RENEE DRUMMOND-BROWN - POEMS

Renee’ Drummond-Brown, is an accomplished poetess with experience in creative writing. She is a graduate of Geneva College of Western Pennsylvania. Renee’ is still in pursuit of excellence towards her mark for higher education. She is working on her sixth book and has numerous works published globally which can be seen in cubm.org/news, KWEE Magazine, Leaves of Ink, Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine, Realistic Poetry International, Scarlet Leaf Publishing House, SickLit Magazine, The Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., Tuck, and Whispers Magazine just to name a few. Civil Rights Activist, Ms. Rutha Mae Harris, Original Freedom Singer of the Civil Rights Movement, was responsible for having Drummond-Brown’s very first poem published in the Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., in Albany, GA. Renee’ also has poetry published in several anthologies and honorable mentions to her credit in various writing outlets. Renee’ won and/or placed in several poetry contests globally and her books are eligible for nomination for a Black Book award in Southampton County Virginia. She was Poet of the Month 2017, Winner in the Our Poetry Archives and prestigious Potpourri Poets/Artists Writing Community in the past year. She has even graced the cover of KWEE Magazine in the month of May, 2016. Her love for creative writing is undoubtedly displayed through her very unique style and her work 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!”
 

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The Swing
​

His mansion has
oak stairs. A southern
flare. The ghost of my past also
resides here.
 
The sounds of torture echoes like
plantation shutters swinging em’
to N’ fro.
As I polish his silverware. The floors
crack. The walls
speak; who lives here? Certainly
not me!
 
THAT dirt driveway houses
my DNA. The open door is locked. I enter
from the back to cook
his menus plus
add me some fat-back. My minds
on that auction block. Those slave ships. Moses
parting THAT Red Sea for me. Gotta’ get back
to work; cause, I don’t wanna’ swing. No!
Not on this day.  No! Not me. All
my clean windows see
“THAT”
infamous SHOW tree. Reminding us
O’
that swings plea. To make sure
you hang-em’ on high for
Massa’s sake and the picture-perfect imagery. I’m jus’
a passer by; til’ my turn to swing. Until then,
I’ll jus’ keep on telling; while keeping it clean.
 
 
Dedicated to: Self Preservation is the law of the land
 
A B.A.D. poem
​

Bird’s Eye View
​

I saw 1000 blackbirds take mid-flight. Roaming
to N’ fro. But.
Could not decipher which
were the ravens and which
the crows?
 
ONE
in particular stood out to me; cause He
was peculiar as peculiarity could be…And in His beak
was “THAT” pilfered olive leaf
 
I thought…hmm,
alas
there You are! And wondered IF’
Noah knew; what ev’r happened
to You on that reigning night? Here You come again; in 2018
reincarnated into
Renee’s Poems with Wings are forever Words in Flight!
 
Dedicated To: Bye; Bye Blackbird. Take yOUR flight!
A RocDeeRay and B.A.D. Poem
​

Titanic
​

​Tired is as tired does. She floats on
carless streams; who knows no love. She floats on river-banks
giving her all to the poor. She floats on oceanic “blues” 
of a dark history’s past 
“SEEshores” + “SEEshells” - white beaches = black quicksand. She’s
not built to last. Duracell, ALKALINE and Energizer 
keeps her going and going and going. CHARGE-she’s gone! 


 
Can’t you “sea?” The saltwater pressures her blood 
greater than the strength of them waterfalling hearts. She boils! 
She boils!! She boils!!! And can’t hide!
But why? 
Ain’t no pearls clamed inside. Can’t you “sea?” 
Her lake’s shallow and parliament knee deep. They can’t 
swim like she 
and never did they learn. Can’t you “sea?” 
Her army, her navy, her coastguard are the few, were the proud, 
but in no way can withstand alone without THE marine!
 
 
Walking by faith 
gets momma utterly exhausted for which she terminates 
the struggle for them quote-un-quote 
un-grates. 
Forevermore, can she no longer float on 
sureSEEs and/or SEEshores; whichever!
 
 
BUT
when them momma’s give up; WATCH IT NOW
EVERYONE DROWNS
and i mean everyone; FOR “SHORE!” 
“Their” life jackets will forever work 
no-more.


 
Sending out an’ SOS
can’t help the raging of an angry battered sea.
Nothin’ like a shipwreck
that gets tossed
AND 
turns.
 
Dedicated to: The heart of the ocean!
 
A B.A.D. RocDeeRay poem
 

Walk On By
​

Thank you, God, that my vessel
floats in the midnight hour
to its own tunes of non-rhythmic an’
rhymeless rhymes; seasoned
in Ecclesiastical spirit-filled times. Bothering
no-one as their
storm clouds DO rise as their
strong winds…they DO blow. Jilted by all O’ them.
Sinking fast. Drowning in their sickening
sea of sinS forsaken by not so wannabe kin. Folk that is. But B.A.D. said
look to the hills from which my ONLY help can come. Walk on
the water anyhow away from them to Him. Set your eyes NOT
off of Him as they drown in their
own
designated for you sins. Step ov’r
them. Look to the hills from which your help comes and skip
onto the straight an’ narrow path unto Him. And only
in Him, will I cast these cares.
Alone.
For He cares for me.
Feel me?
 
 
 

B.A.D., I nev’r learned
to swim, but I sense the rhythm of the strokes.
 
 
 
Dedicated to: I sense the rhythm of the strokes; but nev’r learned to swim.
 
