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Quote by Lailah Gifty Akita

“GOD ALONE God alone is the Defender. God alone is the Deliver. God alone is the Eternal Creator. God alone is the Healer. God alone is the Divine Helper. God alone is the Savior. God alone is Sufficiency. God alone is the great Shepherd. God alone is the Sovereign LORD. God alone is the Safe Haven. God alone is the Source. God alone is the Sustainer. God alone is the Provider. God alone is the great Power. God alone is Peace. God alone is Protector. God alone is Maker. God alone is the great Master. God alone is the Mighty One. God alone is Merciful. God alone is the Builder. God alone is our righteous Judge. God alone is the Giver. God alone is the Restorer. God alone is the Redeemer. God alone forgives. God alone is the faithful heavenly Father. God alone is the Divine Being. God alone is Compassionate. God alone is Good. God alone is life. God alone is light. God alone is love. God alone is wise. God alone is the truth. God alone is the greatest Teacher. God alone is Almighty LORD. God alone is the great King. God alone is the OMEGA. God alone is the ALPHA. God alone is the Author of Faith. God alone is the Finisher. God alone is the Beginning. God alone is the End.”

Quote by Lailah Gifty Akita

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Lailah Gifty Akita

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“Daily Bread by Stewart Stafford Butcher short-changed me again, There’s sawdust in the sausages, Grocer’s growing grosser and then, A proposition with my messages. The driving instructor’s pissed on bends, I went and told his mother, The barman’s watering down pints for friends Like he’s feeding his baby brother. The barber’s still one hair off, One side doesn’t match the other, Bookie won’t take my bets and lends, The landlord another sucker. Tossed out in the street to fend for myself, With all the other refuse, Garbage man fills his truck with me, At least I still have one use. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“Between the tenets of those two men [W.E.B. Du Bois and Booker T. Washington], a race strived to untangle its convoluted root, urged its whole self forward, and hurtled toward the door America had fought so hard to keep closed.”

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“The Unanswered Question by Stewart Stafford Ask a body why it lies in a grave, And no answer shall ring in your ears, Ask the rat that squeaks like a knave, And there is nothing to ease your fears. See lightning's fiery eye wink a hint, Hear thunder belching out proud, Hail is flicked off like lint, Dumb as a corpse in its shroud. Mourners do splutter and cry, In unison or solitary grief, Hysteria governs their reply, Tongues pocketed by sorrow's thief. Only when you lay in dirt senselessly, Do answers come out of reach, Secrets clouded eternally, To an owl's shrill and wise screech. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“The Final Word by Stewart Stafford On the wall of a prominent jacks, Came anonymous, scurrilous attacks, Innuendo and defamatory jibes, Scrawled by cowardly scribes, Dared the executioner’s axe. And whoever wrote the indecent graffiti, Would never say it to the King in a meeting, He’d cry: ‘Off with their heads,’ Then sleep safely in bed, Having the final word takes some beating. And as they walked to an undignified death, No sarcastic words came from their breath, They were up for the chop, On the executioner’s block, And would plead it was all for a bet. So if you’ve ill words planned, Remember to keep them in hand, Or the butt of your jokes, Becomes your executioner’s host, And that’s the end of your brand. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“We’d like a list of what we lost Think of those who landed in the Atlantic The sharkiest of waters Bonnetheads and thrashers Spinners and blacktips We are made of so much water Bodies of water Bodies walking upright on the mud at the bottom The mud they must call nighttime Oh there was some survival Life After life on the Atlantic—this present grief So old we see through it So thick we can touch it And Jesus said of his wound Go on, touch it I don’t have the reach I’m not qualified I can’t swim or walk or handle a hoe I can’t kill a man Or write it down A list of what we lost The history of the wound The history of the wound That somebody bought them That somebody brought them To the shore of Virginia and then Inland Into the land of cliché I’d rather know their faces Their names My love yes you Whether you pray or not If I knew your name I’d ask you to help me Imagine even a single tooth I’d ask you to write that down But there’s not enough ink I’d like to write a list of what we lost. Think of those who landed in the Atlantic, Think of life after life on the Atlantic— Sweet Jesus. A grief so thick I could touch it. And Jesus said of his wound, Go on, touch it. But I don’t have the reach. I’m not qualified. And you? How’s your reach? Are you qualified? Don’t you know the history of the wound? Here is the history of the wound: Somebody brought them. Somebody bought them. Though I know who caught them, sold them, bought them, I’d rather focus on their faces, their names.”

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“The Cavalier Servente by Stewart Stafford Her lover creeps On stairs that creak To where the mistress sleeps To wet his beak. Affairs in the dark When matrimony is parked A disloyal lark Starts the carnal spark. At break of day The cuckolder creeps away From naughty play He’s had his way. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

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“I Am I am the voice inside your head, I am the whore in your lover’s bed, I am the one who seeks to harm, I am the scars that blight your arm; I am the tears you cannot control, I am what consumes your soul, I am your mind, your thoughts, your mood, I am your passive attitude; I am the emptiness within, I am the game you cannot win, I am the fury that you feel, I am the wound that will not heal; I am the reason that you cry, I am the fear that will not die, I am your self-doubt, guilt and shame, I am resentment, hate and blame; I am the sum of all you give, I am the way you choose to live, I am all you choose to do, I am nothing without you.”

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