hope and vision to those who are weak and from hope we gain strength to race for the prize. Freedoms on the horizon, freedoms that peace of mind. Love for our sisters and love for our brothers, but first love for ourselves. But you see if you don't love yourself then you really don't have true wealth and you can't reach out and share that love with others and just as the fly was with it, so do our brothers and our women and children live on in distress because another black man is laid down to rest. Yeah. I looked into the eyes of a demon, but I made a mistake. It's not the old days he was seeing. You see he got a new whip and a whole new game playing. Destruction of the black man by his own brother's hand. Thank you. This next poem by Tato, Welcome Back to the Ghetto. And this is for the bougie Negroes who are fortunate enough to make it out, you know, standing upon the backs, people like Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth and all the black heroic people that we have. But then when he gets out, he doesn't come back to gear. You know, he wouldn't assimilate act like he never came from where he came from. So this poem is entitled Welcome Back to the Ghetto. Welcome Back to the Ghetto. My brother, I ain't seen you in some time. Heard you got you a house in the hills. What you doing in the bread line? Oh, you stay now, 25th Street. Man, that's right across from me. Say, won't you come on over to the house sometimes, play cards with the boys in me? Yeah. We'll make it a special celebration just for you. Have bonds, fries from chicken. My brother came running back to the ghetto after the world and gave me licking. Look, I'm not trying to put you down, man. I just hope you see. Let your dark skin and nappy hair be all part of your reality. So you can try to hide from Africa, but you're still an African. And you can try to run from the ghetto, my brother, but you're going to be back again. Either rich and famous or down and out in one form or the other. You can't hide from where you come from. Welcome back to the ghetto, brother. Hey, the car game starts at eight o'clock and we can use that extra player. You see, we buried your brother just last week too bad that you weren't there. But on his death bed, he told me to tell you that when you got done playing white, when you come running back here to the ghetto, that it's going to be all right. You see, he said a special prayer for you like he never said for another. His last words were, I love you. And welcome back to the ghetto, brother. Thank you. This last poem is going to be a little difficult. I got to search in my memory to pull it up. But I dedicated just to the sisters and there's no name for it. As the days and the months go by, as you walk by and glance, my way will pay me no kind of mind. Hey, that's fine. I know I can't have all of your time. A few seconds every now and then, I reflect on when we first met. Two chips passing perhaps for the last time, but hey, no regrets between us. No secrets, only respect. A time and space and maybe space and just time. Whatever the case, I wish you peace of mind in this lifetime. Happiness is so hard to find. Create your own happiness. Be self-defined. See your strength as a black woman is so against discouragement. The world is your sister princess. This is my encouragement. Work hard and trust in God and you will be. What it is in your heart's desire that you've always wanted to be. Only you can hold you back. So keep your goals, your priorities and your family intact. And find beautiful sister whom God has endowed with the physical beauty to stop men where they stand. Always respect yourself. And for mothers, respect the man. As you live your life for you and your child, let her know that beauty is more than a smile, but emanates from deep within. That it's a warm and compassionate heart. That beauty is a true and devoted friend. Faithful to friends and family, but first to God. Epitomize all that is beautiful in blackness and in motherhood. The world is clay sister princess. Just take it in your hands, mold it, make it something good. For you and yours and theirs to follow. Be their pattern of hope through an active faith where love stands through till tomorrow. And tomorrow, like today, rises in the rising upon their face, igniting a smile for all that is beautiful and lovely in you. My sister, black queen, will live on in your child. Thank you. All right. Okay. Wow. Like James Brown said, can I go to church now? Our next poet is going to be this lady. She's done wonderful things through the public library system, and she just retired. So let's give her a great round of applause. Let's give her a great round of applause. Please bear with me as I follow those revolutionaries. Oh, my goodness. The first poem I'm going to read is, oh, dear. I'm going to read the