Poem | |
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!
More great poems below...
Poem | |
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
….we are not of only one race in this family
Poem | |
The wall that separates
Disguised in honorable robes
Preached to children
Am I to be tolerated?
Just because I am different
White, black, brown or yellow
Straight or gay
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
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
To be seen in loving ways
Maybe not today
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 PD's Contest
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.
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
How many souls
live on the edge,
Between the gutter
and the ledge?
A hopeless fear
crawls in their gut.
Each day, another,
The moments pass
Sad, bitter winds,
are all that blow.
A man lay huddled,
near the bin.
will take him in.
Frozen tears, on
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',
with dimpled cheeks.
More great poems below...
Poem | |
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.
Poem | |
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 ~
Poem | |
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
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 keep moving 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.
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
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)
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
I was waiting by my mailbox
To hear news from the Soup
I know they like to keep me
Somewhere, in the loop
I couldn’t wait to see, ME !
Somewhere at the top
Of The Hundred best read poems
That reader's thought were Hot
While I nestled in my chair
Took my subtle writers pose
With my thumb under my chin
And my finger, side my nose
I started to peruse
The list presented clear
While looking for My Name
I found it wasn’t there
Perhaps an over site
Could sure explain, a lot
They failed to read, the comments
And all the praise, I got
But then, it came to me
Those guys are really smart
My poems are so good
Their’re simply off the charts
Poem | |
The countless persecuted, time after time,
Raked across the coals that rise
And pour from fissures in the sand,
Tumbling red over black, scorching vast fields.
The indelible vigor of life turned to sooty dust,
Decorating pastures with the shells of men and women.
Memories frozen, encased in docile defeat.
Rise, rise from your carapace and into the pale moonlight!
Let the lux empower you with an energizing intensity.
Let it cleanse your fields of blood and ash
And displace the horrors that dominated
And crushed you under heel.
Raise your banner to the fickle winds.
You are the paragons of your order.
Poem | |
Giving us life
Giving us hope
We were free
Of that kind of
Many of us
To our knees
Even as you
Lay in my arms
While our church
Whispering to me
Be free my love
Lesser men would
Have gone mad
But not I
I would not
That kind of
All rights reserved
Poem | |
As quiet blackness deepened
I lay awake my heart in check,
The cool night wind blew
And welcome silence grew…
Unanticipated music exploded
Roused me from bed rest,
I tiptoed to its source:
Dark sounds from downstairs,
Nearer, higher, and louder
Till it reached the hallway.
He grasped my hand,
Whirled it to turn me twice,
Held me close, went on trotting steps
Slow, quick, quick; slow, quick, quick;
Slow, slow, quick, quick...
He never gets tired, he liked the dance.
He led; I followed - his greatest joy;
In perfect timing to his bidding,
I swayed wherever he flung me,
His steps were full of variation –
He liked it that way;
While I only had one reaction –
Receive his urgings.
Perfect dance he'd always say because
It is with such ease when partner is open
That controlled movement is played.
Ungraceful dance I never liked,
But all this time it kept me alive:
His music and diverse steps I sought
And to it I humbly swayed.
Tonight I let him led again,
Just like the other days and nights.
The darkness of the night was strained,
It was only the curtains that were swaying,
To the night breeze with grace,
Stark of light peeped out from the room,
My hands and feet went frozen like ice,
I heard a different tune within, sad, weary,
But slowly roused with excitement
And anger underneath... Heated me up
Ablaze, my eyes red-stained -
He held me closer to him, and I -
Pulled myself too tight to him
He was pleased I saw it in his sated eyes
As I meekly submitted… for the last time.
We did slow, quick, quick steps for a two
Or more and then he let me go; I trotted
Far away from him then back to him
Without his behest, and out of rhythm
His steps were outside our dance floor…
Down the stairs...In open position he lay there,
In his face I saw his dance - the macabre
dance - I never liked at all. His eyes dazed –
He had his final dance with me after all.
The night was cold, yet I felt warm, and the music gone,
The curtains stopped swaying at the night winds’ prodding.
Poem | |
You feel them more that see
They inhabit the great divide
Trapped in a parallel nightmare
Of lost dreams and being
They eat in highway rest stops
Where food is fast and hot
Then hurriedly wash in
Ashamed of being caught.
At night they sleep on our
Wrapped in ragged dirty
But they vaporize in the
Unseen by vacationing crowds
These people are our neighbors
Regardless of address
Yet they walk unseen among
In exiled loneliness
Where do they fit in our
In this land of the brave and
Walking ghosts in tattered
They belong to you and me.
