To Gordon Parks, Sr. (1912-2006)


Depressed gaunt faces
of spooks and white crackers 
in portraits of bigotry
produces arias of silence
only felt by a pure attentive heart
reflections of these 
are voices in the mirror
that produce ripples in our souls
real visions of american gothic
captured in the psyche unprepared
while invading dreams unobstructed

Life in discovery 
is the Learning Tree
sprouted from rock and shaft
seemingly, nurtured by
running tears...
dripping blood...
and the sweat that dribbles
upon the brows of Ella Watsons
Flavio Da Silvas,
Julia Bronsteins 
moms and pops

My weapon of choice
the camera lens
capturing man accused
And, in silent protest...
trying the lords of the land
from Brazil, 
to Washington D.C.
even, to the other side of the world
Making hard Life (En)vogue
upon the pigmentation exposure
and, bringing throngs of the depressed 
now forgotten and hidden
into the bastions of Kansas
Chicago
St. Paul Minnesota
even Rio de Janeiro
to smile in (the cool) Autumn Breeze
and quenching their thirst
with plump streaming rain drops
to acquit their souls

Whispers in the lens
accumulated over the many years
now, immortalized
frozen
and, tucked away for all eternity
We are the voices
this camera the recorder
I am the messenger
Although, my life reaches
half past Autumn
my heart still listens
as Winter approaches
roaring like a hungry young lion
I will not be deterred...
despite the cruel circumstances
"I must not fail"
To illuminate our history
(click...)
"I'm just ready to start..."
A better tomorrow
Click!