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Best Discrimination Poems

Below are the all-time best Discrimination poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of discrimination poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Discrimination Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Discrimination poems are below this new poems list.

Culture Discrimination by Cameron, Moira
Gender Discrimination by butt, mazhar
Predestination's Discrimination by Valentina, Sophia
Discrimination Needs To Die by davis, robin
Racial Discrimination by DS, Galeo
Racial Discrimination by LEFANUE, MAUREEN
Age Discrimination is Rampant by Camp, Elton
A goodbye caused by discrimination by Ibitoye, Olukosi
A Case of Age Discrimination by Camp, Elton
A Discrimination by Savage, Contina

View all new Discrimination Poems

The Best Discrimination Poems

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I Wore Your Skin

~I wore your skin~

Brother, I wore your skin last night
Nothing but friction, blood -dry ink
Announcing a crush "Silence by the Sky!"
Integrity denied, endangered enemy

Brother, I wore your skin last night, swollen ankles
  imagery galore, vomit on the lavatory floor
A clown bleeding red, feeding lies to those he rapes
Blades of need, captain catamite chasing a pup
Who can't resist the heat, when fenced
Brother, I wore your skin last night,
White, green and tight, devouring the light 
Mitten wool on your bottom draw
Lipstick waiting to kiss immediate sin
In search of keeping things close to kin
Brother I wore and tore your skin right off
Gross in every demonic way, 
Acrobats all over the home
Docile immunity, lurking with a bomb threat 

Sister, I wore your skin last night
Vanity of nothingness nutted blasphemy
Evil lurking, wanting to undress thee
Comparing notes, breaking bad company

Sister, I wore your skin last night, swollen lips
  scumbag hag, with nowhere to go
Immortal lies weaken by love
Revealing nothing more than her true self
A wraith with no heart, no goal
Sister, I wore your skin last night
Repeating, bleeding, nail biting
Greasy and powerful, needy and greedy
Aching and whining for not placing
Her head lower than shame holding a high
Sister I wore and swore to never put on your skin again
The nasty feeling, of pretending loyalty, is passion
To hate all those who don't fit your skin
A vulture preying sending encrypted messages

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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As the Sun Rises

From out of the smoke we will rise
The weight of these chains we will break
From his face we will rip the deceitful guise
The spirit of our brothers and sisters we will wake

My blood flows free yet I do not weaken
My feet clothed in blisters yet I feel no pain
For my children’s lives I will not bargain
Though my anger burns my calm will remain

From beneath his foot our people we will remove
The hate he has implanted we will unbind with fire
The lies he  feeds  the blind  we will disprove
We will watch him drown in desperation’s mire

With only a stance we will shake every plain
With only a look we shine with the force of the sun
My feet clothed in blisters yet I feel no pain
My blood flowing free yet I will not weaken
 

~FJ Thomas
….we are not of only one race in this family



Copyright © FJ Thomas | Year Posted 2015

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I Can't Breathe

In memory of----

Solely in my room, I can't stomach the sound of my heartbeat.
I sit here alone to forget the taste of air, 
Overwhelmed by the scene -unbelievable footage
18 seconds too long, "I can't breathe."
My judgement is gone, stressing all night long
I use to fear dark colors, now I fear spinning bright lights
Red, White, and Blue,  I spew the NY Police crew
What's wrong with your blue eyes?
You see him, you want to mess with him
What a day to trade  --  a life for illegal cigarettes
Persecution and judgment day, a sweet life taken away
"I can't breathe", executed in broad daylight!

Bullies left and right
What happened to minding our business?
Moneymaking, refusing to be singled out 
A hurting voice tackled by racism 
Free to see, pouring his heavy heart,
Oinker's demand the ground, leaving out his testament
8 times too many, "I can't breathe!"
Where did his vitals go? 
Can someone please pound the pavement!