first poem. I'm going to read the first poem. I'm going to read the first poem. I'm going to read the first poem. Yes. Oh, dear. I've lost it. I've lost it. I've lost it. Okay. It's something by Paul Ernst-Sanbar. I love children. I always have even the little testy children trying to favor with me. So I'm going to do little brown baby. Little brown baby with sparkling eyes. Come to your puppy and sit on his knee. What you've been doing, making sand pies? Look at that beard. Use his dirties. Me. Look at that mouth. That's lasseside bed. Come here, Maria, and wipe his hands. Been beeswaxing to catch you yet, and eat you up. Being so sticky and so sweet. Goodness, lands. Little brown baby with sparkling eyes. What's Papa's, darling? And who's Papa's child? This is in the latest book by Maya Angelou. Even the stars look lonesome. And it's something by Mary Evans. And it's called A Black Woman. I am a black woman. Tall is a cypress. Strong beyond all definition. Steal defying space and time and circumstance. A sailed impervious, indestructible. Look on me and be renewed. To show you that my love of poetry is probably limited to reading other people's poetry. I am no port myself. But I'd like to do a little bit of Darker Real, which I myself composed. I saw a pair of twins today, and couldn't tell which was which. The manner of their dressing didn't help me. Not a stitch. One was wearing red and yellow, and the other yellow and red. Oh, how I wish they had dressed differently instead. Thank you. All right, Darker, let's give it up for Darker. All right. All right. Our next port is going to be Mr. William Fields. Bill Fields. Let's give Bill a great round of applause. Yeah, Bill, he was doing some poetry last week, like I was sitting back there, thought I was listening to Chuck Jackson, Joe Tex or somebody, get him, Bill. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is William Alexander Fields Jr. And I mainly write about people, places and things. And my first poem tonight, the title is In Search of My Father. From the beginning, I never remember being held. I asked about my father. My mother never did tell. I was 10 years old, and I hadn't been told. If he came home, I wonder if I would be glad or sad. At night, I cried. I tossed and turned in my sleep. I could not close my eyes if I counted 1,000 sheep. Each day, it was the same old thing. Go to stew and back to the house. I wish my dad was around to play rough house in search of my father. As the years went from time to time, I wanted to cry. I would be very glad if I could see my dad. Finally, my mother decided to talk. She said, Sonny boy, let's take a walk. I want to tell you something you should know. Your father was a good man, big and kind. A man like him was hard to find. When he left, I almost lost my mind. I didn't give you no sisters or brothers, but we can always love each other in search of my father. My next poem is Friend. A friend is someone who is always kind to you. Someone who always encourages you. Someone who praises you when you do good. Someone who always stays in touch with you. Someone to lend a hand or help in any way. Someone to dine with and laugh out loud with. Someone who you share secrets with and no one else. Someone whose birthday you remember. Someone you wish that their marriage is successful. Someone that never stops loving people. Someone that loves animals in our environment. Someone that never stops loving, caring and helping a friend. Now this poem here is a bit for the adults, and I noticed that 90% of our attendance tonight is adults. The title of this poem is An Infatuation. Alluring, demure, damsel, a beautiful sure. She danced about so eloquently as if guided by some unknown cosmic source. Her body movements were so magical that she seemed almost unreal, provocative at times, other times almost angelic in fatuation. She bring to the masses so many powers that make her great. I wonder if I'm watching my mistress or my mate. As she writhes in anguish, I sit in silent stupor. I am at war with my conscious. I cry out, please do not enslave me. Allow me to exist in fatuation. Thank you. Before our next poet comes up, I'd like for two people to come up here. Two very special people to me. My wife Stella and my daughter Precious. Let's give them a round of applause there. Get out of here with that. Say something, baby. Say hi. Hi. Yeah, this is her second recital. She made her debut last year. Baby. Huh? Oh, yeah. What you gonna say, baby? Huh? Huh? Say hi. Huh? Well, these two ladies, this young lady and this lady, these are... Uh-oh. You don't do a poem there. Two of them, huh? I just want you to know that you've always been in my corner and you're always in my corner and I love you both very dearly and I was blessed once when I met my wife. I was blessed twice with our first child