Post Racial? The NY Post is a Racist Rag

Some Black History Month Poetry Flavor from me at 9 years old-deep stuff folks-and thank you Ms Kent for recognizing the power of Black History month

Mrs Kent, the most influential teacher in my life, introduced to me so many things that would influence the rest of my life. Poetry, Black authors, Black Art, and the acknowledgment that I was a creative being were the gifts that she gave me in the third grade. The fact that she was White , may make this even more extraordinary. She recognized that Black History month introduced me to a higher idea of who I could be. Although this was thirty something years ago, I still believe that the magic of discovery and pride during Black History month is still relevant. She also opened up my mind to the greatness of understanding the history and art of other cultures.
Here is some poetry from the 4th grade poet that I became a year after Ms Kent's classes.

Warning Deep Stuff ahead :

Harriet Tubman
by me
Harriet Tubman
Bold Black woman
Risked her life for our freedom
Harriet you were wise
You followed the North Star in the skies
For our freedom



Langston Hughes
by me
You're the people's poet
Us Black folks surely know it
Your rhythm is the blues
you paid your dues
So that dreams I can use



My Afro
My Afro used to be big and fluffy
Then it became uncombed and stuffy
My mother said it has to go
No mama no
I cried and I cried
My mother said you're not going to die
And that was the end of my fro


The Flag
by me
Red and and blue only favors you
Red Black and green
Makes me a king
And my sister a Queen

A taste of where I'm coming from storytelling videos /folktale /monolouge/historical

If you are my facebook or myspace friend, you probably have seen these. This is some of my storytelling flavor. Just a taste....

An excerpt from my show Memories Of Self: Journey To Weeksville -"I Can Read Now 1890

In honor of Black History month, I submit one of the monologues from my show Memories Of Self: Journey To Weeksville. This is one of 7 fictional monologues based on actual historical events that I perform in character at the Historical Weeksville Houses in Brooklyn , NY. Weeksville was a thriving community of free Blacks during the 1800's and early 20th century. The community had its own schools, churches, newspapers, and other institutions. This place existed as home and refuge for Black people during extremely intense times of racist brutality, segregation, slavery, the draft riots, fugitive slave act kidnappings,and so much more. Only 3 houses remain( restored or recreated) . The acknowledgment and discovery has only happened over the last 30 something years. Please visit the site and take a tour of the houses. Here is the link www.weeksvillesociety.org Each of my monologues presents a character during a time of crisis in Black America. The following monolouge is the exception. It is a love story on some levels. 1890 Joshua Jones:

I Can Read by Daniel Carlton

Joshua Jones
1890

Evening all. What a fine beginning of dusk’s blanketing Brooklyn as it prepares for slumber. Fancy words for a man who works with his hands huh? Now everybody knows that I Joshua Jones can whittle, cut, saw, or measure any piece of wood that my hands get a hold of. My daddy who was a slave almost all of his natural days used to say to me “ Joshua, the Good Lord must have breathed on your hands while you was praying cuz their aint nothing, not even Massa, that can stop them fingers from doing what so never they want’s to. For all my life that’s been the God’s honest truth. It’s like I can see what it’s like finished before I even start. I tell you this though, I didn’t know that inside my head that I could put together letters that turned into words that I could write down and know. It’s like magic. To make a long story short, thanks to pretty lady Miss Kent of P.S 83, I can read.
Now that might not mean much at all to you children of these days and times. We been trying to build you a world here in Weeksville where reading comes naturally like breathing air. When you young, your mind takes in everything that you feed it. It aint like that after a certain time. After you done lived some of the trials and tribulations of this here life, you got to work to find more room in your head to go along with all the other things that you picked up along the road. And then you have to be able to undo all them voices that try to keep you blind and ignorant. It aint just the White man that I’m talking about. Some of our leaders are also saying that we shouldn’t be in such a rush to get our book education. Me, I’m casting my lot with with those that are helping me to get all that book power and magic that I can. I aint never heard of a White man being told to take his time
Now you probably wanting to know how Pretty Miss Kent went about getting me my start? One day about a year and six months ago she asked me to do some work for the school. She needed a new desk. After I told her how much it would cost she wrote down the price and some other words. I said “ Ma’am that won’t be necessary. I will take you at your word as you take me at mine.” Miss Kent Said “Mr. Jones, while we trust each other, the County of Kings may not be as understanding of a non-contractual agreement.” Then she said “ Forgive me if this comes off as indelicate, but can you read?” Now no one in my Thirty-Six years had ever asked me or cared to know the answer to that question. ‘No Ma’am I said.” “ We’re just going to have to see about that .” She said. I only been scared of a few things here and there when I was little, but just for a second there my grown man heart skipped a beat. Little ones learn reading and figuring every day; we grown folks don’t want to look weak in front of other grown folks. I said “ I appreciate your kind offer, but I will only take you up on it if you allow me to teach you how to carve a likeness of your favorite animal out of wood. “ It’s a deal.” she said.
Now I don’t think that I need to go into the particulars. I’ll just say that she carved the prettiest elephant that you ever laid eyes on. Me? Well you all tell me how I did. I wrote her a bit of poetry and I aint sure that it’s good enough for her for giving me the greatest gift of my natural life. Here it goes :

Like Prometheus Bound
Or sky without view of the ground
Like square alone without knowing round
My mind was held in partial down
For when a Man knows not the letter nor word sound
He is like a king without his crown
Or a face that knows only frown
Your spell was cast / It freed my thoughts
With many words to read or jot
Losing ignorance is a battle hard fought
Of all the things I’ve ever bought
None are worth more than the things you’ve taught.

*The entire show is available for booking. Also workshops and performances of separate monologues based on 1-The Fugitive Slave 2 The New York City Draft Riots 3 Escape from Slavery 4 Double Consciousness (W.E.B Dubois) 5 WWI Harlem Hellfighters 6 Literacy 7 A performer forced to wear burnt cork 8 -Black life in New York City at the turn of the twentieth century