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De' Ol' Negro House
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Modernist poet Jacqueline Amos, looks back through the history of slavery and the exchange behavior, it is not a white objective, poet Jacqueline sings, itís saving self, assisted by destruction of a word call freedom of the mind, the legacy of our ancestors, spoke in a different dialogue, the fire that rise, when the thought of captivity would subside the thought of being free, Jacqueline sings,

I sing not the story of slavery, but the wisdom to free self, there is no chains that bond man, when opportunity stands at the door, although she look back in time and portray courageous slaves who refused to be defined or confined the lynch mans rope.

Nevertheless my ancestors felt the pain, but the unity was stronger than the hard rock, that stands before the source of dignity, I too, sing America, of my ancestors who build this country through the pain and suffering, yet not forget, that these grounds that we walk, belong to the almighty lord, who created thee, so who is man? Who cries in darkness, to a man who owns nothing, only by those who elect them of the positions they hold, holding on to the concept.

I can know longer, think for self, changing the mind, and changing the man, building the legacies that God has ordained. Jacqueline expresses the loyalty of one God, her poetic visions groups, she speaks of the black arts movement in her descriptive languages, her writing brings the forms of dignity, under t he harsh treatment of dark symphony, through the spiritual beliefs, holding on to faith, and the loyalty to one God.


Our choice of Jacqueline Amos for taking part in the Guest Gallery of THE SECRETS OF PERFECTION is echoing to great victory of another black girl Miss World 2001 Agbani Darego.

Jacqueline Amos is very European artist for what we, Europeans, like her still more. I am sure she loves El Greco's dramatic qualities, late figure composition of Frans Hals, Rembrandt's lights. We can also compare her with German painter Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907) -- they both use soft forms and solve similar woman problems. Though Modersohn-Becker is nearer earth when Jacqueline goes equally easy as on ground as on high, Modersohn-Becker likes polychrome when Jacqueline Amos gives preference to monochrome painting. In picture Roots, she becomes more American.

Composition of Jacqueline Amos is masterful, light weight, sensitive and very beautiful. She is a maestro of composition. Her lucid, courageous and soft rhythms of dark and light reminds about rhythms of black jazz.

Jacqueline Amos is a poet. Poetics goes right through all her paintings, and naive Christian teaching about God and angels develops into lovely poetry. The titles of Jacqueline's pictures are a nice poetic continuation of artistic idea.

Thus in creation of Jacqueline Amos we can see an example of perfect synthesis of Negro, European, American arts and Christianity.

Jurate Macnoriute...

Copyright © Jacqueline Amos
Copyright © 2000-2002, The Secrets of Perfection

Womenís Liberation No Color No Form (Posted: Mar 20)

The image of women in all colors shapes and size, Cry the pain of the universe, it dose not discriminate. The image of women; whom has carried the same load. The pain that submerge through history of women; has joined together; in the name of warrior.

Through the legacy of womenís rights; a voice to vote, a voice to be herd. I women live the history; to be fought; without dismay.

Within these words; that cry; the same apply to all civilization, a voice to cry, within the realm of humanities; there shall be no dry eyes. Liberation to be united as one, the man the women, the child, life, civilization; Humanistic values interpreted by the forces that lives within his own concepts of what is right.

The battle of the sexes sings the same song, A right to be herd and a liberty to be respected, Within the sub cultures of freedom, of humanities; which man dictates, who shall have the right to respect, and liberal rights of freedom.

The pain of culture, has inflicted the source of a world order, through the back door we cry freedom, the roots our own family tree;

The respect of man, who lives within his own, Selfish dreams, the mother, the women, the warrior, Of pretense of a want to be perfect king. Who am I to cry? When the tears of image; Have subjected its denial, of a perfect image;

Oh say can you see; I the woman a perfect image, to lead, I feel the pain of women, mother, sister, lets not forget the struggle of systematic slave labor, that we have all felt the wipe of poverty, within the realms of Our family tree, lets not forget the racism with self; the cultural, stupidity, that we express of self. The liberation of mind shall be the victory of source; When all women must reclaim their statue warriors that they are. Submissive to a delinquent who cries, law and order to Ones on song, the burning of the bras, the protest of equal justice all, women to women in the struggles of liberations, A house divided shall not stand. The torch shall be passed, Until humanities reclaim its stand; all over the world; We have all felt the whip of un justice, there shall be no dry eyes.

Uniting under the open fire; My bosoms the milk of my fatherís palace, the light that shines, through my windows, the scars, of civilization, Oh I cry for the world, I the soul of women, the universal pearl. The soul of a child, the pureness of the inner heart, bonding with seas, incubation of my family tree.

I birth, I rebirth, I the center of the universe, forsaking the hate an the pain, breathless, expectations, of a civilization destruction to self. Echoís of the night, I women, I light, I womb, I the pure at heart, the softness of the beckoning calls of justice to self. The twisted pain of evolution, the cries of unity, embracing the senses of dignity, the cardboard box, 8/11 without air, exhaling life, I the soul of women, the scars of the universe.

Tour moils the beginning of an empty space, I women the nations of nations, the jewel of creations, the womb of light, the womb of life. Softness that breathe life, within the womb of great hopes, I women, I the soul, I the nation, I the shelter of great love, I offer the initiations of great wealth. I the warmth of Mother Nature, I the center of man foundation, I the soul of women, I embrace you with open arms.

My bosom the milk of my fathers palace, the light that shines, through my windows, I birth, I rebirth, I the center of the universe, I the soul of women, I mother nature the source of the universe.

A connection between the heavens and earth;

the DNA that forms a shell of protection, the light that brings forth warmth, and the blood that connects with life, the tunnel that awaits a message from God, the holy grounds of a space that is ready to be released, the embroidery of life, dictates the destiny that the spirit shall define the chapel of life shall now take its form.

To seek for knowledge through the eyes of a sister Soldier; I Salute, their shall be know dress rehearsal for the fruits of Knowledge; through your eyes and direction, and the spirit that lies within your soul, the mastery of knowledge. I have risen above the depths of understanding; I have become a woman, when I reach the source of liberation; through your words and time, and preparing the dignity of a warrior sister, I have reach the coming of treasures, understanding that life has know back door.

I have spoken within the book of knowledge, I shall stand up tall, and speak through the windows of truth; The link between the heavens and the earth. I can feel the calm soul of your work.

To live to love, to sing

to pray, to live to dye;

The old soul of women; I

shall walk through the foot prints.

I walk within the

footprints; to lead me across the sea.

I walk through the foot

prints I pledge oh God

I give it to thee. My wings

the purity of heaven, the waters of

purification, the mountain

of mastery; the scripts

of life has been fulfill. The source of

wisdom, fulfill the source

written in blood; The death shall

only bring the sweet taste of life,

The holy sand that rise upon my feet.

The robe of spirit flays upon my eyes.

The doves that flies upon my head.

Oh thy glory to Jesus;

the foot prints in the sand.

My feet do not fit but I shall continue;

to walk until I rise upon the skies.

Through the eyes of the spirit;

The almighty pen shall confess;

The words of a poet, I shall be

heard. The old soul of women, I

sing the old songs of soul.

The pen that gives me the blue print

the foot prints in the sand.

I write these words of and old soul

that lives within my space.

The words of a soldier, I leave

to the universe.


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