Free The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni by Nikki Giovanni Page A

trees
    stretched the moon
    across the sand shadows
    each nation sharing its natural
    gift
    to enhance a cultural
    exchange
    my use of english
    has not always been
    spoken
    as you now know
    and your english
    cast in the middle of salt and sand
    isn’t just the “little” the guide
    book tells us of
    there is something more Bajan
    to your language
    and more african to my response
    in muted conversation
    we met
    and i take with me
    your english
    gift

For Harold Logan
    (Murdered by “persons unknown” cause he wanted to own a Black club on Broadway)
    he was just a little
    gangster with a high
    voice
    and a poetic mind that recognized
    genius and let it grow
    but someone pruned
    his life
    he didn’t lie or steal
    could give you measure
    for emotion he paid
    for what he wanted and had
    but someone stole
    his life
    the sanitation committee had a big meeting
    concerning broadway
    said the lights weren’t bright like
    they used to be
    a cleaning man came
    and removed his life
    said Broadway was getting
    too dusty

No Reservations
    (for Art Jones)
    there are no reservations
    for the revolution
    no polite little clerk
    to send notice
    to your room
    saying you are WANTED
    on the battlefield
    there are no banners
    to wave you forward
    no blaring trumpets
    not even a blues note
    moaning wailing lone blue note
    to the yoruba drums saying
    strike now shoot
    strike now fire
    strike now run
    there will be no grand
    parade
    and a lot thrown round
    your neck
    people won’t look up and say
    â€œwhy he used to live next to me
    isn’t it nice
    it’s his turn now”
    there will be no recruitment
    station
    where you can give
    the most convenient hours
    â€œmonday wednesday i play ball
    friday night i play cards
    any other time i’m free”
    there will be no reserve
    of energy
    no slacking off till next time
    â€œlet’s see—i can come back
    next week
    better not wear myself out
    this time”
    there will be reservations
    only
    if we fail

Alone
    i can be
    alone by myself
    i was
    lonely alone
    now i’m lonely
    with you
    something is wrong
    there are flies
    everywhere
    i go

For Two Jameses (Ballantine and Snow) In iron cells
    we all start
    as a speck
    nobody notices us
    but some may hope
    we’re there
    some count days and wait
    we grow
    in a cell that spreads
    like a summer cold
    to other people
    they notice and laugh
    some are happy
    some wish to stop
    our movement
    we kick and move
    are stubborn and demanding
    completely inside
    the system
    they put us in a cell
    to make us behave
    never realizing it’s from cells
    we have escaped
    and we will be born
    from their iron cells
    new people with a new cry

For Gwendolyn Brooks
    brooks start with cloud condensation
    allah crying
    for his lost children
    brooks babble
    from mountain tops to settle
    in collecting the earth’s essence
    pure spring fountain
    of love knowledge
    for those who find
    and dare drink
    of it

Autumn Poems
    the heat
    you left with me
    last night
    still smolders
    the wind catches
    your scent
    and refreshes
    my senses
    i am a leaf
    falling from your tree
    upon which i was
    impaled

Rain
    rain is
    god’s sperm falling
    in the receptive
    woman how else
    to spend
    a rainy day
    other than with you
    seeking sun and stars
    and heavenly bodies
    how else to spend
    a rainy day
    other than with you

Poem for Lloyd
    it’s a drag
    sitting around waiting
    for death
    gotta do something before
    i die
    it’s so lonely dying
    all alone
    gotta do something
    before i die
    gotta gotta get a gun
    walking talking thinking gun
    before i die
    they’re so lonely
    funeral dirges
    hip black angry funeral
    dirges
    gotta gotta get a gun
    it’s so lonely
    when you die
    gotta gotta get a gun to kill
    death

Housecleaning
    i always liked house cleaning
    even as a child
    i dug straightening
    the cabinets
    putting new paper on
    the shelves
    washing the refrigerator
    inside out
    and unfortunately this habit has
    carried