Raised By Griots (Bards) Poem by Jacqueline Czel

A child of Spirituals
found in old cotton fields,
through hidden meanings
the freedom trail, I reveal.

A child of Gospel,
I must pen a joyful noise,
soulful messages to be carried
aloft by Mahalia's voice.

A child of Ragtime,
I write from the very top
a Ma Rainey's Bo-weevil
sinner's words, dancing evil.

A child of Delta Blues,
I spread dusty words,
the hard traveler's news
set to sliding 12 bar hues.

A child of Thelonious
on black and white keys,
I tell stories like Coltrane
with 6,16 jazz time ease.

A child of Motown
Otis and Sam's sixties soul,
I indite like an alchemist
turning segregation into gold.

A child of Funk
dancing through Earth, Wind
and Fire, I scribe mighty
poems to take you higher.

A child of Hip Hop and
Gansta Rap, I record the
truth of hard, urban reality,
telling you where it's at.