DOBM Featured Artist
This is the spot where I will feature all types of writers and poets that have touched me. If you have an idea of a person I should feature please don't hesitate to hit me up.
The Black Man
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Just Tryin' To Be Loved By J'son M. Lee
Go to www.tryintobeloved.com to order this great book!
About the Book
It has taken almost two years for Mark to put the pieces of his shattered life back together following a devastating breakup with his first love, Tony. Determined to never allow anyone to hurt him again, Mark becomes a recluse and throws himself into his career. Confronted with the demons of his parents' abandonment and this ‘yearning to be loved,’ Mark finds his life spiraling out of control, unless he comes to terms with his past.
Gramma' is the only person to ever show Mark unconditional love. She was his safe harbor through the turbulent storms and his biggest cheerleader through all of his accomplishments. Can Gramma' convince Mark that he deserves love and that it awaits him if he will only open his heart?
Charismatic real estate executive, Jared Muse, knows that Mark is still healing and is resigned to give him all the time and space he needs - until Tony re-enters Mark’s life with hopes of reconciling. Now all bets are off and Tony will do whatever it takes and by ANY means necessary to reclaim what’s his.
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The trains were especially crowded during Monday morning’s rush hour. One always learns to adapt to make the trip more bearable. I think I had almost mastered my plan of action for my commute in to work. I knew exactly what area of the platform to board the train to guarantee the same seat each day. I was such a creature of habit. To accomplish this, I rode the train one stop up in the opposite direction. This stop was the last stop on the line (the first stop for the change in direction). I was always one of the first people to board. I nestled into the very last seat on the car. Just like with airplanes, I had a preference for the window seat. As I looked out of the window, I noticed for the first time that it was an usually hazy morning – almost daunting. Despite the haze, I could still see the orange and purple brilliance of the horizon.
I entered the combination to unlock my briefcase and took out Passion by up and coming writer, Victor Hayes. I met Hayes the past weekend at a book signing at Karibu Books. Karibu was my favorite bookstore because, as the name signified, I always felt welcome. I had never heard of Hayes, and just happened to be in the bookstore that day looking for something new and exciting to read. I noticed a poster prominently displayed in the window behind the cash registers announcing his appearance. He had an interesting enough face, so I picked up his book and skimmed the synopsis on the back and was immediately intrigued - a novel about a man coming to terms with his past and realizing that the man of his dreams is actually the lover from hell . I stood in line to get his autograph for what seemed like hours, but I guess it was actually only like forty five minutes. He was very cordial and from the brief conversation I had with him, he seemed to really have his act together. I found him to be even more intriguing when I found out that he was a southern boy like me.
I got lost in the book and hardly noticed that I had already gone the ten stops before my transfer. I put my book away and headed upstairs to board the Red Line. One more stop and I was at my destination. I exited the metro station and walked down the steps towards 12th Street . I have always had this awful habit of walking with my head down. When I was a little boy, my gramma’ would always say, “Look up boy, yo’ feets is still dere!”
As I rounded the corner of the building there he was. He motioned “What’s up?” with his head as he smiled. I did the same, and simultaneously said, “Good morning.” He had a freshly shaved head, was about 6’2”, very dark skinned (“blue black” some call it), bow-legged, with full lips. He had a shadow beard and moustache...
About the Author
J'SON M. LEE, though born in Brooklyn, NY, is essentially a North Carolinian. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill with a degree in Speech Communication and a concentration in Performance Studies. He is 36 years old and resides in Rockville, Maryland. J'son works for a prominent real estate firm in our nation's capital and recently received his RPA from the Building Owners and Managers Institute (BOMI). He is currently pursuing his FMA designation. J'son believes in using his gifts to educate and empower others. To that end, he recently wrote, produced and performed in his own one man show entitled "One Family's AIDS", which debuted in the Helen Hayes Gallery of National Theater (Washington, DC). This is his first novel. The author can be reached at jmccoylee@yahoo.com.
JOHNSON, James Weldon
Featured Artist is a profile of an outstanding writer. I will try each time to have a blurb and one of their writings. This go around it is Mr. James Weldon Johnson.