 
A RocDeeRay poem
​

FATHER DEAREST
​

​You raised 2 wonderful boys. Played with them
and
their Fao Schwarz expensive toys. Taught em’
to crawl, walk, talk and think. Taught em’
to ride a bike, walk trails and go on
long, loong, looong hikes. Walked em’
to school when missing their bus. Ev’n pulled out
that very first tooth and such; took em’
for weekly ‘costly’ haircuts.
 
Worship and prayer time
was ALWAYS in demand between you
and them. YOU helped em’
with homework; solely responsible for their A’s! Even
coached their soccer, basketball, baseball and AAU teams! Drove em’
to their first dance and then taught em’
to drive, before, buying em’
BOTH cars.
GO YOU…
FATHER DEAREST, ‘YOU’ ARE DEFINITELY ‘THE’ SUPERSTAR
OF SUPERSTARS!
 
You taught em’ to dress. 2 piece,
black double breasted suits; worn down their chest. Sharp
as a tack. Two 6ft. 2 men all dressed
in black. You taught em’ to explore,
travel the world and YOU
even went on their individual college tours. You taught em’
to cover up and how NOT to get a girl pregnant!
Whew! Now I’m impressed!!
THAT
IS BOTH
RESPONSIBLE and PO-WER-FUL yet!!!
GO YOU!!!!
 
You ev’n said grace before they ate. You made
boyz’ to men as such;
great job
STEP-DAD OF THE YEAR!
BUT.
 I GOTTA’ HUNCH
YOUR BIOLOGICAL “NATURAL” SONS
GOT NONE OF “THAT” TIME NOR YOUR LOVE!
What ‘YOU’ think; what’s up?
 
Dedicated To: Go YOU! Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap!
 
A RocDeeRay and B.A.D. Poem
 

Dear John, ​

Dear John,
I hope
this poem
finds you
in the best of health.
I love you
BUT…
I found
someone else.
 
He’s actually
your best friend
and
my babies’
dad.
I promise you though,
he
did-not
destroy
what you and I
once had.
 
I just grew tired
of you
being away
so
very long.
One thing led
to another;
felt so right
an’ yet
so wrong.
We tried to tell you
before
you left
for war.
But then
like the Temptations
we both thought
another
mind war;
hmm~~~
what is it good for?
 
So,
as stated before,
I love you,
BUT…
I found someone else~~~
that I
just
absolutely
adore.
 
 
Dear Jody,
Oh,
no one
must’ve
told you,
an’ you still
don’t know?
I married
your
best friend
LONG; LONG
LOOOOONG
before
I left home.
 
She gets
‘YOUR’
allotments,
medical coverage,
social security
and
my pension too.
We’re on an island
(military base)
‘laughin’
our butts off;
bout
how
WE BOTH
PLAYED YOU!
 
Hey Jody,
How’s them projects;
I left you in?
All them mixed babies?
The welfare checks
and my drug dealing
best friend?
 
Sorry sister girl,
you got played in the end.
See you,
when we come home
with
our
son,
daughter,
dog
and
Mercedes Benz.
Love John,
Your ex-lover and best friend.
 
 
Dedicated to: Oorah~~~Semper Fidelis~~~You ‘gotta’ pay to play ‘wit’ a few good men!!!


 
A B.A.D. Poem
 
 

Cycles
​

Momma told her not to do IT.
IT was done; she did not LISTEN
LISTEN to her, for what, and why, she too did it, AFTER-ALL?
AFTER-ALL, she had her at 16.
16, she, herself, should’ve been pristine CLEAN.
CLEAN as bleach on a summers CLOTHESLINE.
CLOTHESLINES, yeah, not soils hung out to DRY.
DRY stains. Tide can’t even get these out, nor CAN;
CAN a praise and/or SHOUT!
SHOUT it out!!! Should’ve been playin wit dolls, jacks and balls til 9:00.
NINE months to GO.
GO to jail…do not pass go til 18
EIGHTEEN-year BIDS.
BIDS her FAREWELL.
FAREWELL Momma says, “I told you so.”
 
Dedicated to: Recurrences
 
A RocDeeRay Poem


​

THE cart before the horse
​

​ “Woe to the bloody city! it is all full of lies and
robbery; the prey departeth not; The noise of a whip, and
the noise of the rattling of the wheels, and
of the pransing horses, and
of the jumping chariots. The horseman lifteth up both the bright sword and
the glittering spear: and
there is a multitude of slain, and
a great number of carcases; and
there is none end of their corpses; they stumble upon their corpses:”
Nahum 3:1-3 (KJV).
Never forget negro’s them ol’ carts prancing before the ol’ horse and
bridling to draw up the head and
dropping down the chin and
disparaged in pure resentment about THE marching and
still IZ culturally expected, devine and
a jockstay prancing coffins through dem’ filthy woods and
back dirt-roads in prehistoric times and
one can’t beat a dead horse when they’re already down and
yes they can; IZ’ lied and
its sortta like an extinct animal being pranced upon and
sortta like a mammal lost in space-aged time and
a show horse gallivanting~~ 2 the tune of the processions and
fiddlers playin’ on the roof and
juggling coffins like a circus clown and
might I may add; one of the best of the best noble acts in town and
mares on elm street and
charging stallions who can’t compete with steeds and
no flags for him only them downy white sheets and
black nags marching alongside me crying after him and
equestrians gallivanting like an ugly black beauty whose deep inna sleep and
also laying in state as for waiting a prey, and
for a white sheet is a deep ditch; and
THAT strange fruit is a narrow pit and
increaseth the transgressors amongst colored men and
colored women AND
do you know how many black bodies them trojans carted off in the woods?
I do AND
 
 Dedicated to: Ashes to ashes; dust to dust; one of the greatest shows in town!
A B.A.D. poem