Stress, anger, madness, the voices of the innocent
"I can't breathe." the volume of Valium
"Officer, did you not hear the man?"
Are you deaf, have you forgotten how to save a life?
Is it just the NYPD or is it every other badge,
Insinuating crime's a one-color show.
We are all criminals, why the excessive heat?
Shot, tasered, beat down, pepper sprayed,  now on the ground
The choke hold of all choke holds, murdered and out numbered 
The echoes remain "I can't breathe!"

- The truth!
Eric Garner robbed of his own natural path and youth
One man down eyed suspiciously 
Perplexed minds suffocating him instantly
The mistrusted, the fear, the hate,  
So tangible, uniforms using deadly force
One asthmatic in a choke hold
Slamming his head on the flooring
Open wounds, worldwide tears

My heart goes to the family and friends left behind
A courageous last breath, for the first and last time
"I can't breathe," now deceased.
You left this world unwilling, waking up a strong community
Strolling in a  better world, where racism don't exist
"I can't breathe,"  Eric Garner Rest in peace!

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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A Woman From God

A Woman from God

I do not cover my eyes because God gave me sight; just as he did man
I do not cover my face because God made the sun to shine on it; just as it does man
I do not hold my voice because God made it beautiful; just as he did man
I do not hold my thoughts because God gave me sense; just as he did some men
He gave me a mind that I may know one day I will see a better place than this
…that I might hold on to the hope of living where life is no longer ruled by the arrogance of man

He told me I was a complement; that I balance the one for whom I was made.
….because I too was made in His image.

                                                             ~FJ Thomas



Copyright © FJ Thomas | Year Posted 2015

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Tolerance

The word
The idea
The wall that separates
Disguised in honorable robes
Preached to children
"Tolerance" 

Am I to be tolerated?
Just because I am different
White, black, brown or yellow
Straight or gay
Christian
A Jew 
Perhaps I am Muslim
I am painted with many brushes
A part of humanity's inconsistancies

When you tolerate 
You hold yourself in high esteem
Above 
Not beside
You grace me with your temporary favor
You disguise me with your perceptions
You make me a little less distasteful
For a moment
Perhaps a day
You feel proud for not looking away

I do not seek tolerance 
Like you I wish to be valued
Included
Understood
To be seen in loving ways
Maybe not today
Perhaps tomorrow
Labels Will disappear with all our sorrow
For me I am you
I am the many and the few
Waiting for my turn
Will this be my day
To be heard and have a say
For me
Tolerance
Is
Intolerable


For PD's Contest

Hi Linda
I don't know if it's my best but it is my most recent.
I have had a strong response to it and I think it is
an important message. Your popularity would have
more people read it and that is a very good thing.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 




           
            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~









          



Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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read this please

They hate you because your you
They make up lies and call it true
They're fake behind your back
Hoping someday that you'll crack.

They hate you because your real.
no matter what they say you always heal
They're surprised to see you rise,
That you're not affected by all these lies


They hate you because you smile at them
It shows them that your a real gem
You are always true and do your best :)
Sometimes these haters just cant test

They hate you for no reason
Despite it all, you smile
whatever the reason
At the end of the day
All i'm gonna say
All i plan to be 
IS ME


-Sanderline Fleury :)


Copyright © Sanderline Fleury | Year Posted 2013

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The Children Eating Grass

Often wondering is it a steak upon Our Plates that is important...
Perhaps a Hot-dog instead and more Money for a healing deportment.
To feed a Child that is suffering or very ill and extremely sick.
We ask often comfortably what often makes the wealthy tick?
As We read on The Internet that there are Children out there just wanting Bread.
The Children eating grass is in an Article that was just as this is read...
My Heart torn open,wrenched,concerned and burning with anguish inside.
My Own Home stemless, poor, and uncomfortably We reside...
Wishing We could just reach threw a T.V. Set to give a helping hand...
Just to pass Our Dinner to a child in a taunted hemmed Land. 
My passion so large, words so strong, and My Pocket very small.
Never standing in the right position in Life to answer as Children call.
There are Children in Our World that are just eating grass.
Under seemly so by My feelings of disrepair as I pass My Own grasp...
This stench of Many Self willed that preform as Our stanza has not surpassed.  
To reach for You now is more then an unbearable weep to comprehend.
A World filling up with Starvation and Our Children in it left to descend.
To reach for You now is an unbearable decision not yet made.
The Children Eating Grass just wore Me thin and They paid.
Sometime wishing I could just rob and empty an entire vault.
That Decision would cost Me greatly so I resort to prayer that will never fault. 
To Be trusted with just This Message where I sit and grieve.
When Encounters of Love yet to occur and never to beckon Evil that is deceived.

