Poem | |
Anarchy and misery whispered
so softly only she could hear them.
Throwing crab apples drew attention
like running feral between cars,
like remapping streets which never gave
adequate directions or a single landmark
to show her the way home. Mother loved
the shell her baby bird had long ago broken,
a mourning dove cooing for soft pieces,
each scattered peep. Breath, the only thing
that was hers. Oh, the relief to snatch back
a bored sigh, lock it in, deny escape.
A-gore-rhythms and Form-you-la’s, school’s
strangle hold methodology of mind control.
Skip to my Lou. Skip class. Skip through
rush hour traffic. Still, no one understands.
No one speaks the language of Ash(ley).
Purge-atory is no fantasy.
Every day, the same losses:
possibility, sensitivity, civility. Hey guards,
listen to all the things she'll never say.
Words, what are they but manufactured
strings of disappointment that she chokes on?
The entire world babbles platitudes
and lawyers’ lies and vulgar chastisements.
Why speak, why waste a single breath?
They fling their crap, so she returns
the favor, knowing they will not
translate her message. They use verbs
like pepper spray and cavity search and
solitary confinement. She is nineteen,
but the numbers don’t add up, redo
the equation. Just don’t ask questions
or try to hurt yourself. Just?
Again, she feels the noose
close her throat, smiles at her secret
antidote, the open doors of unconsciousness.
A caress, this burn against the neck,
again and again, saved and saved
and saved, as though they’d noticed
the flame’s gone, as though someone cared
she’d become soot, ash, ashes.
Ashley? Ashley to ashes to ash
to dust, just dust. Just? Just. Death.
About this Poem
Ashley Smith was a troubled teen who would run into traffic, scream at people, cut classes.At 15 year, she was incarcerated for throwing crabapples at a mail man, this led to behavior which kept her in prison. She defied the system, threw feces at guards, refused to comply and strangled herself many times a day. Ashley was restrained in a chair for as long as 8 hours, forced to sleep on mattress-less bed frame, pepper sprayed, tazered and kept mostly in segregation. She would bang her head against the floor until she bled, told a phychologist she felt suicide was her only hope. She was moved 17 times between 8 facilities in only 9 months. On October 17, 2007, Ashley, aged 19, hung herself in her cell as guards merely watched, having been ordered to only intervene once she STOPPED breathing. Her death was filmed. There is currently an inquest into Ashley’s treatment and suicide. For more information-
May change come.
May change come, now.
Poem | |
I'm not either victor or defeated
I'm neither old nor young
War... What is it good for?
To protect the livelihood
To inflict punishment
To guard the national pride
To prevent the loss of resources
To eliminate a possible menace
To preserve the order of the world
To bring an outlet for aggression
To create mourning, why not?
To justify our morality, Your Honor
To give freedom, Honorable Representative
To protect our interest, Mr. Senator
To make them believe it, Mr. President
Recruit spics, niggers and white trash
Our country do not discriminate
To defend our boundaries
To pay for a higher education
To disregard human life
To use our animal behavior
For international disputes
For secret treaties
For balance of powers
For the economic view of war
Who orders the war? Who undertakes the war?
The benefits must be greater than the cost
"Heroes are for Free."
"Order 300 Medals of Honor ...to be awarded posthumously."
Peace is the lapses we deserved to prepare the next war
Military tactics, strategy, logistics...operational art
We need those angry young men to kill other angry young males
Between the ages of 18 and 30...we can manipulate them
To collect reparations and concessions from the defeated nations.
To reduce unemployment…To bring our country out of the Depression
Humanity's highest activities are courage, honor, and heroism
Anxiety, flashbacks and nightmares?
Difficulty falling or staying asleep?
Anger and hyper vigilance?
S. S. Administration
For their extraordinary heroism
For assaulting an enemy position and aiding a fallen soldier
For covering an enemy grenade with their bodies to protect fellow soldiers
For the greater horror their parents can, could, may, might, would ever experience
War... What is it good for?
Poem | |
Nature is struggling and humanity is dying
We’re fading like the leaves on moist earth
lying. We have tongues of forgiveness but
minds of ignorance. There is a reason for
our existence and from segregation we must
distance since what we create seems to lead
us to our own extinction.
