James Cotton

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With some moody stuff...




Don’t know all

Dass gonna come out

But I will make

You folks feel.

Mebbe some spastic sounds.

Un-practised.

And wander wid me

And my boys

Down streets of hurting.

Loneliness

Abandonment

Tight cash

Quandary

Lost love.

Misplaced dreams.

Some fine beauty

In the recollect.

Ride wid me Friends.

Diss night is special.

Appointed.

Focused

Vulnerable.

Sharing what might

Not otherwise be.

You’n Me.



(Cotton...changed our name...working fo’ dem white folks...Displaced...King Cotton, provider, purposer, painstaker, punisher, Providencer all in one...still the hot ole country and swaying trees and birds and campfires always in the blood, thoughts and yearning. Sing about it. Rhyme about it. Remembering always.)



Out of West Africa. Captivity. The struggle. The near misses. At sea. In the States, Canadian Maritimes. Freetown Sierra Leone, Britain. Tales to tell. Troubles to change. One woman in true heroic grit. Written by a Canadian of mixed bloods. And written convincingly.

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