By Charlene L.Wilcox      09-29-2014


Copyright © Charlene Wilcox | Year Posted 2014

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Well of Souls

How many souls live on the edge,
Between the gutter and the ledge?

A hopeless fear crawls in their gut,
Each day, another endless rut.

The moments pass profoundly slow
Sad, bitter winds are all that blow.

A man lay huddled near the bin
Hoping death will take him in.

Frozen tears, on wrinkled cheeks
Frostbitten ears, and shoes that leak.

His mind forgets the games of tag,
Old Crockett's hill, where down they'd slide.

A summer rain, the puddles deep
Out catchin' toads, to tame and keep.

His life began with dimpled cheeks,
Red tousled hair, and hide 'n seek.

A tough old Dad who tricked and teased
A pretty Mom who smiled with ease.

They had a farm with fields of hay
A few old hogs, and bills to pay.

One summer day, the sky turned black.
A howling wind brought down their shack.

Dad sold the hogs, and cut the hay.
The farm was lost, we drove away.

The next two years were grim and lean.
Dad broke his back, to feed us beans.

When winter came our food ran out.
We found old Dad hung by a rope.

Without poor Dad, no food or fire;
Mom took my hand, the day was dire.

The Sister's face looked mean and sour.
I thought of Mom most every hour.

They scrubbed my back until it bled.
cut off my hair, then I got fed.

'Twas many years before I left,
My Mom had died a tragic death.

Now all alone, I lived and slept.
I begged for food, and sometimes wept.

A life of days and endless woe,
Now time is dead, and death too slow.

As you walk by those 'homeless freaks'
Remember me, with dimpled cheeks.






Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2014

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Chains of Colonialism

Chains of Colonialism        

With guns they came
With whips and chains
Chains to capture the Dark Continent
Chains snaking across Africa
Africa blessed by nature
Africa a precious jewel
Jewel coveted by imperialists
Jewel stained with blood
Blood of the disenfranchised
Blood of innocents 
Innocents slaughtered
Innocents subjugated
Subjugated like cattle
Subjugated nonentities					
Nonentities to colonial masters			
Nonentities bowing to alien flags 
Flags of oppression
Flags of exploitation and domination
Domination of inferiors
Domination of natural resources
Resources robbed
Resources nurtured with sweat and tears
Tears of those with no voices
Tears of those whipped and silenced
Silenced by superiority
Silenced by weapons and fear
Fear of foreign invaders
Fear of certain death
Death of ancient civilization
Death of treasured culture
Culture stripped and raped
Culture battered and fragmented
Fragmented destiny
Fragmented people 
People crushed to the ground  
People with no more sweet songs
Songs of freedom and happier times 
Songs of nationalism
Nationalism and solidarity 
Nationalism thwarted
Thwarted to divide and conquer
Thwarted to castrate minds and bodies
Bodies chained and beaten 
Bodies killed for defiance
Defiance against injustice 
Defiance against colonialism
Colonialism in the name of God
Colonialism in the name of kings
Kings
God


05-01-2016



Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2016

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MISTAKEN THAT YOU LOVED ME

'My' biggest mistake was being born a girl 
I was never going to meet your expectations for you wanted a
Son and you got me ...mum said to you ‘I was the next best thing’ 
That’s maybe why you treated me and my sister
Anne so differently - she was like a princess
Kept by you and mum, never having to work
Even now she treats me like a second class citizen BUT
Now you are no longer here I am finally free from the past

