My Ode to Gil Scott Heron

by Sharon Thomas Cash

I saw him at the Village Gate in NY when I was 23 yrs. old
Gil's words struck like bullets penetrating my poetic soul
His short film Black Wax showcased the White House
And poverty on the backside of Washington, D.C.
His smooth baritone enlightened and inspired.
too real, before his time, he spoke my ghetto reality
This tall black man with the mic in his hand
Sang my blackness with his stone-cold jazz band
Music for my head, lyrics from his heart
Words to stimulate, to educate 
Words that provoked my thoughts
Very easy on the eyes he had this perfect fro
Full lips, and a sexy smile only added to his flow
I saw him years later at Marla Gibbs club in LA
I shouted "Play Better Days," he did and
I cherish that memory to this very day
Know that when you hear Rivers of My Fathers
And listen to Peace Go with You Brother
There's only one Gil Scott Heron 
And there will be no other

My Ode to Gil Scott Heron by Sharon Thomas Cash

© Copyright 2017. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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