LangstonHugesPortrait.jpg
Langston Hughes

The Langston Hughes Poetry Circle
February 1, 2002 to August 1,2010.
Now Emeritus Member 

     The Langston Hughes Poetry Circle (LHPC) was founded on the 100th birthday of the great Harlem Renaissance poet by Tchaiko Kwayana.  LHPC has given public readings and workshops from San Diego to Los Angeles including Clare de Lune's, R Spot Books and Barber, Kwanzaa Fest in San Diego, and  St. Elmo's Village, and Tia Chucha's Cultural Bookstore and Cafe in Los Angeles.

     Ms. Kwayana has read LHPC poems to at risk aboriginal children in Australia and New Zealand. The LHPC has sponsored poetry readings featuring Amiri Baraka, and Quincy Troupe.  The Circle has also hosted a fundraiser for the Invisible Children of Africa.   The LHPC has shown the video, Voices in Wartime at Malcolm X Library where participants wrote and read poetry after the video.

     LHPC meetings are the first Saturday of every month at 3:00 P.M. at Malcolm X Library in Valencia Park on the corner of Euclid and Market in Southeast San Diego.  Our meetings are open to the public and we welcome beginning or experienced poets to join us in our wish to resonate with the legacy of Langston Hughes against racism, oppression, and injustice.


Mission Statement

Under revision at present.



Enter content here


Poetry From Third Saturday
 

 

Spirit of Justice

by
         delores fisher   Too late! The ancient warrior is waking. Battle bloodied, weak from wielding Zion's Song.   Slept.  Resting.
         Cradled, on green pasture grasses beside still waters Scar-torn face  Callus thick hands Slash gashed arms Purple-bruised
         legs on blood-tear oozing feet.   Sleep, deep, Awaiting almighty's battle cry Begged, pleaded, mercy mingled grace Flowing
         down into lightless grief's abyss Prayer, fasting, single minded unity Humility-humanity Who shall speak for us?   Shall these
         bones live again? Ruach . . . Warrior stirring Weapons in sacred hearths forged  Before time yawned its newborn eyes.   Flaming
         sapphire-chiseled armor Blinding emerald-sharpened sword Roaring adamantine-diamond kilned being Planted by the rivers of
         sorrows strong afflictions, Anchored by alleluia tears Sons of men, Warrior stands listening to heaven: You have provoked
         the ancient one  Anabasis and dawn.

 

 

Nightmare            First Draft Saturday, June 6, 2009        K. Hughart

Somehow or another the zombies got loose in the land of the free and the home of the brave
Eating the flesh of the people who work in schools and hospitals, factories and farms
Making them turn into zombies who sleep when they get up and go to their jobs.

Eating the flesh of the people who work in the schools
for children
Who trust but must pick pointed pencils and fill in a series of circles
Like hundreds of eyes demanding replies
They don’t understand.
Wise children blinking their eyes and asking too many Why’s.   

Eating the flesh of the people who work in the hospitals, pumping
Narcotic-needles in skinny and fat flesh of aching machine operators
Cement spreaders tree trimmers plumbers and paper-pushers,
Spreading paralysis Liberally, keeping sick people unwell.

Eating the flesh of the people who work in the factories
Where, once convinced into zombiness,
Think less.
Machinists and toolmakers, assemblers who once secretly innovated,
Created new kinds of autos and kitchen appliances, gizmos that worked with the sun and the wind and the earth and the rivers, imagining while on the line.

Eating the flesh of agri-industrialists
Now checking lists, intent on bending terrestrial cycles to binary this or that.
Corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn
Ceaselessly shoved into dirt clear up to the road.
Antibiotics, truckloaded, stuck-goaded, thrust into cows and pigs,
and hens in their pens.
Old farmers shout
Warning us to stop filling killing fields full of corpses that bloat and poison
The source.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled

Cut cut cut cut

But but but but

Cut cut cut cut

But but but but

 

When you scored your mighty victory

In two thousand three

You said “ I want to represent everybody

 Young and old rich and poor”

Now you’re saving the rich, furloughing the poor

Poverty  is knocking at  their door

You discovered that nurses and teachers

Trans-genders, native casinos 

And wage-earning workers

Not big business

Destitute farm workers , fear in their breasts

Are, for you, the true “special interests”

So your  great foot  is on their chests

So your great, humane  foot is on their chests

As you proclaim your dread behests!

 

A hint to the  wise  is enough

But you, Guvna, you’s  not wise, you’s rough

Citizens! Please write this in your book

There is such a thing as a political crook

There is such a  being as a political crook

 And California has caught one on the hook.

Starving us out so we would not last

Here is one answer let’s call a fast

Here is one answer let’s call a fast !

A state wide fast, a state wide fast

 

Cut cut cut cut

but but   but but

cut cut cut cut

but but but but

What you  goin do

 When nothing  left to cut’

When you run out of your demented fun

You will cut and run?

You will cut and run

When nothing left to cut?

 

And you said in mid- June

Not a day too soon

What many knew

You said

You would use

Your celebrity

To save  California

“I am using my celebrity”

To save California

Save? Or screw?

Save? Or screw?

What will you do when  nada left to cut

 And you run oit of fun

will you cut and run?

Eusi Kwayana

 

 

I want to represent everybody. I believe in the people of California, and I know that together we can do great things. I know that together we can make this again the greatest state of the greatest country in the world

working the clay

 

what is it that's not being said?

why is it the news is not really news?

is it because the knows only hype the no's?

the eyes only look the other way?

no real truth about the greed that robs,

that felons our schools, cutting funds, fogging futures,

no real facts like the two keystone state judges

pocketing bribes from penn land prisons

in return for long term sentences foisted on unsuspecting young...

 

could this be the source of our collective discontent?

are you driven to distraction as I am, Miss Daisy

by weapons of mass distraction,

the painted mask,

the disney world portrait

over a grisly world scene

sensed away from outrage

cajoled away from action

reversing revolution

 

what is it that's not being said?

could be capitalism is broken?

democracy remains a spoken token?

children kill children in our streets

politicos kill education

smoking guns, class war heat

 

what is it that you're not saying,

don't look the other way,

mickey mouse is not your savior

language is your clay

sculpt young brother,

sculpt young sister,

sculpt,

sculpt your clay...

 

Jim Moreno