Poem | |
Land of my ancestors' birth;
Source of all mankind,
the once Shangri la of mother earth.
Stir up the spirit of the Mau-Mau in vibrato on the bongo.
Your ways are far higher than the crags of the Kilimanjaro.
Let the cry for freedom rides the winds of the Serengeti,
and the walls of segregation fall like confetti.
With careful utterances,
ransack the minds of the pig-headed souls.
Uhuru milele! Milele bure!
Adamantly, gluttons deprive her black gold.
In the villages, griots will invoke a new story.
Follow the way of the lion,
and watch out for the hyenas.
When the rivers are dry in Tanzania,
danger resides in the mud.
Remember; when liberty is threaten in Somalia,
freedom is written in blood.
Blood stained her crevices with love;
black sons’ and black daughters’ blood.
Poem | |
During the Civil War, the Mason Dixon Line
Divided North from South, separating families
In 1961 guard towers were erected
On the Berlin Wall, separation strategies
Although the Berlin Wall was finally torn down
The Great Wall of China remains a monument
Created to protect the Chinese Empire
Keep out nomad invaders with a firm armament
Now a line spans the aisle of the US Congress
They’re seated to the right or left, never centered
And if a brave independent tries to speak out
Be assured this courageous soul will be censored
Lines are used to separate wholes into sections
What mankind needs is more unification now
Segregation is wrong, regardless of intent
To those who seek to eradicate “lines,” I bow
Poem | |
The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.
Poem | |
Born in a world of sin
A world filled with evil from the very beginning,
Greediness and selfishness,
With the existence of poverty, unemployment, crime and disease
Caused by our own human nature,
An inevitable cycle that continues from the past to the present future
Due to the prevalence of social class segregation,
Whereby the lower, middle and upper class fights for social status elevation
In order to achieve upward social mobility,
These social classes will fight in pain and hostility,
An ideology of who is best suited to reach the top
With one class that is, (proletariat) continued to be oppress,
While the bourgeoisie continues to be the dominant class to reap success,
A society filled with greed and self-interest
Every person wants that recognition,
They will always battle each other to reject sorrow and oppression,
That’s the reason why the world will always remain in war, famine and terror
Due to human beings error,
A world divided in segments of continent,
With different nation or countries having differentiated political style of government,
As well as structure, numerous types of culture and upcoming new subculture,
With every one wanting that one thing riches, prestige and fame,
A reward which symbolizes their name.
Poem | |
I am a black prince
Who use to rule over a kingdom
But now my people and me are enslaved
Force to pick the white mans cotton
I see my brother and sisters
Being whipped and branded like cattle
They think we are cattle
So we are treated like cattle
But my people dream and sing of the future
Where we are free from our shackles
I am the black preacher
Who has been freed from his shackles
But now fighting for our rights
So my son and daughter
Can go to a pool and not be separated
By the racial line.
Or when they go outside to play
They don’t have to worry about the KKK
Trying to hang them from a tree branch
That is the reason I fight that is why I want equal rights
For there can be a better tomorrow
The better tomorrow
I’m the son of the preacher
Who was the grandson of the black prince.
Here saying that enslavement and segregation
An now the only problem remains is
The fact that we are killing each other
Over money and women
This makes no sense
Have we as a people suffered enough?
Have we shed enough blood?
So I ask you
Put the gun down spread the word
Tell our brothers tell are sisters that the
300 years of enslavement and segregation is over
We have our black president
We have the power
To show the world that
We as a people are united
Poem | |
From my lowly bachelor’s house
Proudly christened ‘Embassy Fair’
I woke up to the chirping of birds
On the trees above and across the vale
And the riverine bushes in-between
I woke up to the crowing of cocks
And the mooing of cows
I woke up to the leaping of calves
And the bleating of anxious goats;
To the braying of the donkey
The barking of my brother’s dog
And to the mumbling of the sheep.
There was no time to brood
Or think negative thoughts
Or linger on yesterday’s deeds.
I opened up all my senses
And voluptuously drank of the new day.
As my feet stroked the dew
On my way to the reserve fields
My eyes fathomed Mt. Ithangune
The eastern fortress of Mt. Kenya
Itself a mere one thousand feet higher.
