Poem: Plantation Block

Plantation Block

Downtown Petersburg Virginia

Along the brick roads of the south;

Stood a building made of old wooden planks;

Though washed of the past;

I still saw the blood and bodies cast-

Lingering on the railroads to the platform;

I could hear the call of the auctioneer from-

two hundred-three hundred- four hundred- five hundred


young strong nigger boy

Done gone to Mr. Jefferson’s plantation, ya’ know

Crackling of the whip

Don’t care if it left his family waiting

Body worth more than gold

Yet in modern day, folks

Dance across the ground in which their ancestors were sold

Turned the old farmer’s market to a club

Still making money off the backs of us…

Except this time we sweat on the floor

Back then ….

It was down the street on the auction block

Oddly; those same youth make a fool of themselves on

College hills

But of the slaves, came shrills;

from whippings til—

Alright niggers time to bring it in

Betta have my product or get a whippin’

Darkness overtakes the shack house

Smell flesh from the smoke clouds

Flogged bodies take to the night

Smoked out for not doing right

Slaves sizzle in the fear

Big Mama shed a tear

Burned and branded, blood

Trickles her skin like wounded animals

Yet wounded animals are nursed back to health

The wealth, brought out in this plantation block

Value changed but money not

two dollars, three  dollars, five dollars; ten dollars


Dance across sorrows

Buy themselves into the party

Music so loud it drowns out our ancestor’s story.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s