Ramona Robbins Porter Newton

Detroit, Michigan

Ramona, a retired foreign language teacher, first wrote poems and essays for her high school paper. In 1981, inspired by her graduate studies in Francophone literature, she published her poetry book, Sililoquy. In 1983, Ramona was guest speaker for an author's luncheon in Lansing, MI, and also spoke at an international conventon at MSU in 1985 entitled "Black Women Writers of the Diaspora". Her poem, "Eulogy to an Unknown Frreman", will be permanently exhibited in Freedman's Cemetary in Dallas, TX in 2000 when the cemetary project is completed; and a novel, ghostwritten by Ramona, will be published in 2000.

Day of Decision

Whose day is this?
Who seals it with a kiss?
Advance! Step bravely forth!
From east, west, south or cardinal north
And claim it as your own
Refusing rightly to disown
The weepy gray of scowling nimbus clouds
Blanketing the aspect of this day like shrouds
And cloaking an offended sulky sun
Who forthwith sends his beams where skies are fair;
I've seen such knavery from the air-
The black storn raging o'er a ravished plain
Next to fair meadows bathing in the sun - the twain -
The yin and yang of nature's whim-
Point/ counterpoint of life's eternal hymn.
Carpe diem! The somber day is mine!
I've seized it as if 'twere the finest wine!
I'll drink the cup till not one sip remains
Save the red drop which e'er man's bosom stains.

Haiku

Twelve long stemmed roses                                       Hurrican Cyclops'
Ablaze in a cool crystal                                                Stormy iris eddies 'round
Vase 'midst baby's breath.                                            A black pinned pupil.

Euolgy To An Unknown Freedman

We transient men of clay can well attest to
The inherent fraility of the human frame
And do likewise confess that most of our names
Are inevitably reduced to whispering ashes of fond recollections
Scattering before the breath of the night wind
That blows out the twilight of our day;
However, unlike this freedman, we can draw comfort from our nostalgic
prediction
To leave our mortal names engraved in stone upon the sod
While he could only cling to the clarity of his perception
That his name had been inscribed in the mind of God.
Though anonymous here, the past deeds of this seemingly lost life of
sorrows
Still impact on our today and our tomorrows,
For the complex fabric of our times is thickly interwoven
With the sturdy cotton threads he spun upon his wheel of life:
Yes, we've heard of this freedman - this "motherless child" of Africa -
Whose matchless paeans still echo here and do persuade us even now
That we are, indeed, standing in an active valley of "them dry bones"
With no need of rows upon rows of labelled stones,
For it is certain that "on that great gettin' up mornin' "
This unidentified sleeping soul is going to stand up and tell us his name!