How About Some Poetry on Civil Rights?

 Here are a few selections from The Reluctant Poet.

Black Face – A Lament

How can I plead youth’s ignorance
Through innocence?
Thirteen of two thousand,
That’s all there were.

And I, with grease paint,
Feigning empathy,
Lead to the bowels of the theatre.

Why was I not offended
Resisting the sponge pressing
Centuries of black face on mine
So that Tituba’s story
Could be retold
In a tiny theatre
On a privileged white campus?

Why could not her story be told
In white face?
I am torn now
How do I make amends?
How do I repent?
How do I let justice roll
Down like a river?

My crucible
Has been too long in coming.

Forgive me. 

Pinned

They have pinned their hopes on me—
Pinned me to the thin table of their expectations.
I have hovered too long, my shadow falling on their taut linen.

Their dreams have impaled me and carefully place me
Into a shallow, windowed box You did not design,
Where the light of their insufficient glow
Falls on the muted shades of unusable, and muted wings.

This You did not desire.
Nor do I.

I have tried to find my way
And the Way I have found is in You.
Their ways are not Your ways
As my ways are not Yours.

Thanks be to God!

I no longer have regard for their crestfallen faces,
Their languishing looks
Their disbelief that You could, You would
Lead me onto a different path that can be
    Equally or more effective for You,
    Equally or more obedient to You,
    Ultimately the Way of humility and joy.

So I wrestle off of that pin
My blood dripping down its spine.
I lift the glass with my ploughed back
And fall into Your wonderful Light.
    Your Light that graciously illumines,
    Your Light that powerfully transforms,
    Ultimately, the Light of Salvation for all.

Free me to fly into Your expectations and hopes,
Your dreams for me and all the dear ones.
Truly, others can lay plans for me.
But, You know the Way
And I will walk in it.

Let Me Lay It Down

Let me lay it down
This white and fairest skin.
The epidermis that has
Dominated so very many.
Please let me lay it down.

Let me lay it down
The fathers’ sins are hard to bear.
Those sins they press against
The temples of my head.
Oh, let me lay it down.

Let me lay it down.
Not because I despise it,
Nor because I refute it,
But because I see how in history it has been used.
So, please let me lay it down.

Let me lay it down.
I do not intend toward conquest.
I do not plan oppression.
I do not desire dominion.
So, please, please let me lay it down.

Let me lay it down,
That strange fruit of Billy’s,
That shackle, that chain
The whip and that pain!
Oh, do let me lay it down.

Let me lay it down,
Not to forget it or refuse it,
But to move to newness,
To find,
    With you
The lovingkindness.
I want to lay it down.

Let me lay it down
And if you lay yours down, too
Perhaps we can come to terms
Can come to images of the new
As we all lay it down together.

 

© M.R.Hyde 2025

 

On Being an Artist

 

As at other times when life has shut down on me, during the pandemic I turned to the arts to mentally survive. Since that time I have been very active as an artist again while continuing to write. I wrote a poem about being an artist and a Christian a while back and share it here now along with the announcement that I have the privilege of being selected to show two works of art at a local gallery. It's great fun to show my artwork again and deeply rewarding to feel like a true artist--not because I got into a show, but because my brain is filled with images, colors and desire to put art out into the world. 

 

I only know Whose I am

When a brush is in my hand

Or my fingers are stained with ink

From that well

Or a pencil is between my fingers

And pressing against paper

Or a brush is filled with pigment

Flowing onto canvas

Or when a Bible is splayed out before me.

© M.R.Hyde 2022

 Jumbo Shrimp Art Show - Cottonwood Center for the Arts

 

Torbjorn © M.R.Hyde 2022

Safely In © M.R.Hyde 2022

Enjoy the Arts and Support your Local Artists!

 

Pattern

She had seen it before.
It always amazed and fascinated her.
And she saw them everywhere.
The pan-toasted roll with its raised and braised
Tectonic plates was
The aerial view of the earth
In golden hues instead of blue.
The inner ear was
The cross-cut of the sea shell.
The clouds were
The cream rolling up in her coffee.
The tree rings were
The solar system.

The Creator’s fingerprint
Was everywhere.
He couldn’t declare that
He was innocent
Of the crime of creating the universe.
Nor would He.

M.R. Hyde
Copyright 2019

Where Did the Ravens Get the Bread?

Where did the ravens get the bread

From which great prophet Elijah fed?

In the middle of the drought

From where did black beaks pull it out?

How far did they fly with tasty crumbs

To drop them for the teeth and gums?

Where did those ravens find their feasts?

At toes of mongrel, tearing beasts?

Did they pluck meat from those bloody jaws

Or wait ‘til slumber rendered pause?

Perhaps they snatched bread from the road

Dropped by soldiers tired and cold.

Or perchance they stole it right and well

From the lavish table of that Jezebel?

Perhaps it was taken from her fare

Stolen quickly on a daring dare

From other ravens strongly mocking,

“Jezebel will make you flocking!”

Black wings may have taken from her table

Stealing all that they were able

And swiftly flew to rock and water

Where Elijah was avoiding slaughter.

Where did the ravens get that bread

From which Elijah was well fed?

It came from God who feeds the sparrows,

Who feeds his beloved despite the arrows

Thrown by wicked men and women

Intended to harm and finally end them.

If you are near a rock and stream

Don’t despair or alter dreams

Look up and see! There comes a raven

Sent to you from none but Heaven!

Copyright 2019 M.R. Hyde 

1 Kings 17:7-24