The sun slants high like a burnin' cinder,
a great big ball o' scorchin' might,
while da fields be swayin' n' callin'
like dey master - cruel 'n white.
Cotton fluffs like lamb's wool tufts
'mind me o' dandelion sprouts,
but flowas, weeds n' all dat such
ain't much I knows about.
Fo' I know da drag on da summa noon
and da trace o' musty sweat,
'cause we work dem fields 'til kingdom come
when it's boilin' o' soppin' wet.
Ain't no snow could stop dese callous'd hands
an' ain't no means ta draw dem back,
when da dog's called first ta suppa,
an' even hims is black.
But it's my song dat keeps me goin',
it's my prayer where freedom rings,
it's da promises o' heaven,
fo' which my heart so sings.
An' when da good Lord come fo' me,
I t'row my hands up high,
Hopin', Prayin', Dancin', Singin'
'Rise! Oh Lord, I rise!'
Author notes
I'm thinking this was inspired by my recent literary choices: Beloved and The Color Purple. I know it will be hard to stumble over the dialect. I probably screwed it up.
Written July 25th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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I think this is just about perfect... including the dialect. I've heard old negros speak a lot... mostly from visiting my grandmother in Texas when I was a child, and she still had negros who worked part of the farm for her but not as slaves... (really, I'm not THAT old
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Your poem is very good, easy reading for me and I enjoyed the sentiments of it. You did a superb job with this
Dee
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Great write. Have you thought of submitting a poem for Voices For Africa? I will be adding more poems in the next few months.
www.voicesforafrica.homestead.com/index.html
Anyway, good job. -
Aww, this is really sad. I'm glad slavery isn't around anymore. You do good when you put yourself in other people's positions. Yeah the dialect is kinda funky but hey, that's how they spoke! =D
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