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
James Weldon Johnson (June 17, 1871 – June 26, 1938) was a leading American author, poet, early civil rights activist, and prominent figure in the Harlem Renaissance. Johnson is best remembered for his writing, which includes novels, poems, and collections of folklore. He was also one of the first African-American professors at New York University.
God's Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse is a 1927 book of poems by James Weldon Johnson patterned after African-American folk sermons. Johnson explains the title's use of the trombone by discussing the vocal and rhetorical qualities of a preacher he had recently heard who, he felt, exemplified the compelling and persuasive nature of the folk preacher, naming the trombone as "the instrument possessing above all others the power to express the wide and varied range of emotions encompassed by the human voice — and with greater amplitude." (p. 7) He also cited a dictionary definition that noted the trombone as being the brass instrument most resembling the range and sound of the human voice.
The Crucifixion
"The Crucifixion" – telling the Christian story of Jesus' crucifixion
From God's Trombone by James Weldon Johnson
Jesus, my gentle Jesus,
Walking in the dark of the Garden --
The Garden of Gethsemane,
Saying to the three disciples:
Sorrow is in my soul --
Even unto death;
Tarry ye here a little while,
And watch with me.
Jesus, my burdened Jesus,
Praying in the dark of the Garden --
The Garden of Gethsemane.
Saying: Father,
Oh, Father,
This bitter cup,
This bitter cup,
Let it pass from me.
Jesus, my sorrowing Jesus,
The sweat like drops of blood upon his brow,
Talking with his Father,
While the three disciples slept,
Saying: Father,
Oh, Father,
Not as I will,
Not as I will,
But let thy will be done.
Oh, look at black-hearted Judas --
Sneaking through the dark of the Garden --
Leading his crucifying mob.
Oh, God!
Strike him down!
Why don't you strike him down,
Before he plants his traitor's kiss
Upon my Jesus' cheek?
And they take my blameless Jesus,
And they drag him to the Governor,
To the mighty Roman Governor.
Great Pilate seated in his hall,--
Great Pilate on his judgment seat,
Said: In this man I find no fault.
I find no fault in him.
And Pilate washed his hands.
But they cried out, saying:
Crucify him!--
Crucify him!--
Crucify him!--
His blood be on our heads.
And they beat my loving Jesus,
They spit on my precious Jesus;
They dressed him up in a purple robe,
They put a crown of thorns upon his head,
And they pressed it down --
Oh, they pressed it down --
And they mocked my sweet King Jesus.
Up Golgotha's rugged road
I see my Jesus go.
I see him sink beneath the load,
I see my drooping Jesus sink.
And then they laid hold on Simon,
Black Simon, yes, black Simon;
They put the cross on Simon,
And Simon bore the cross.
On Calvary, on Calvary,
They crucified my Jesus.
They nailed him to the cruel tree,
And the hammer!
The hammer!
The hammer!
Rang through Jerusalem's streets.
The hammer!
The hammer!
The hammer!
Rang through Jerusalem's streets.
Jesus, my lamb-like Jesus,
Shivering as the nails go through his hands;
Jesus, my lamb-like Jesus,
Shivering as the nails go through his feet.
Jesus, my darling Jesus,
Groaning as the Roman spear plunged in his side;
Jesus, my darling Jesus,
Groaning as the blood came spurting from his wound.
Oh, look how they done my Jesus.
Mary,
Weeping Mary,
Sees her poor little Jesus on the cross.
Mary,
Weeping Mary,
Sees her sweet, baby Jesus on the cruel cross,
Hanging between two thieves.
And Jesus, my lonesome Jesus,
Called out once more to his Father,
Saying:
My God,
My God,
Why hast thou forsaken me?
And he drooped his head and died.
And the veil of the temple was split in two,
The midday sun refused to shine,
The thunder rumbled and the lightning wrote
An unknown language in the sky.
What a day! Lord, what a day!
When my blessed Jesus died.
Oh, I tremble, yes, I tremble,
It causes me to tremble, tremble,
When I think how Jesus died;
Died on the steeps of Calvary,
How Jesus died for sinners,
Sinners like you and me.
