Sunday, April 16, 2006

More Work And Words of Art from Featured Artivist of the Moment: Kiarra Lynn Smith

Sister Nineties Literary Group (S~NLG) is a literary and arts outreach organization started by the multitalented and incomparable Mrs.Debra Morrowloving a.k.a. Mama D...The organization is headquartered in St. Louis, Missouri U.S.A. but has chapters throughout the U.S.A. and membership throughout the world...The talents of the members are showcased through several publications each year...To learn more about this beautiful organization please e-mail Mrs. Morrowloving at and send letter(s) of correspondence to the following address:
P.O. BOX 4506
St.Louis,MO 63108

For All the Fans and Supporters as well as Haters and Non-Believers,
Here's some more work from the multi-talented Featured Artivist of the Moment, the great Kiarra Lynn Smith...The following image and the poems can be found in the 2005 Kwanzaa Edition of Sister Nineties Literary Journal entitled "Cultivating Family"...This time her subject matter is the 2005 Hurricane Katrina Fiasco and Tragedy:

FEMA Copyrighted 2005 by Kiarra Lynn Smith

FEMA Blues

FEMA, oh Lord, FEMA
Tell Me, Why are you so mean?
FEMA, my girl, FEMA
Tell me, why are you SO mean?
To treat a Black man wrong
Way down in New Orleans.

When I was hungry
Girl, you didn't give me food
O! When I was STARVING
Girl, you didn't give me food
And people were upset
About your evil attitude

When I was soaking wet
Hon, you didn't give me clothes
When EVERYONE was wet
You didn't give them any clothes
Told me that would break the law
And you just turned up your nose.

You heard my screams for help
But stopped help right in its tracks
When people cried for help
You stopped help right in its tracks
You stabbed me in the heart
While you stabbed me in the back.

You cheated on me, FEMA
Left me broke without a cent
You cheated on me, liar
Left me broke without a cent
I caught you in the arms
Of the U.S. President

FEMA, oh Lord, FEMA
Tell me, why are you so mean?
FEMA, my girl, FEMA
Honey, you KNOW that you're mean
To treat Black folks like dirt
Way down in New Orleans


I don't know where my mommy is
So I am all alone
On a small cot all by myself
Inside the Superdome
I don't know where she's gone

I have a blankie and a toy
I'm sure she is someplace else
But they cannot replace
The hugs and kisses Mommy gives
Or smiles upon her face

She told me to let go of her
Yet, I kept holding on
But great, wet hands pulled her away

I KNOW that she survived
She isn't dead! She isn't dead!
My mommy is alive!

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