and we're getting ready to be blessed again with a second child and I just want you to know that everything for all that you do, I love you and I love you and I appreciate everything that you do and I... Yeah, baby. Bye-bye. All right. See you again there. Bye-bye. Huh? Okay. But I just want you to know that both of you, your real sweethearts and I... And I love you both very much and... Uh-oh. Yeah. And you'll say, I don't write no poetry for her. She has the poet. She's got the oceans, the rivers, the lakes, the skies, the moon lights, the sun lights. Uh... I love you both very much. And thank you. Thank you. Have a nice day, Pat. Our next poet is going to be Brother Cornel Doss. So let's give... Here's another talented young brother. Let's give him a great round of applause. Hello, everyone. I'm a beginning poet. And a poet for me is like expressing my stress and my anger and it gives me cool tension and causes me to relax. And this poem that I'm going to recite to you is brief and short, and it's about... It's called Love, because we need more love in this world. Love. How can I explain the tranquility that I feel and that I see, the peace that's within me? When I speak about love, I have an image and a vision of my mind, people on this earth, getting along, walking together like drinking a smooth-eathed silk like wine. Though my mind and my capacity can be, I just visualize love, how it would be. White man, black man, yellow man, brown man, walking together in unity. Agape love, golly love, the love, the love that I always share and see when I think about people, all I see is one eye. The eye that I see is God's love that's within me. Love. Thank you. We're going to introduce Rudolph Valentino Breeland. It had to be a poet with a name like that. That's a great name, great poet. So, everybody, let's give a round of applause for brother Rudolph Valentino Breeland. I thank Larry for all the nice words, but I really thank my higher power for I feel that he's given me this creativity to share among people. And I thank you all for being here and I appreciate all the words that I've heard tonight. They've been very inspirational. First poem I'm going to read is a rehash of an old poem that I did in 1977, but worked on it today. It's called, I am a billboard junkie. I am a billboard junkie. Billboard to the left, to the right, billboard to the rear and straight ahead. They all around me. They holler at me. They stare at me. Be aware they always near and always around. Every titling for the mind alignment messes to grow upon the mind over time. They take a quick trip in a car to get a cigarette. Billboards gets in your mind and take a set. Desires on fire inspire billboards take care. Extra, extra, read all about it. Lucky strike, a camel break. Security in numbers, early time, ancient age, anytime, anyway. Light, super smooth, super light, super long. No tar or nicotine. It's all sponsored anyway. Get a British recipe at a Yankee Price. Hey, how about the food lover? Hot dogs, a ballpark Frank? The kids like to take a taste, and mama likes to take a bite. Long taste, 105 years, still perking, waking you up in the morning. Undo is the real thing. Your tape is music. Maybe KBL, it's got your jam. We'll hear you talking. Rent money for a while. I got the salt. Come to the Zoom room protected by the seat belt. Desire on fire. Drive your car to Happy Highway 23 in City 25. Watch out. Touch out. I have two fingers. Take a call to a party. It may make you take a break and make you a star. In the fresh sky, trust me, stop the DUI before it may be your time to take your life. The Billboard Junkie. Billboard blue. You win, you lose. There's always around you. Billboard Junkie. From the rooftops and from the roadside, from the street corners. Billboard Junkie. I'm a Billboard Junkie. To my left, to my right, all around. Sign to sign. Make me toe, Billboard Junkie. It makes me blind. Evacuate the city. Empty the streets. Return to wilderness. Return to preserve life. Attack the country. Overrun the forms. Save the life. Save the lonely buffalo. Save the birds. Love the children. Reserve nature and return to wilderness. Tear down the metals and melt down the wall. Open the door to wide open doors. As you use your body as a vehicle to carry your spirit. Release your spirit to an open life. Save life. Save the air. Save the water. And save the world. If you abuse it, your children have to live through it. No nature. No birds. No life. No dream. For no return to the fulfillment of life. Y'all like to end with this poem? Lift. Lift. Lift your head and push on forward. Self-esteem your main dream. To the hopes and dreams. Raise your voice to be clearly heard. Love, peace and happiness are the key words. Don't hang up your brain for with it, you control everything. Elevate your heart to seek the