Poems by Reneé Drummond-Brown from Usa-Pennsylvania

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού

Bio: Reneé Drummond-Brown is a renowned author, creative writer, publisher, and poet residing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She holds a Master of Arts degree in creative writing with a concentration in poetry from Chatham University. She also holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Christian Ministry Leadership with a minor in biblical theology studies, graduating summa cum laude from Geneva College of Western Pennsylvania. In addition, she received an Associate of Arts degree in Christian Ministry at The Center for Urban Biblical Ministry (CUBM), where she served as class president. Drummond-Brown is an accomplished poetess with experience in creative writing and authored several books to her credit. Her poetic works are recognized across the globe.

Still, I Write
(The Answer to: Dr. Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise”)

By: Author Reneé Drummond-Brown

Of course, they wrote you down
in history. You proved them wrong
in truth. But you planted for me calligraphy,
I’m heard on paper
all the way to God’s celestial

My passion for writing does
upset them. But I can’t be concerned.
Cause you left for me a gift from God,
and it’ll be writing that
I’ll forever yearn.

Just like God’s Raven leaving the Ark.
She flew to and fro.
Until the waters were dried up from off
the earth. Because of you. I’ll forever write
in the skies,
and dirt.
This for certain
I do know.

I was
that broken soul.
And bowed
so low to Satan’s pit. With nowhere to get,
but up,
I allowed my pen
to place me within God’s Script (ure).

I know my writings excite you.
And with God for you, who can be
against us, in giving me that nod.
I finally hear
your words loud and clear.
The poems you left behind are messages
of truths,
the facades.

Some have shot my writings to pieces. While others
have damaged me over time. But God, sends
a ram in a bush,
a quill,
and wrote for me
Ecclesiastes 3.
He Author’s the time and place with limited seasons for their
hurtful rhymes.

From the shame
you told me to write.
I write.
From the pain
you told me to write.
I write.
I am that Raven Blackbird with a large wingspan
“Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight,”
flying all over God’s land.

I too want to leave behind my unhealthy fears.
So, in the dark,
I write.
But in the light, I see the imagery
our ancestors gave to you,
which you passed onto me.

you are the dream, Barack Obama was the hope
and I
am the slave set free (to write).
Still, I write.
I write.
I’ll write.

Dedicated To: A Tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou
A B.A.D. poem


By: Author Reneé Drummond-Brown

Second to none.
Own my own masters.
Trusting no one.

Made my own way.
Paid my dues.
Put my poetry on the global map.
Gots’ ‘nothin left to lose.

Own my own surname.
Grown thicker-skin
and now know,
jUSt how
to pimp this poignant poetic poesy game.

Who am I?

I’m ‘Le Reneé.


my writings have sum PO-WER-FUL, PO-WER-FUL, PO-WER-FUL
southern (manner-ABLE) wings,
that the world didn’t give
and the world can’t take away.


My mindZ’ I before e’s
except after c’s
are here to stay.


All poetic law
is fulfilled:

pen to pen
poet to poet
poem to poem
poesy to poesy
poetic to poetic
poetry to poetry

author to author
write to write
verse to verse
jingle to jingle
ode to ode

reason to reason
rhyme to rhyme
elegy to elegy
limerick to limerick
couplet to couplet
sonnet to sonnet
publisher to publisher
publishing to publishing
and riddle to riddle

One jot or one tittle
are realistic rhythmic reasoned rhymes
to my exquisite fine-tuned lines.

Don’t need man’s approval
for my engineered, masterful,
up-scale, respectable,
sophisticated, prestigious, fashionable
one-of-a-kind poetic designs.


That be me…

You best ask ‘sumbody…
from ‘da north, east, SOUTH and/or the west

Simply the best of the best…


Cause I believe in poetry.
And I believe in me.

Dedicated to: Renee’s Poems with Wings are ‘FOREVER’ Words in Flight!
Because EYE said so…

A RocDeeRay Production

Pimp My Ride

By: Author Reneé Drummond-Brown

Popcorn pimp,
‘livin on another’s pimp steak
with your pimp stick
all pimped up
in your pimpmobile

Stop pimping women off of the computer
Stop pimping (using people) for partnerships
Stop pimping the church (tithes and offerings)
Stop pimping your Momma’s heart
Stop pimping your woman’s pockets
Stop pimping your children (children’s children)  
Stop pimping late night walkers

Popcorn pimp,
‘livin on another’s pimp steak
with your pimp stick
all pimped up
in your pimpmobile

pimping ain’t what you do,
it’s who you are…

weak and lame
that be you. Go get a job.

Dedicated to: User(s) in the third degree

A RocDeeRay Production

Tell em

By: Author Reneé Drummond-Brown

My mind can’t escape that slave.
I think of her
14 years old.
Spoiled twice though.
She wanna play
Cept, no time for childish games,
All grown, tried, tested, proven and torn.

I hear her dictating in my head(s)
“she said.”

Tell em bout that slave ship, where my cargo began
I only had one right, and that right was to remain silent, my friend
Tell em bout Goree Island; Atlantic Slave Trade
The Door of No Return which housed the so called problematic slave(s)
Tell em bout that auction block
The gavel would soon drop and I’d hear

“Sold: To The Highest Bidder!”

Tell em bout my BEATINGS and those awful cries! Not to mention,
The Scars
that will last my children’s, children’s, children’s lifetime
Tell em bout that phony smile, for Missy’s
big surprise!
Tell em bout my anguish, while I
Suffered in those fields, blistering hands and feet, and no-one to care
what I felt.
Tell em bout my belly warmin Massa’s in ‘their’ midnight, Just say no;
You see, I didn’t have that right
Tell em how I begged to the ground, to keep
Massa’s half breed chillins’ that wasn’t even mine
Tell em how I was lied to and tortured, Just because
Numb to the touch and absolutely no feelings at all, to the point
I became hard!
Tell em bout those BLACK boys I HAD to WATCH hang, from a noose
On a tree
Tell em bout the shackles on my neck, hands and my feet.
Tell em I told it all to the Father and the same measure
done to me
will be waiting in heaven 70×70 to meet their
children’s, children’s, children’s needs.
Tell em the Underground Railroad never came for me; I died a slave
the day they came and took me from my genealogy.

Tell em Renee’ tell em
All I ever wanted was to be set free!

Dedicated to:  That slave girl who visits my dreams (I TOLD IT!)

A B.A.D. poem


By: Author Reneé Drummond-Brown

Solemn is the face of a woman who’s stripped of her identity.
Solemn are the eyes of a woman acting as though she does not see.
Solemn is the breast of a woman whose nutrients are stolen by any and everybody’s babies.
Solemn is the tongue of a woman whose truths can never bleed.
Solemn is the heart of a woman witnessing son after son 6 feet deep.
Solemn is the hands of a woman working for everyone for-free.
Solemn is the nose of a woman breathing in dirt while exhaling clean.
Solemn is the ears of a woman who hears-all but, never speaks.

Solemn is hygienic makeup that can’t cover-up her paradoxical sleep.
Solemn owns a black woman’s facial history.

Le ‘coloured gals don’t speak
we walk by faith lugubriously.

Dedicated to: My quiet ‘sustahs. I hear your face. I hear it. I too walk solemnly.

A B.A.D. poem