Way Down South

Several years ago I was in southern Georgia interviewing farmers and families and hearing their stories of discrimination in dealing with the USDA.  One particular name kept coming up again and again.  One day I walked through the cemetery there in town and recognized the name.  These words come to mind when I think about the farmers and the system that they had to negotiate there in their community.

Way Down South

Down South
Way down south if you know what I mean
There is a cemetery on the edge of town
That the whites work hard to keep clean.

The monuments

The big monuments you can surely see
Stand with pride in the sun
Perhaps for longer than eternity.

That tombstone

That one over there with the name I know
Looks to be a symbol for some important man
And surely that is more than just show.

That man

He owned that town often I was told
Set all those prices for seed and cotton
And now his bones lie cold.

His scales

Those big scales over there
Weighed light for the black folks
And to argue they didn’t dare.

His prices

The prices he set on the seed
Now those dollars were pretty high
That was all he’d need.

His control

His control of it all from start to finish
Of the seeds to the land to the price of the cotton
Served to keep them down, their souls to diminish.

No one argued

Not one argued or you’d pay a price
If they did their cotton was not bought
They learned that the man did not play nice.

Now that man

That man who owned this town
Lies buried beneath that big monument
His name of great renown.

That farmer

That farmer whose skin is black
Knew the bank was coming long before it did
And the land he loved he’ll never get back.

Such is life

Such is life when your skin is dark
Way down in the Bible belt south
Where Jim Crow still lives on in too many hearts.

Preach It, Mr. Preacher

Time seems to linger
Though the alarm has just sounded
Wake up from the slumber
And get ourselves surrounded

By the things we still recall

The people that we met
They still are playing in our heads
Even when our heads were at rest.

That sermon was real

The preacher was really on
Events of a week ago
Still come at us real strong.

There are no such things as divorcing

Our lives from the news of the day
We face it straight on
While we strain for a better way.

The world is what we bring

Inside that large worship room
There is no separating it all
To do so would just bring more gloom.

Let’s tell the truth in love

Ugly though it will be
Again let’s speak it out
That all too often our people hang from that tree.

The truth is ugly as we all know

Politicians run to and fro
They make noise that is unintelligible
I wish it were not so.

The headlines scream out loud

People sad or depressed or dead
It’s hard to take it all in
Upon it all some light to shed.

Tell the truth Mr. Preacher!

Speak words of grace over us all
Engage the spirit of Jesus
Lest we stumble and we fall.
 
Preach it Mr. Preacher!
Preach it long and loud!
Preach it Mr. Preacher!
Make the ancient ones proud!
 
Preach it Mr. Preacher!
Tell of that thing called justice!
Preach it Mr. Preacher!
Till there’s no one left of us!

Preach it Mr. Preacher!

Harken back unto the day
When prophets like Isaiah and Amos
Had their vitriolic say!

Preach it Mr. Preacher!

Proclaim it to one and all!
Speak the words of Jesus
Lest into silence we all should fall!

Preach it Mr. Preacher!
Out of our comforts zones we can move
We need to know the truth
When we walk in someone else's shoes.

Lest you think that those worlds collide

In the sanctuary there is no room
For the truth of life as we live it
There is anything but gloom.

I am encouraged when from the pulpit

The truth is told again and again
I will not rest peacefully
Until righteousness rules this land.

In our homes and in the streets

In our churches
In our villages
There is no retreat.

Let Justice Ring: Let Us Pray and Think About Our Prayer

I wrote this poem in the early morning hours back in January.  Its irreverence and pleas for something different fit this day and this time, at least in my opinion. Please let me know what you think.

Let Us Pray and Think About Our Prayers
Waymon Hinson
January 31, 2017

Dear Gawd, Jehsuuus, Dad, Holy One of Israel, lots of salutations we say
To plead for His hearing when we pray.

Some are contrite, others demand
Get it together, you foolish man.

Some demean, others quiet
Looking blankly toward the blinding light.

With heads bowed low we generously pray
Who is to confess the meanings of what we say.

Some are prayers of the right
Preaching righteousness and vengeance with might.

Some are prayers of the left
We all are a mess, left bereft.

Prayers from the middle, let us pray
Words of conciliation, we hope, we say.

Civility is now here in this sanctuary, this room,
Waiting, waiting, waiting, our return to the tomb.

Some are prayers of hope
Com’on, man, don’t mope!

Longing for the day.
We have all gone astray.

Some are prayers beseeching those who’ve gone before
Kindly leave your offering at the door.

Let us pray, let us demand
Expect of God His slight of hand.

We are so feeble, so frail and so fickle
I think I’ll go buy a burger with my last nickel.

Amen, and yeah verily I say, “Amen!”