There are no words to express my
Heartfelt sorrow at the way you treated me
All I wanted was to be loved by you but
That love was never ever there for me

You never acknowledged anything I achieved
Or the fact I gave you your only grandchild
Unwanted unloved that’s how I was made to feel by you

Looking back over my life has been difficult
Only recently I discovered the full extent of the 
Variance between the way you treated us both during your lifetime
Except one thing you could never take away from me was my
Determination to stand on my own two feet and be my own person

Maybe life could have been different if you’d got the son you wanted BUT
Everything I have I worked for and I am proud of who I am

My Biggest Mistake Contest sponsored by Laura Loo

This is probably the most personal poem I have ever written but it has been so cathartic to finally put this down on paper and put my ghost to bed. Maybe in time I will finally grieve for my father, but I have been told by Hospice that this could take many years.

07~04~16


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Trapped

My spirit and soul are trapped in this vessel of flesh. They scream to escape and to be liberated and soar on the breezes of life. To frolic freely among the trees, among the clouds and to run without weight and care.

My spirit and soul are trapped and they want to get out. Out from under all the stress and demand in life out from all the evil and hate of the world.

My spirit and soul are trapped in demand to perform, to keep a smile when I am down, to keep a stiff upper lip.

My spirit and soul are trapped to work for things and objects, to keep up with Jones and Kardashians. 

My spirit and soul are trapped into believing that all men are made equal when the reality of this world says different, that only green currency is the great equalizer. 

My spirit and soul are trapped into believing that single is not wholeness that it is necessary to be joined with another body to be view without stigma.

My spirit and soul are trapped in a body not acceptable because it's fat, it's woman and it's black and aging.

My spirit and soul are trapped and they are screaming to be free... screaming to reveal all the possibilities of how good life could be if I just didn't give a damn about who thinks what about me.


Copyright © Kellie Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Common Man


The traveler reeked of weariness,
His companion was Fatigue
Wear upon his clothes suggest
He'd come a million league.

Gaunt were eyes deep set and brown
Above his cheekbones high
His being was pure somnolence
And I heard his silent cry.

Hard roads had been his travel
The pains chiseled on his face
In lines of furrows on his brow
Permanently enlaced

Around I saw no motion there, then ...
His head began to rise
Finally he looked at me ...
Suffering in his eyes.

So quietly I attended
And with a heavy heart
I wanted so to speak to him ...
But knew not how to start

Within his labored breathing
He then began to speak
His words, when finally spoken
Were truthful and unique

His lips worked to form the words -
Then said; "My name is: Common Man,
I'm a father; I've worked hard;
' always done the best I can.

"The road's become uphill and steep with
Burdens I can't propel
I've tried to move on forward -
But, I stumbled here - and fell.

"There are others on me
Who so do depend
I must move on forward,
This mustn't be my end.

"Now I must reach out to you
'Cause before I've never failed
I'm turning now to you
'Fore on hardships I'm impaled". 

A calloused hand then extended
Toward my outstretched hand
And I want to heed the call
For this Common Man.

But, Greed and Avarice have won
And assistance can't be lent -
Wall Street, you see, owns me now:
I'm Your Government.


Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014

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Mind Pollution

Mind pollution
The manipulation and control of the masses 
Is a world government agenda and constitution
Throughout time.

Newer technology and the information computer revolution
Are powerful weapons to spread evil deeds and even more pollution
The slave masters crack the whip the rich get richer
The poor poorer powerless aboard a sinking ship.

Out of manufactured chaos
Comes apathy and fear
Making nations easier to control
And sell their souls sometimes unwaveringly
Blind to the powers that be commands.


Propaganda to gain support for wars
Bank crashes like never before
To take our money
And make rhe rich richer
Than before
Government leaks and lies spread to cause hate
And justify what the powers that be create.

Puppets on strings controlled by the powerful who lurk in the shadows
The real rulers of the world never seen
Ruthless greedy evil and mean.