Then we were mountain warriors
And our locale elevated us accordingly
Leaving no room for flippancy
Even when it was flipping cold.
Times were when our men grazed there
On the slopes of Kirima kia Ng’ombe
Times were when Omo elders made rain there
Little did we know then (as now?)
That the God of Rain had slumbered
And demanded pure white fattened rams
Delivered by pure white-haired men
Whose penance upon the mountain
Would atone the sins of the Meru clans
And make our mountain God weep
And let his tears soften our rich soils
To ward off barrenness once more
And banish famine from our midst;
And as our fast-flowing rivers swelled
So, too, our cattle and our granaries.
For although our God lived at the apex
Yet he allowed us to get this close
And so to commune with him
Without touching his garment
Craftily spread over the three peaks.
Krapf and Rebmann never knew this
They were mere trekkers, mere explorers
Of a continent pregnant with mystery
That their kinsmen sought to make a home,
A distant home away from home.
One time I HEARD THEM TEACH THAT Krapf
Was the first man to see Mt Kenya
To which I responded, ‘Really? Aren’t you kidding?’
So what kind of men were the mountain warriors-
Blind men? The Meru, the Kikuyu, the Embu,
The Wakamba, the Masai, the Samburu, the Borana-
Were they all blind men then? Stone blind-
All those Africans that had known it before Krapf?
Desecration followed desecration
As alien men sought to climb Mt Kenya
And alien men sought to expropriate
Not just a field but all our land.
From a handful of missionaries and clerks
To shiploads of coolies and soldiers
To throngs of settlers and administrators
To segregation, imposition and subjugation
Till the people- wary, weary and desperate
Rose from the caves, valleys and forests
From every blessed nook and cranny
Chanting MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU
(Mwingereza Aende Ulaya
Mwafrica Apate Uhuru-
White Man Return to Europe
African man Attain Independence!)
Though a youngster and much afraid
I sang that, too, in my youthful heart
Forbidden, I still sang it, in my heart
For I had seen the sword on my mum’s throat
As they sought to extract a confession
I had seen the village burn down
And I had seen the limp body of a fighter
Paraded through the village paths
But that was over half a century ago
And although I had seen the aftermath
Of Kaya Bombo and Kaya Tiwi in Kwale
On my way here (but thought it a dream)
And the agony of the 1998 Al Qaeda attacks
I had not seen much else; nor will I ever see
The likes of Eldoret, Nakuru, or Naivasha
After the 2007 election- I ardently pray not
For this is not the white man in Africa
That we are up against, surely not here
Not this long after regaining our independence
No! Not here in my beloved, bounteous Kenya.
It is commercial and political greed
A vicious, ugly cross-breed beast perhaps
That is all there is, that is all there can be
And these we must banish from our hearts
For who can bear to see Kenyan blood
Flowing down River Tana or Athi or Nzoia
Or swelling the banks of Lake Victoria, Nakuru or Turkana?
Who can plead such a case before God
And come away with his soul intact?
Have the Kenyan people not chosen
Through a brand new constitution
Their route to freedom, justice and progress?
Have they not decreed their own destiny?
Let me hear it from you and you and you
Whose hand or sword or bullet or arrow
Was stained by the blood of woman, man or child
Let me hear it from you who schemed or aided
And you who lent your tongue or thought
Or simply sought refuge in silence and waited
For something, anything to happen to ‘them.’
Let me hear you say, ‘Enough, enough!
Purge our consciences O Mighty One!’
Poem | |
How different this place
this sanctuary feels, here
inside one’s head. Where
insidious illusions fondle
a subvert mind, and obscenities
resonate within the confusion,
when fidgety creatures, assume
guardianship of my preternatural
situation, scurry around my space,
creating lattice of fabrication
across the quaking ceiling.
My imagination becoming
their fodder, my perception
their power, my tenacity
their strength, before spinneret
interweaves segregation of my
day and night.
Bollocks! To the physician of eastern
promise, he that controls this
nightmare, drip feeding diurnal
poison to this empathy
lost within an advocated paradox!
“Yet surely I have no need of
hatred, now I am confined within a
fragment of one’s dream.”