highest peaks. Push your soul out to search and reach. It is only as difficult as you make it. The blood cries out and flows on. The lungs scream out to breathe to spread joy about. The heart shouts out the harmony of life. Lift the feeling to touch and inner feeling. That's your inspiration of fire to create your true desire. Lift your spirit to make your imagine in the true smoke. Force a chain reaction. Push for emotion and push for satisfaction. Don't be paralyzed by worries and lies. Stay alert and be aware of reality. And take charge of your life. Lift and pull and push on ahead. Keep your blood flowing long and strong. It will take you home with it within your heart. For the only achiever is the true believer. Thank you. All right there, Brother Rudy. We're going to have two more poets tonight. Once again, like this has been a demonstration, a live demonstration of how gifted our people are and how gifted the people are in the community. And we have been enriched and blessed by the presence of these gifted, wonderful people and poets. Our next poet, this brother, he's participated with us before. He's going to come up and do some poetry for you. Patrick Johnson, let's give Patrick Johnson a great round of applause. Good evening everyone. The poem I'm about to read was written just about a year ago. It's the last poem that I wrote. It's called Smile Sparkle Shine. And I just thought about like when you meet a friend or someone who you truly glad to see how you smile and they smile and sort of spontaneous type thing. Here's the poem, Smile Sparkle Shine. Just as the sun rise in the east and brighten the day with its rays, casting its light upon the horizon causing that which hides in the night to be revealed with splendor. The smile that dons your face each time I see you gives me a brighter outlook on life and reveal you as a friend. Not allowing the warmness in you to go unnoticed by me. Generating a definite reaction that causes me to smile spontaneously. The forecast for today calls for bright sunny skies. So show those pearly whites, smile, sparkle, shine. Thank you. As the brothers and sisters were saying like the things that are going on in the community like you know coming up as a child living in this community like you really could leave your door unlocked and everybody had respect and people treated everybody with courtesy, dignity and respect and people looked out for one another. And as I said like I think the most appropriate poem to try to hopefully that it would enlighten the flames of the spirit and reawaken the cause for which so many have died. This poem it's one of my favorites and I wrote it as I said some of you may have never heard of it but I heard it before. This is the one that I wrote as a tribute to Martin Luther King who has won seven awards in national poetry contests and it was inspired out of Dr. Martin Luther King's vision to see not only peace in America but peace throughout the world and we showed who needed it and we need peace on the streets and peace in our families and peace everywhere you know and there's nothing to lose but a try. We have to make the effort. This poem is entitled Somewhere Someone Has Said and Done Something Beautiful Out of the midnight blue as a gentle breeze tames the turbulent winds and the pouring rain then as the rainy clouds parted the sunshine smiled upon all of the people of the world then the eyes of the sky opened and gave us a beautiful day in the sun then people opened their eyes with a profound respect for life then people opened their hearts and gave love that filled other people's hearts with appreciation for life then people opened their minds, the reservoirs of wisdom and poured golden knowledge into the mainstream of society as hearts of love and rhythm with life get ready to set sail from which the ships of friendship will sail carrying the cargo of love, trust, unity, brotherhood, friendship and understanding the raging seas have mellowed down from the love-touch waves tranquility and sweet serenity is the music we hear somewhere someone has said and done something beautiful I've touched upon every shore as my desire to rise to the golden heights inspiration elevated my heart and I soared above every mountain I spoke of unity for all mankind and the skies were peacefully filled in fire, in rain, in darkness in times of a storm, in times of uncertainty I know that there will be sunshine because somewhere someone has said and done something beautiful and again we'd like to thank you very much to our 8th annual Bayview Wadden Poetry and CIDO and we look forward to seeing everyone again next year and I would like to personally thank each and every one of the poets for their participation all of your poets please come forward and all poets please come forward let's give them a great round of applause