For those not blind with open mind
The jigsaw puzzle slowly fits together
Piece by piece and the bigger picture is released
The truth they'll never be peace
The snares are their so take care
Open your eyes free your mind so you can see
World manipulation and subliminal brainwashing in your own home
Through the media and TV.

So many good people in the spotlight have tried to warn us before
And tried to revile the truth and the secrets
But were silenced and found dead on the floor.

Peter Dome.copyright.2015. June.


Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2015

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THE COLOR OF OUR BLOOD

In my innocence I went out into the world
Eager to learn all the lessons I can hold
The things I’d learn I’d love to share
Alas, people found me to be quite bold.

I distinctly felt the tension in the air
When I was little and went to a fair
It was outside the town where I grew up
People stared at us head to foot and kinky hair.

I shrugged my shoulders, I did not mind
I wanted to play with kids that were kind
But their folks did not like a colored child
Touch skin to skin with their children, later I’d find.

I learned the first lesson about discrimination
The hard way, from a small child’s perception
I will fight for my right with all my might
This I vowed unto myself with all determination.

And so from that day on, I pushed for emancipation
From the shackles of a closed mind, a liberation
How dare you think I'm lower than you are
When our blood is the same color red, under examination?

We have come a long way indeed, I know
For now we can vote, to a master we need not kowtow
Freedom from slavery, gained through sweat and blood
Our children can now speak without fear to friends or foe.

Greater minds have walked these hollowed halls
Than what I can aspire to be with my bold balls
However Sir, that won’t stop me honestly
From continuing to speak my voice, no matter you stall.

Now Sir, tell me, what is the reason you cannot grant
Before I make another speech, but not a rant
Is it not only fair that you declare equal rate
For black or white, as long as he deserves it, and not ignorant?


A black man's thoughts on the prevailing system where blacks are assigned to positions with predominantly lower rates.

17 March 2015
CONTEST : Writings in a Black's Perspective - 1st Place
SPONSOR : Verlena Walker


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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In Life's Garden - Dans le jardin de la vie

I hear the whispers of past souls
That guide me through life’s
Wondrous garden of flowers.
Each flower has a unique 
And beautiful bloom.
I see how the fragile and 
Delicate injure easily and
Wither and die without protection.
I am amazed at the strength 
And endurance of the sturdy.
But most of all. . . 
I marvel at the lowly weeds,
Though they be uprooted
And cast out of the garden,
How they find a way to leave their 
Seeds behind to grow and flourish---
Undaunted.

1-18-2014

Note:
This poem is a metaphoric view of the weak, the strong and the unwanted people in life.

Interprétation Française

Dans le jardin de la vie 

J'entends les chuchotements 
des âmes passées 
qui me guident par la vie 
Jardin merveilleux des fleurs. 
Chaque fleur a un unique 
Et belle fleur. 
Je vois comment le fragile et 
Sensible blessez facilement et 
Wither et meurent sans protection. 
Je suis stupéfié à la force 
Et résistance du vigoureux. 
Mais surtout. 
Je m'émerveille aux herbes modestes, 
Bien qu'elles soient déracinées 
Et fonte hors du jardin, 
Comment ils trouvent une 
manière de laisser leurs graines derrière 
pour se développer et s'épanouir--- 
Intrépide. 




Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014

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King Vlad Redux - Second Cold War

King Vlad Redux – Second Cold War

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin’s grimy fingerprints on current history
are for him nothing to gloat about—au contraire I say emphatically:
His actions bespeak one who’s not an architect for peace—not at all,
rather a quite deceitful dictator and a harbinger of a Second Cold War.

King Vlad’s old Soviet-style actions are clear for all who care to see,
and make no mistake about it—he’s without remorse and a soul to boot.
A Master of Malarkey and an International Bamboozler Supreme, he
certainly is, with a menacing image and not one iota of conscience.

King Vlad risks a Second Cold War with his violation of international
law concerning the blatant, illegal annexation of the Crimean peninsula.
With his brand of new style Soviet adventurism on the march, the Old 
Soviet Bear has been resurrected anew—and it’s hot on the prowl again!