A genus of warmth; yet a confused
state of perplexity that knows
no boundaries, where bloodstain
walls survey me, incessant shadows
dance in gutless sunlight, and
radical rays anoint me with
“Hope and religion.”
I call out to Rock’n’roll!
Sammy Turner gives me
an impetuous rendering of
Then I see an old man struggling
with his own situation. Touched
I call out.
“Are you ‘Jesus Christ?”
He scans my inquiring mind.
He senses I’m an imposter,
he raises one finger
affords me two words!
Both of one demystified syllable!
© Harry J Horsman
Poem | |
I am black
I am great
I am the father and mother of great Kings.
I am John Love the sharpener inventor
I am Mae Jemison the astronaut
I am Martin Luther King the peace maker
I am Tomi Morrison the contemporary novelists.
I am Muhammad Ali the boxer
I am Wilma Rudolph the Olympic track and field champion
I am Tiger woods the golfer
I am Lucy Laney the educator.
I am Jack Johnson the heavy weight
I am Rosa Parks the segregation leader
I am Jesse Wilkins the physicist and mathematician
I am Serena Williams the tennis player .
I am Issac Murphy the great through bred jockey
I am Bessie Coleman the first licensed African American pilot
I am Chester Burnett the blues singer
I am Eleanor Holmes the polictian and civil rights activist.
I am Thomas Dorsey the father of gospel music
I am Will Smith the famous actor
I am Barack Obama the forty four first black afro American president, we are the future.
We are hope for the lost and forgotten generation.
Poem | |
This is my first slam poem.
In this society, in this world, in this day.
We say, we separate, all based on what others think.
We see that girl who looks like a guy,
Or that boy in touch with his feminine side..
And we view them badly, treat them terribly.
We shun them from their own society.
There's the black kid, the white kid, the Mexican, the Asian..
& we focus on nothing more than the tone of their skin.
Hating and discriminating, all we're doing is separating.
We point and laugh, cuz that's boy's too fat.
We talk a lot of shit, like her clothes don't fit, then laugh a little bit.
In this day and time, who you worship determines if you're good, bad, wonderful, terrible.
But when we shake our heads, it's hypocritical.
Cuz all that's going on is separation.
We go behind a persons back and rub their name in the dirt,
He's a player, she got jumped, he's a liar, she's a whore..
& Make their name something to laugh at & Nothing more.
All to fit in, to be liked.
But, did we ever stop to think about those gay kids who need love just like us? About the fact Martin Luther King Junior was shot years ago, but from segregation, he saved us? About those kids just looking for a way to express themselves? About the person who's lost in life, just looking for a savior? Or the one who has his suicide planned out, cuz he's just so sick of holding on?
We never stopped to think, and at this rate we aren't going too until it's too late.
Stop shunning that gay kid.
Stop denying that kid of a different race.
Stop messing with that kids image.
Stop judging ones religion.
Stop spreading and starting rumors.
Just stop, and open your eyes.
Poem | |
We have come a long way we have been fighting for centuries and decades to get
where we are.
Jim Crow and the Segregated south couldn't keep us down.
We fought to be equal by marching the streets of the south all the way to D.C.
Slavery may have tried to keep us down and make us give up.
But we held our heads up high and looked to the sky and Prayed to God to help us.
And he did he saw us through he made us stronger it was another's day journey
and we were glad about it.
My heritage enlightens me it inspires me to be a better person and to be my best.
My culture motivates to want more to educate the younger generation.
From the plantation to the white house we have come a long way.
To see the future through and have a brighter day.
The south thought they had us bound but they were wrong.
The Lord knew what he had in store for us all along.
He showed us the light............
And kept us through the night.
People like the Reverend Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are keeping the legacy
By making sure that we know our rights and get the respect we deserve.
I am enlightened by what Martin Luther, Malcolm X and Frederick Douglass did.
They were motivated even though they came from different backgrounds.
My ancestors pulled through so I could see something unique and divine.
Segregation turned into intergration Jim Crow evolved into the background paving
the way for Barack Obama to become president.
If only Jim Crow knew he paved the way for civil rights.
For marches upon Washington D.C. and for Lunch Counter Sit-ins.
All those hymns and Justice he paved the way for Rosa Parks to say enough is
To not give up her seat and to be treated as equal citizens.
