At it's best poetry has the power to encapsulate our deepest emotions, solidify our most abstract ideas and help us to make sense of the world around us. Poetry can also be an effective tool for social critique. From the Last poets and Allen Ginsberg to Martin Espada and Patricia Smith, American poets have long used verse to capture not only their own moods but the attitudes and ideas of their time.

Oscar Grant's death lit the creative sparks of several Bay Area poets and resulted in an outpouring of free verse, spoken word, traditional and experimental poems from a diverse collection of writers. Here are some that moved us.

For Oscar Grant
in memory of Diallo, Stelly, Graham, and all the other unarmed soldiers

by Ayodele Nzinga

they came for you in the night

I look for them each morning

I know you weren’t ready to go
but I bet you heard the warnings
felt the brush of your own dark wings
in the corridors of injustice
understood long ago its just us
stranded in the whirlwind
surrounded by mad men
we stay hunted and blunted
by many men trying to make a fortune
off our misfortune while we
struggle for our portion
we wade in misery
we see the source and
struggle with the forces
that determine who lives
who dies
we remember through the lies

yo people looked for you in the morning
I worry bout mine in the night
sometimes they come without warning
harvesting Golden State warriors
strange fruit stewing in bitter soup
in the city where chickens
are known to roost
we all walk the yellow line
two stepping through nets
often tossed up in the snares
knowing its not a matter of fair
the pains abundant
no need to share
pushed and pulled
welcomed no where
trying to stay up out the cross hairs
we develop don’t fuck w/me stares
we learn to mean mug
afraid to show love
where the living is hard
and dying is too damn easy

they came for you in the night
executing your future
handcuffed, face down
they shoot you

we hold our breath
and silently scream
knowing we could be you
Baldwin told Angela
and its never been more true
if they came for you in
the night they may be here
by morning light
they shot me when they shot you
I died with Diallo, Stelly and Graham too
drowned myself in tears with their mothers
and the mothers of all the other
Golden State warriors
face down on city streets
doing time
walking the yellow line
where living is a crime
in every ghetto you can find
they got murder on they mind

They took you in the night
I hold my breath in the morning
looking for ‘em
like I look for light
and it ain’t right
this living in fear
not right
that you ain’t here
we can’t help but shed tears
chickens roost in broad day light
& when Little Wolf barks
the sound is so clear
it’s the sound of anger
storming in the morning
after living a torn life
in a cloud of fear
wake up
the jungle’s on fire
if you can’t smell the smoke
you’re either stupid or a liar
& if suffering is life
we can’t get no higher
so we gotta rise
gotta stand to put out the fire
and if you think we’ll forget
you still stupid or a liar
better hope we rise
or we’ll all
be consumed in the fire
should we let it burn
should we let it burn
let everybody take a turn
let it burn
let it burn

you come for us in the night
got us up against the wall
in the flood light
you come for us in the morning
at the door with no warning
leaving families and whole communities
mourning, well ya better take the warning
anger turns to storm and
can ya see us in morning
we outside tonight
trying to reach some
better overstanding
can’t keep dying to live
give us light to shine
we ain’t asking
we demanding
can’t keep coming from the table
empty handed,
can’t keep living branded
justice might be blind
but she got two good hands
and it don’t rain on one man’s house
we tired of holding on
bout to let it go
and I know you know
it don’t rain on one man’s house
we tired of holding on
bout to let it go
and Jah know
it don’t rain on one man’s house

ONE (Ode to Oscar Grant)

 by Shiko

One
One man
One man in uniform
One man in uniform with
one

one steel
one steel hard
one steel hard cold gun
in one

one hand with

one
one man
one man face down
one man face down on the hard ground
begging for mercy hoping to live for his

one daughter
who will cry every night for his
one soul

For Oscar

 by Sheilagh "Cat" Brooks

How do I explain to my three year old why im marching in these streets
How do I explain to my three year old why she aint seen me all week
How do I explain to my three year old what his death has done to me
How do I explain to my three year old another black man was killed by police

They killed him
Shot him in the back in cold blood
And now we stand in awe and anger and pain
Im not exactly sure why we're shocked
Its not new, just more of the same
Black blood flowing in the white man’s streets
Black blood flowing and yet they’ll set that pig free
History repeats itself and still we never learn
Perhaps the only the way they’ll know is if we let this fucker burn

I am Oscar Grant
That is what the masses scream
I see the thousands in the streets
And feel Im in a dream
How can we be Oscar Grant
Will we be there when his baby girl screams
And will we be there to answer the question
When she asks why there are no cell phones in heaven
So see now I'm on a hell bent mission
To upturn, destroy and tear down this system
That murders my men without retribution
Because that bullshit badge somehow gives them permission
To do as they see fit