King Vlad’s new spirit of nationalism for Russia is not at all progressive
as evidenced by his current war on certain ethnic minorities: Jews, Tartars, 
Armenians, Gypsies—to include anyone who chooses to resist and protest
against his new age fanaticism rebranded anew in the twenty-first century.

King Vlad’s lineage to and proclivity for the old Soviet Union and its star
cast of past gangster luminaries: Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, 
and Andropov—to name a few, are quite telling since they reflect the real
nature of his psyche and the tragedy he brings now to the world stage.

And lest we forget, the innocent souls of the murdered passengers from flight
MH17 in eastern Ukraine who cry out, as do their families, for justice from
the criminal thuggery and hooliganism perpetrated by King Vlad in support
of proxy groups that do his evil biddings soaked in lies, treachery, and deceit.

King Vlad takes pleasure in fulfilling a fanciful role today of the old Soviet
Bolshoi Nachalnik (Big Boss), whose historical antecedents from Soviet Big
Bosses of past fame, doesn’t augur well for future democracy in New Russia,
and doesn’t align with the precepts of good governance and human rights.

King Vlad’s treachery and deception are certainly open for everyone to see 
as he executes his plan of disrupting the balance of the current world order.
We all should be forewarned of the clouds of tyranny and aggression that
could be unleashed one day on the European continent and the world today.

King Vlad, despite very strong objections and economic sanctions imposed
by Western leaders and diplomats, understands only one word rendered so 
poignantly in the German language: die Macht (or Power), which lurks ever  
behind his public mask and psychological makeup as a former KGB officer.

King Vlad’s actions reflect his virtues of lying, denying, accusing, rejecting,
and criticizing—all poison arrows in his quiver as a Master of Prevarication.
His real mask is that of a Monster who had the very best Soviet teachers and 
wishes to tilt the axis of his New Russia on a collision course with the West.

And so Generalissimo Stalin . . . how do you like your nasty little boy now???

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 30, 2014)
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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I Have Hidden Super Powers

I don't wear a cape around
My neck, breaking the speed of sound
Or capture bad guys in a web
My powers have never fled
From my heart that's where they stay
Secretly until the day
I see injustice come along
Others are treated so wrong
My super powers become stronger
When I can't take it any longer
Hearing stories of bullying
My special skills kick right in
Set loose, no holding them back
My love alert goes on attack
Not stopping for anything
It won't ease up until I bring
All this hatred to a low
I give one huge final blow
Across the land until there is
No more hate or prejudice
Until then, I'm on alert
Making sure there is no hurt
I will be here till the end
All my powers I will send
Into the hearts of those so weak
Mild mannered, shy and meek
That get pushed around each day
I'll make sure it goes away
This promise will be kept for sure
Any kind of hatred I abhor


Copyright © robin davis | Year Posted 2014

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To be free

Entwined
The color
Of mankind
Echoed in 
Our minds
The Realities
Of life
Forevermore
The ethnic
Flow of
Our blood
Pulsating
Giving us life
Giving us hope

We were 
Color blind
Or 
Perhaps
The world
Didn't understand
The differnt
Shades of 
Pastels

We were free
Of that kind of 
Bondage
That brought 
Many of us
To our knees 
Even as you 
Lay in my arms
Dying 
While our church
Was ingulfed 
In flames
Whispering to me
Be free my love
Be free
Lesser men would
Have gone mad 
You see
But not I 
I would not 
succumb to
That kind of 
Bondage..

















 All rights reserved
   A.camacho jr.
    1996-2015


Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

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Memoirs of a Gay-sha

When I was 10 my world was fun
Filled with friends and joy & laughter
I didn't know what was to come
Who I'd become thereafter
 
11 came and I changed schools
With all my friends and aspirations
Along came homework and more rules
A pretty rigid education
 
Walking down the corridor
My arms around 2 friends
They said "stop!" they'll think we're gay
And right away, my innocence ends
 
I knew that word could not be good
Not something I should be
So I agreed and shrugged it off
After all, what had that to do with me?
 