My heritage and my culture breathes within me and I must keep the legacy going
All my days long.
Poem | |
We are people of color
beautiful of color
but we are viewed as athletes
eventhough we have one of us
in the white house we are still
viewed as such
we were once kings and queens
but was stolen from our land
and our land was robbed of everything
we were oppressed and forced into a way of life
that we didn't want
our women was raped and viewed as
sexual objects instead of people
our men was labors and when they
could no longer perform they were tossed
aside left to fend for themselves and when
we finally had our freedom our problems
continued we viewed as second-rate inferior
to the other race, we weren't
given any opportunities and when it came
to school it was horrible
just another thing we had to endure
like segregation we couldn't use the
same restrooms or sit next to them but
the sad thing about it was that it was viewed as constitutional
"Separate but Equal" was what they were calling it
but when the nation was under attack who did
they turn too they turned too us for help
but we were still treated unfair but there were some
bright moments for us during that era
Jack Robinson opened the door for us to play sports
Dr. Martin Luther King
fought for our equality along with others that are not
mentioned in this poem that's why I
am grateful for all of the opportunities that I have today
I am grateful to go to school and
sit anywhere I want to
I am grateful for all the people of color who gave it there all
and sacrificed everything they had so that we could
have this chance to do what they could not do
I love my people of color
beautiful of color and
just to let you know
I'm not a racist just someone
giving you the history of our people
the people of color
Poem | |
Intimidation, Intoxication, Infatuations
Incrimination, Insinuations, Investigations
Interrogations, Incarceration, Inoculation
Syndication, Stipulation, Suffocation
Segregation, Separation, Subjugation
Devastation, Declaration, Domination
Recommendation, Recuperation, Ratification,
Reiteration, Renunciation, Repatriation
Regeneration, Resuscitation, Rejuvenation
Poem | |
Social injustice and economic inequality
have always been practiced in our Nation's working industry
Irish need not apply, Hispanics we don't want your kind
and Blacks don't even show your face
this was the typical response to ethnic minorities in America's workplace
nepotism and favoritism were the norm and status quo
as it was not about your knowledge or skill but about who you know
let us never forget the unions and labor laws which evened the playing field
for if it was left up to corporate America economic inequality would never yield
Racism, discrimination and segregation on our Nation's history is a blight
and in spite of all the civil rights laws we still have to fight
for a measure of equal opportunity
for some respect and a little dignity
let us never forget the Rev. Dr. King Jr., Medgar Evers, Cesar Chavez and Rosa Parks
those who stood up against injustice by igniting a socially conscious spark
they did not back down, they would not back off, they took a moral stance
so that every single human being in this country could have an equal chance
We hold these truths to be self-evident that all citizens shall be treated the same
regardless of race, color, age, gender or how we pronounce your name
and as we celebrate Black History Month let us never forget those who led the fight
in the struggle for social justice, economic equality and basic human rights
Poem | |
ain't it a shame
when hate lynches
a 14 year old Colored boy
in 1955 Mississippi
and blows away the dreams of
four innocent little Negro girls
in 1963 Birmingham, Alabama
bus that to your segregated thoughts
as I interracially walk you
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children
to march along side the National Guard
on their way to a lily white school
as the message of this
un-segregates & untangles
the history of hate
attackin’ Negroes in 1957
whose only desire was to be educated
and schooled too
racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide
the white citizen council back
to their good senses
don’t care ‘bout nobody
being Jewish or Colored
when it needs to
Negro churches with Negroes in them
or feels the need to hang someone
from a tree out of existence
racism even devours its own kkklan
as the innocent
pay the ultimate price
racism doesn’t care
if your church is the 16th Street Baptist
and 14 yr. old Addie Mae Collins
is one of the four black Alabama children
killed in attendance
racism ain’t concerned about
you being white either
or your last name being
Martin or Rodney King
and so many other names
that we’ll never know of
that racism wounded or buried six feet
racism doesn’t care about
what kinda NAACP dream
or concerned about your last name
being "Parks" in 1955
when it attempts to guide you back
to the "Colored" section of the bus
where you know your
civil-rights will be denied
every time you allow
" segregation & discrimination"
to collects its fare
racism & its hateful followers
have no regard at all
for one’s race / religion
or sexual persuasion
especially when racism peers
into its discriminating mirror
century after century
time after time
day after day
and tells itself in 2006
"it’s better than you"
because you’re "cultured" different
racism stirs an ugly pot of soup
that no one should ever have to taste.
