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Commemorating and Celebrating the life of Marcus Mosiah Garvey!

SETAPHIRE

The First Book In The SetaPhire Series!

Quirky, Historical, Educational, and Entertaining!

Setaphire is a coming-of-age story of an awkward African American adolescent who’s gifted an unusual present on her 11th birthday. The Truth! What is this truth? Her name is not Sapphire. It’s Setaphire! What is Setaphire supposed to SET A FIRE to?

The chosen journey begins on their 11th birthday, whisked away to an unfamiliar town and an unknown academy modeled on a Black History curriculum and Marcus Garvey’s philosophies. The academy provides support and guidance. As the instructors wade the chosen through the tempestuous of self-doubt and to the realization that they are Black Beauty and Black Excellence.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Written Anonymously. Published in 1848.

I present to you a poem entitled….

The Avenger of the Slave

Who shall avenge the slave? I stood and cried.

The earth! The earth! The echoing sea replied.

I turned me to the Ocean; but each wave

Declined to be the avenger of the slave.

Who shall avenge the slave? My species cry,

The winds, floods, the lightnings of the sky!

I turned to these--from them one echo ran--

'The right avenger of the slave is man.

Man was my fellow--in his sight I stood.

Wept, and besought him by the voice of blood.

Sternly he looked, as proud on earth he trod,

Then said. "The avenger of the slave is God."

I looked in prayer to Heaven--a white 'twas still;

And then me thought God's voice replied, "I will."

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Today, the spotlight shines on a poem published in 1848, written by M. W.

Without further ado, I present to you...

FREE THE SLAVE

Shall we proclaim that we are free,

Live in a land of liberty,

When on the dash of every wave,

Comes the loud groaning of the slave?

Shall we raise freedom's flag on high,

When every breeze doth bear the sigh

Of Afric's children as they toil

To dress and till our country's soil?

And shall we revel on the gain

That makes them groan and sigh with pain,

Say, should we heap the glittering gold

For which our countryman are sold?

Then shall we see our Maker's hand

Lifted in vengeance o'er our land,

To take from us our boasted power,

And make these demons spirits cower.

Ah! dare you with an iron rod,

Oppress the image of our God--

Defy the Almighty's great decree,

That bids you let the oppress go free?

Then pray in faith to Heaven's high throne,

That you may reap as you have sown.

Will God stoop down with listening ear,

The prayer of hypocrites to ear?

And will he ope the heavenly gates

To him who his own children hates?

No! at his bar you must appear

To answer for the crimes done here,

And he will give the just decree,

That "ye have done it unto me."

Go humbly, then, and offer there,

The contrite spirit, humble prayer,

Wash out the crimson from your heart,

And from your evil ways depart;

No more the heavy burdens bind,

And peace and pardon you will find.

Then can you swell the choral song,

With seraphs in the heavenly throng,

On golden harps your anthem raise,

In one eternal song of praise.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

The North Star to Freedom!

This poem appeared in the June 2, 1848 issue of the North Star.

COME, COME AWAY

O, come, come away in bondage now repining,

The Northern Star will guide your far--

O come, come away,

Where law no cringing bondman knows,

And thou secure from rytant foes,

Shalt find a sweet repose--

O come, come away.

Though love's gentle tendrils around thee are

twining,

Stay not for this uncertain bliss,

O come, come away,

Enough of unrequited toil,

And stiffened gore, on Southern soil

Thou'lt leave for those who spoil--

O come, come away.

O come, come away, kind friends will aid their fleeing:

The gush of soul, laws can't control,

O come, come way:

Thy foes, with steeds and bounds, tis true,

Thy weary feet may long pursue,

Yet freedom full in view--

O come, come away.

May He who rules in heaven and earth, all-seeing,

Save from alarm, and every harm--

O come, come away;

He helps all those who use their might--

To thy own self hast thou not right?

Then why delay thou flight?

O come, come away.

O come, come away--how sweet will be the meeting

With those who've fled with bondage dread--

O come, come away!

O haste thee from thy misery:

God grant thee freedom's to land to see,

Enjoy liberty.

O come, come away.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Today, I shine the spotlight on a poem written by John L entitled "Slave's Soliloquy."

SLAVE'S SOLILOQUY

They Say these stars do shine more bright

Than those of the Northern zone,

And these skies do glow with a warmer light

Than Freedom's land doth own.

They tell me that where the bondman flee

My brothers starve and die;

But oh! I would go where my kith are free,

And with them in their cold graves lie.

No greater boon than this I crave,

For this my spirit yearns;

The spirit of freedom, though but a slave,

Within my bosom burns.

And in this hut so dark and drear,

Gazing out upon the sky.

I swear for freedom's shore I steer;

And free myself or die.

No more the white man's whip shall scar

This body bruised and sore;

I'll steer my bark by the bright north star,

and sail for freedom's shore.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Today the spotlight shines on a poem written by Miss E. C. King.

THE FREED SOUL

From earth thy spirit hath flown,

Far beyond the etherial blue;

True the clods of the vale o'er thy body we cast,

But thy spirit the grave did eschew.

To the city of God it hath flown,

Where sin and disease never come,

Where sighing and death are no more,

For God is the light of that home.

There wilt thou dwell in the city of gold,

There by the clear-flowing river,

Where the life-giving tree its fruitage unfolds,

Thou shalt linger forever and ever.

By the great white throne thou shalt stand,

And shalt harp with the harpers in glory,

Whilst thy white-robed spirit triumphantly joins

in the new song, "Thous lamb we adore thee."

Thou shall chant on the ocean of glass,

Which is all intermingled with fire,

Most sweetly the praise of the Father and Son,

And thy hands shall awake the glad lyre.

 APRIL IS N

A. P. SMITH

BE UP AND DOING

Whatsoever the hands find to do, do with thy might, for there is no work nor device in the grave

whither thou goest."

Exceeding far the swiftest steed,

Unseen and silent, with them speed,

And fast as stars fleet through the sky,
The wings of time are passing by.

So onward rushes life along,

As brief as e'en a trifler's song,

Which, while 'tis heard, died on the air,

Which goes, but who can tell us where?

How swift the moments fly!

The years how few, before we die,

Before we merge into the gloom,

The darkness surging around the tomb!

Then, oh! be strong to serve the right,

Your arm nerved high with holy might;

And ever hence, while yet you may,

Stern duty's clarion voice obey.

Aye, do! for know there's no return

To do with trifler's now may spurn,

Although, perchance with anguish deep,

Neglected works the spirit weep.