So...
How do I explain to my three year old why I'm marching in these streets
How do I explain to my three year old why she aint seen me all week
How do I explain to my three year old what his death has done to me
How do I explain to my three year old another black man was killed by police

And now we’ve reached the breaking point
But I wonder what we’ll do
Is this a fight for Oscar Grant
Or an attack on the red white and blue
His death has stamped a clear impression
Of the mentality that was the birth of the system
That enslaved us then and murders us now
And still there are some who wonder how
This could happen here and today

But we're not free – still merely slaves
jim crow just has another name
with the cops and the klan playing out the same games
slave owners and chasers did back in the day
History repeats itself and yet we never learn
Maybe the only way they’ll know is if we let this fucker burn

But….
How do I explain to my three year old why im marching in these streets
How do I explain to my three year old why she aint seen me all week
How do I explain to my three year old what his death has done to me
How do I explain to my three year old another black man was killed by police

Im in these streets cause I have to be
Cause I cant stand the thought of it being you and not me
And there is nothing else that matters to me
With your birth, I finally reached the end
Of saying to myself, well one day when
The white man decides to set me free
Ill finally discover what it means to be me
But that’s not the fate I want for you
And THAT is why I do what I do

And maybe one day you’ll understand
And maybe one day you won't
But I couldn’t stand to be in my skin
If I didn’t teach you to fight to win
That nothing matters if you’re not free
That is my hope for my legacy
That I’m raising a revolutionary
And she won’t have to be cautionary
In her struggles for freedom
And revolts for her rights
And God(dess) knows I hope I’m teaching you right
So, yes baby girl, I’ll be late again tonight

Still...
How do I explain to my three year old why im marching in these streets
How do I explain to my three year old why she aint seen me all week
How do I explain to my three year old what his death has done to me
How do I explain to my three year old another black man was killed by police

Face Down

[For Oscar Grant III-----1986-2009]

by Dee Allen

Smashed vehicle windows

Cannot scream.
Burning dumpsters
Cannot unleash their agony into the smoky evening sky.
Neither damaged
T-Mobile nor
McDonald’s nor
Wells Fargo
Can feel pain.
Underground subways
Cannot fight their sudden closure.
So there’s no need to wring hands & agonise

Over property destruction.

Demolished property
Can be replaced.
The once
Full lives
Taken by law enforcement
Never are.

Brutality, never an “accident”.
It’s systemic
And replicates itself
In different cities to the nth degree.

Bleeding
Stony hearts blame such handiwork
On “a few bad apples”.
And everyone knows
How that tired old maxim goes.

Tell that to the last
Victim inside the chalkline.

Reason for anger,
Cause for alarm,
Millions have seen.
Father of one,
Age 22.
First cruel hours
Of the new year.
Young witnesses.
Four cops.
Facepunch.
Submission.
Face down.
Cold concrete.
Triggerlust.
Hot lead.
Close range.
Loud boom.
Backwound.
Panicscreams.
Slowbleed.
Here lies
Father of one,
Age 22.

Face down.
Subway platform
Was the killing field.

The truth cannot be erased,
Try as the guilty might,
Covering their crime.

Father of one,
Age 22.
His name joins
A seemingly endless
Sea of names,
Compendium of martyrs

To their same last sights:
Uniforms & weapons drawn.
Manifested
Needless State violence
Upon the unarmed.
A little Black girl of four
In Hayward goes to bed
Without her father tucking her in.
A Brown woman sleeps
Without her lover’s face to awaken to the next morning.

Reason for anger,
Cause for alarm.
The powderkeg
Called Oakland exploded twice.
Now that a legitimised
Slayer has been captured & released
Into the general public on bail,
A new explosion looms over the future’s horizon.

More fire
Put to the ‘keg.
Perhaps the murderer’s protectors
Will take notice this time
Because that young father they’ve targeted
Was one of us------

He could’ve been anyone

Anyone’s son, anyone’s brother,
Anyone’s neighbour, anyone’s friend
Anyone Black & Brown
Could be the one in submission, lying face down
In the path of a lethal device
Engineering their quick demise.
___________________________
Dee Allen is a local poetry writer, spoken word performer and activist from San Francisco.

Editor's Note: Poems by Shiko, Sheilagh "Cat" BrooksDee Allen and are a part of the Urban Habitat Oscar Grant Memorial Arts Project.  See the entire collection on the Urban Habitat website.