RENEE B. DRUMMOND - POEMS

​Renee B. Drummond is a renown poetria and artist from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is the author of: The Power of the Pen, SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER, Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs, and Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight. Her work is viewed on a global scale and solidifies her as a force to be reckoned with in the literary world of poetry. Renee’ is inspired by non-other than Dr. Maya Angelou, because of her, Renee’ posits “Still I write, I write, and I’ll write!”

https://www.dropbox.com/s/b7djwy5mwby1p1e/DRUMMOND%20COMPLETE.mp4?dl=0

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​KAREN​

​You ‘sang’
“Why do birds suddenly appear?”
Lionel Richie proclaims
“Just to be close to you, 
well just for a moment, 
well just for an hour”
But I say’s
“when and where?”
 
‘Daze’ long to be close to you 
‘dats’ why ‘dem’ birds 
suddenly appeared
and ‘dats’ why your lyrics
follow me around.
Just like me Karen,
‘daze’ long to be 
close to you
 
‘Before’ the ‘rizen’ sun
you flew
‘cause’
The Father
charted a chorus ‘line’ (or two) for you.
I hope your small list of dreams came true,
and
you finally 
got ov’r ‘dat’ rainbow
But… 
For you…
And only for you…
 
Yeah Karen
We're still ‘takin’ ‘da’ madness
‘dat’ this world has to give
But
One ‘thang’ for ‘sho’
and
two for certain 
‘Dis’ poetic write
along ‘wit’ your lyrics
‘foreva’
‘eva’
‘eva’
lives
 
Karen Anne Carpenter
I now know why ‘dem’ birds suddenly appeared
It’s ‘cause’
Your poetic words for ‘Me’ 
were left here.
And just like me,
Karen
your scribe
longs to be
close to you


That’s why
of all people…
‘dem’ birds 
chose you
(to appear)
 
Dedicated to:  The Memory of Karen Anne Carpenter/Carpenter’s
 

Go To Hell!
​

Restore
that blind mans’
sight.
Give
that murderer
a second chance
at life.
 
 
Take away
those drugs.
Mature
that hooligan thug.
Feed
that crack baby.
Addiction
to bondage
minus
the subjugation
of
slavery.
 
 
Black lives matter?
Yeah right!
If not
here;
then where?
Definitely,
 in
the hereafter.
 
 
Bang; bang
shoot ‘em’ dead
an’ let
that piece of steel
be still;
and/or
“Go to Hell”
die ‘tryin’
if
you will.
 
Dedicated to: Dead is as dead does (‘piece’ be ‘steel’).
 
A B.A.D. poem
​

And the Bands Played On….
​

We heard ‘da’ noise
‘An’
We knew it ‘wuz’ George Clinton
‘an’ ‘dem’ boyz ‘jus’ getting it
Awww
We jus had to get in ‘da’ band
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
You played ‘dat’ funky music
white boyz
It had us ‘turnin’ round
‘SHOUTIN’ ‘an’ ‘sangin’
‘an’ ‘movin’ to your grove
‘Jus’ when it hit us
we ‘layed’ it down ‘an’ boogied
Until ‘dat’ funky music of yours
‘wuz’ no more.
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
We had ‘dat’ school girlz crush
Average white band
Met you in ‘da’ playground
WAITED
‘til’ ev’ry body ‘wuz’ long gone
Before long
It ‘WUZ’
A strung out crush
‘Dat’ ‘wuz’ ever so wrong
Momma said
You gotta move on
‘Dat’ what’s up!!!
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
 

Dedicated to: Where have ALL the bands gone?

Copy Cats
​

Like
Teena Marie
My prolific pens
5ft. 3
INKS
as she
thINKS
‘Dats’ why
‘dayz’ all
‘wanna’
imitate me
I’m ‘talkin’
sqare biz
teena marie.
 
 
 
 
 
Dedicated to:
I’M LADY ‘B’ (brown, ‘dat’ ‘IZ’) TALKIN SQUARE BIZ; LIKE LADY T.
 
A RocDeeRay Poem
​

Boy.
​

Oxygen
cut off
as he
‘swangs’
10 yrs. ol’
but
considered
a man.
Eyes bulging
from his head
sweat pouring
from his
glands.
Breath slipping
fast.
Numbness
in both hands;
Mob ‘yellin’
“Swing low
sweet chariot
no-ones
‘fennin’
to carry you
home”.
 
 
Boy’s
minds’
the last to leave
as he
FORCED
to
swing
and become
a man
from
a
 poplar tree.
 
Dedicated to: Mr.
 
A B.A.D. Poem
​