That means you and me the
They are our sisters and our
I read somewhere in an
Do unto me as you would to
Poem | |
There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold.
This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .
This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .
It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .
money holds no value , Where you live , what you own, has no significance here .
You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you .
Hate will be shed at the door like an old jacket of no use.
There is a place of beauty and Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .
Poem | |
As you are forced with a smile
as you pass me on by.
As you smirk and you laugh
and you gossip and lie.
Is that all? What it makes you?
The real you I see
You’re a fake with a front….
I am real….I AM ME!
And if I had a choice….
wonder which I would choose?
If I picked myself first
I am sure you will lose!
Though you think you’re so great
not sure what you may see.
But you’re fooling yourself
fool yourself…you can’t me!
For I figured you out
when no one could attest
But you buried yourself
hung yourself, none the less.
For a time when you thought
no one could touch a hair
It’s the gray that you hide
you can’t hide what’s in there!
Does it make you feel big?
Does it make you feel “hot”?
Cuz, you’re short and you’re fat
“Hot” you say? NO, you’re not!
Need to step from the stairs...
you can climb as you may;
Climbed up 3 steps last week
Fell down 4 steps today!
Yet, you seem unaware
Like you don’t hear them say
Hear the whisper and laughs….
“You should go now, not stay”!
Cuz your negative thoughts
Ugly tone; you are heard
People think you’re pure mean
Really B***H! is the word!
For whatever thought,
You think you know it all.
While you’re stuck in your chair….
5 feet wide; 4 feet tall.
So, take your fake front,
Take you big backside too…
Take your man and ur car
Now your friends, just a few
You can’t take your s**t tone….
And turn up your fat nose…
Cuz you think you’re the s**t?
Your man does, I suppose.
A pair made for you both;
Like a glove, you both fit.
Well….cuz you’re just a B***H!
And your man’s ALWAYS lit!
Poem | |
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
-Sanderline Fleury :)
Poem | |
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.
Poem | |
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---
This poem is a metaphoric view of the weak, the strong and the unwanted people in life.
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.
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---
Poem | |
After reading all the shite about colony this morning this just came. Might not be appreciated by some, but you’ve got to admit there is truth in it…peter
Why do we?
Why do we give our power away?
Put folk on pedestals
I see it happen all the time
It drives me up the wall
Presley, Clooney, Pitt, and Jolie
And all the rest of them
They’re just people nothing more
Yet folk treat them like gems
Why do we worship sports hero’s
And guys who reach the top
Hatred, fear and all such things
These folk they still do cop
They’re just like us they eat and sleep
And all those other things
They cannot fly like angels do
And still bad luck life brings
Why do we have Gods in the sky
Each group a different one
Why can’t we worship all of life
From the flowers to the sun
And know that we’re all just the same
Quivering heaps of fear
If each of us could find ourselves
This message would be clear
28 September 2014
Poem | |
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!”
Poem | |
Sweeny Smith, and Dizzy May.
Lauren County grand motel
It’s a weird old place to be
I used to go there quite a lot
It really pleasured me
To know that nothing’s what it seems
It’s a scary kind of place
Where one meets the dregs of life
And none there have much grace.
There’s Sweeny smith, he’s big and strong
And he’s a scary guy
He really doesn’t like the world
And no one knows quite why
They Say his father dropped him when
He was a tiny lad
And now the man is not himself
Most people think he’s mad.
Now Sweeny, he is quite a man
But he hasn’t learned a lot
But most they can put up with him
Though one thing he is not
He’s not the cleanest of the men
Who live at that Motel
And though folk try to like the man
They hate old Sweeny’s smell.
One day the others got old Sweeny
And put him in a tub
They got a great big scrubbing brush
And gave him such a scrub
Now Sweeny did not like this much
And he caused such a stir
With people flying round the room
Such a frenzy did occur.
Then Dizzy May came on the scene
And Sweeny loved her so
He wanted her to stay with him
He would not let her go
Old Dizzy, She quite liked the man
But she didn’t like his smell
So she came up with a little plan
And she did Sweeny tell
‘Now look here Sweeny, here’s the deal
If you really love me so
Then you must take a bath each day
Or out the door you’ll go‘.
Now Sweeny didn’t like that much
But he loved old Dizzy may
And so he told her lovingly
‘I’ll take a bath each day‘.
And now the people look at Sweeny
With a different kind of air
Cause when he’s with his Dizzy May
You can smell them everywhere
But it is such a lovely smell
Of the sweetest kind of flowers
And now When Sweeny walks on past
There’s none that from him cower.
18 June 2013 @ 1635hrs.