First they started on and off
And then became relentless
Shouting Fag, fairy, queen and poof
I was just a kid, alone and defenceless
 
I felt humiliated, but you see
I thought, this can not last!?
And then my friends turned their backs on me
I felt my spirit shrinking fast
 
8 hours a day, 5 days a week
Was more thank I could take
For 7 years my prison grew
If I was going to survive, I had to escape!
 
The bullying got worse you see
I couldn't speak of this at home
My mind became a safe place to be
And I got "I'm not normal, I'm alone!"
 
When they laughed and passed pictures of me around the room
And the humiliation started
My face turned red, I felt despair and gloom
Then into my head I departed
 
I knew from now on that I was doomed
Life could never be the same
Because in the background something loomed
The voice in my head said I was to blame
 
I couldn't understand when I screamed out inside
Why nobody could ever hear me
No one helped when I stood and cried
No one came to rescue me
 
As an adult I found it bizarre
Why can't I let anyone in?
I couldn't see the prison bars
That kept me safe, but trapped within
 
I was pretty smart I guess
This prison I created
Kept me from harm, keeps in the mess
Whenever I'm humiliated
 
I ask you please consider all
When you see "Leave me alone"
Hear me shout from behind my prison wall
Don't Ever leave me alone!




Copyright © SCOTT HARRIS | Year Posted 2014

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MOCKINGBIRD - crown of sonnets

#1 "It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird. When playing games with rocks or guns, defray, them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!" "Whispered words of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day" Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds, exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare, spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees, lining streets, during mad-dog summers. Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring up dust, where resistance incites, although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved. Scout, Jem, ...best bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns #2 Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns yet challenged, the precocious child making assumptions. Folks would confound her! Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring, people napping, long afternoons. Wilted yawns of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed, with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed. Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs and secret hate. Some hid by day, and spending their nights in masquerade, while crosses burned. We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams in 1930. Civil rights were just a dream #3 In 1930, civil rights were just a dream, and motherless children were coming of age. Bare feet were swift. Bandaged knees and hands unclean, would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade. A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house, watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed. The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout! Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash. Putting yourself into another man's shoes, is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem. They've faced their fear, and will make a friend. "Boo", the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems. Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch. A measure of integrity, inch by inch. #4 A measure of integrity, inch by inch, advocate for those who won't stand a chance. Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch in a depression full blown. Money is scant. Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck. What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong. Someone must stand at the end of the day, where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger. Regardless of skin, be it black, be it white Unfit, by standards of talcum shaved chins, if injustice is war, he'll give his lot. The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle #5 When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle, false accusations can simmer, slowly inciting bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries of hate. Screaming "rape" into the night. Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality, amphibian worms, as if from a trough, gorging on mania. They covet brutality. Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing. Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control. Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding the truth. Some would sell their mother's soul. They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin. Where white man's word, over a black, always wins. #6 Where a white man's word, over black, always wins, was a rule of the thumb, during those years... The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned, taken away and waits to die, and endure With Indian summer, waxing and waning, Atticus chooses the simplest words. His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding, in trying to explain, that most men are good. He tells them, gently, how someone so crude, even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil perhaps in his life, was misunderstood. The hellish of summers begins to unravel. But another ill wind, would brew up a storm, to bring more than a flurry, into their home. #7 To bring more than a flurry into their home, burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow. Carved pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail, a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions Then, someone appears! Halts this devil,...,Ewell is not immortal! .....as we come to conclusion. A guardian presence, waiting to rally has kept a vigil, guarding children who run, swiftly through thickets. Lonely Boo Radley, appeared like an angel, a bird seeking the sun So pure of heart, and a thing so rare It is a sin to kill a mockingbird
__________________________ Re-submitted for Skat's Premiere Contest: #4


