Freedom “Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field” — Langston Hughes America Where are your devices Were they lost When the ships came in The ships laden with Slave-wage servants. Come in, you said Come down off the plank (You cannot swim) Welcome to hell’s kitchen There’s a place for you On this killing ground. Lass “She Who searched for lovers In the night Has gone the quiet way Into the still, Dark land of death Beyond the rim of day.” — Langston Hughes The truly desperate Have no boundaries They cross every ocean They unleash their ghosts They have to be found They break hearts In chance encounters. So, be gentle with them First love will find them Then seek to destroy them In a thousand silent ways. Harlem “Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?” — Langston Hughes Soon I won’t know If it’s dark or light I’ll find a hotel Then walk into town. As the stars glisten And love is for sale A wolf’s on my trail So, I run. The street I am walking Is empty and flat My hands start to shake So, I run. I knock on death’s door There is a church choir They let me in So, I sing. Slumber “God slumbers in a back alley With a gin bottle in His hand. Come on, God, get up and fight Like a man.” —Langston Hughes This is the next ice age And it is all happening again. I hear you tapping On a drum, Your fife is long gone. I hear you whisper In my ear, Is it really haunted here? I think it is. You tortured and torpedoed its heart. My dear adder, Whatever is the matter? Is it too late To sleep or to wake? In the underground The demons are screaming And I am waiting For your silent apology. Boss “The boss’s got all he needs, certainly, Eats swell, Owns a lotta houses, Goes vacationin’, Breaks strikes, Runs politics, bribes police, Pays off congress, And struts all over the earth—” —Langston Hughes I hear the lightning rod of distant magazines— One more sister is lying in a camp, On his knees, a son who created is put to death— I am more than dead, I am more than six feet under, I have taken a deep dive into your underground, And I find life here is far worse— They crucify every Kurt Weil, They silence every struggling voice, And worst of all, the preachers Are making manic calls, Taking what they want As their disciples face firing squads Then roll over and play dead— Oh, look what is happening, The fascists are clapping, They’re dancing on our graves— With all the big money betting on borders, Don’t let it distract From your empty galleries Up and down these fair streets— They’ve bought up all your art And hung it over their mantels. Bio: Elizabeth Cusack is a recovering actress. Ever since playing Rhoda Penmark in “The Bad Seed” as a child, deservedly, she has endeavoured to keep up her end of the bargain. Elizabeth has been blessed with the best of teachers over the years, mostly from the school of hard knocks. She has championed and performed in fringe theatre in America. Elizabeth edits her favourite poet while not otherwise inspired by her muse to write.
Fevers of the Mind 