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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Quest for Tolerance

new nation to craft founding fathers sought to draft a declaration of independence document that made sense Thomas Jefferson sought to free slaves but was warned not to make waves five of thirteen colonies he had to appease breaking from British rule ignited a duel with each colonial delegate expressing their regret they could not sign they would not find all men of equal value heated debate ensued withdrawn from the declaration with misgivings and trepidation eighty-six more years would pass until the slaves were freed at last Lincoln paid a high price when he acted against advice signing an emancipation proclamation brought civil war to a nation twenty percent of our population lay dead, a chilling affirmation we failed to see what was right every color worth as much as white though the war is formally over now discrimination we still allow Talmadge Branch was just one case * where service was denied by race Ku Klux Klan remains active too wounds once healed open anew and the battle for human rights fear and hatred still ignites
* In 2008, Florida Attorney General Bob Butterworth had to take action against a bar in Perry, FL, when they refused to serve African-American Talmadge Branch unless he took a seat in a “back room.” http://cnsnews.com/news/article/florida-bar-owners-could-lose-license-over-racism-complaint


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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Let Me Become You, Indigenous

Let me hug you, human, and be one being,
Let the stars shine and go for sightseeing,
Let us share smiles under the moon,
Let our children play together at noon,
Let us be storytellers of justice and truth,
Let our people join our energetic youth,
Let us stroll in mountains and the huge lands,
Let us harvest and mix our colourful hands,
Let our souls heal the wounds of the past,
Let our hearts share lovely dreams so vast,
Let me make a step forward and close the gap,
Let me start a new page and recreate the map,
Let our lands be neighbours of one community,
Let me raise my head, at last, for the unity,
Let the rain fill my eyes so I water my mind,
Let me make a statement that we were blind,
Let these words make an epic song so original,
Let me become you, oh beautiful aboriginal,
Let the indigenous of you paint my words,
Let us swim like fishes and fly like birds,
Let me give you what is yours and all of what is mine,
Let us plan our future and for our past build a shrine.


Monday, 26th of November 2012


Copyright © HSK AlKendi | Year Posted 2014

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WHEN JUSTICE TOOK A HOLIDAY

   WHEN JUSTICE TOOK A HOLIDAY

Justice took a holiday today;
Peace fought back the tears.
The mourners came to knell and pray:
Guilt having choked the apathy of the years.

No eulogy can change the present or the past;
No commentary can ease the lingering pain.
What a mockery is made of “free at last”;
Only God has escaped the pointing blame.

Tomorrow will bring new tales to be told.
There’ll be no victory upon this cloudy scene;
Only memories of shades of gray of days of old:
Once again, humanity blinded to what was seen. 

Yes, the more things change, the more they stay the same;
God forbid, we’re heirs to lives immune to festering shame.
So keep your eyes watching God while waiting for freedom to come;
The pursuit of happiness, life, liberty and justice, is still only for some.  

But let us not whine and wallow in debilitating despair;
Let us not be like those who say they just don’t care;
With our audacious faith, there’s nothing we can’t bear.

So let us keep on keeping on with the last sweet breath that is left;
Let our cry be: “America! Give us liberty! We have given you our death!”


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

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Mary's Shrift

Indigenous woman—rarely accompanied by their
white sisters—or their men enter 
through the side door
of St. Peter’s Church.

Here they are boxed in cool stucco,
and stained-glass. A flock of Mexican 
Madonna’s shift today to encompass 
their fairer sister:

Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es
el fruto de tu vientre:,Jesús.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. 
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is 
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 

Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
pecadores, ahora y en la hora ... 

drones on—and on—and on

within the heavenly heights of gilded frescos—bleeding—
rainbows prism the room in false light, kaleidoscoping upon
the walls—murals of  brocade, gold-threaded catch random  rays.

Woman anchor the pews with their desires—

Pliant and pleading these mothers beseech Mary to intercede:
for first class citizenship (inside and outside the Church) 
for work, for health, for a better life for their children.

Voices of the lamb bleating; dinner for the wolves, they pray.





SHORT SHRIFT-little or no attention or consideration


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015