Poem | |
"our budget allows for
one janitor, and that spot
is what he said
before he took one
look at my credentials
"sir, I come to ask
about the teller job,"
I says and he just
turns around to say
"come back in 25 years"
Poem | |
A division, that is not hard to tell,
Is the division of the "status quo."
Or, those who go where no others can go,
While living secretly behind their veil.
The status quo crown is meant to be hailed.
A self-proclaimed title given to show
Status, to those who are driven to know
How the other half lives, when they do well.
This social symbol of separation,
Which they have carried with them for so long,
Is used to propel their elevation.
They, believing that there is nothing wrong,
Show social symbols of segregation,
By separating the "weak" from the "strong."
Poem | |
I am a book and I’m the author
I walk experience in my pages
Pages made to cover similar hardships in novels
I puke poetry and sing boring songs while cooking words in ovens
I believe in walking crippled paragraphs
I am a book
Look i designed my cover in smiley looks
A very loud template with innocent news
Piles of smiles that attract visions not prisons
I am a lesson don’t fall in my trap
I've dribbled my own games with my own words
Say you love me, even if you don’t
I long to taste the sound of your affection
Say the things lovers fill their tummies with
You don’t have to mean it
Please say it
Fool my mind, give me a hug before Sunday
My life is a statue
That Arrogance standing motionless in front of uninvited opponents
My old school way of speaking new images
Life undresses my naked truth with no omissions
I am a lost sculpture like my mother's grave
I am brave
I forced my lovers to hate me in many ways
They tried making sense of my existence
I hardly speak for other verses but souls
I am a book
Say the words in the back of my heart
Say you adore me
Even if it’s not registered in your mind
Be blind and see your love for me, be kind
Why am i a recollection in your old shelves
Why revisit me when life blesses you with hot claps
I am covered in black
I spared wheelchairs for any of my broken pages
I am far from segregation
I am your bestselling knowledge in high voltage
I am your tour guide with guaranteed knowledge
I am a jacket to self-made cigarettes
Your soft pages
My dusty unreadable pages are covered at the end of my life no worries
My mind has muscles but suffer not from steroids
I am addicted to meanings of my metaphors
Say something about me please,
Even if saying it decreases your energy
Blind fold your approach and pride
Neighbour my disciples and their kinds
Just give me hope for preaching hope
Crown me King
I am a simple bible
You know that
Say the things you thought about me
Hello be thy word, thy medicated voice
Thy will be written in different styles
Hello be thy easy to speak to many hearts
I am a book hated by many
My racial skills are empty not blurry
I am a book and I am the author
I am your words in your world
© Raymond Ngomane
Poem | |
Is the cry of the war
Civil conflict to combat
Fight for freedom once more,
Taking bullets for the north
We will overtake the south,
Gettysburg reaches hearts
by way of word of mouth,
Keep fighting, keep talking,
Lincoln makes a declaration,
Freedom is a document
Yell Glory Hallelujah
History is being made,
Yet illogical inequality
Is the heat within the shade,
Segregation is the word
Whitey yells it from the mountain,
No colored folks eat our food
Or drink from our water fountains,
Different schools, different places,
Different things for different races,
Last difference is
Humiliation on our faces
They whistle at a white woman
Beat them until its hard to stand,
Either the cops will get them first
Or we enforce the wrath of Klan,
Hang em high up in the trees
Cut the privates off the man,
Example after example,
That will make them understand,
Take us home, We want to roam,
Free within the mother land,
Marcus Garvey is the speaker
Back to Africa is the plan,
We want to go, We want to stay,
A mix of love and disagree,
What other way, what other way,
To fight this inequality?
Poem | |
I gave you the benefit of the doubt ,I ran to your every shout,I even tolerated your strikes and insults day in day out, I believed your every lie, that came out of your mouth,and acted as if it was truth,letting my anger die out, but now its time to take the trash out. I allowed you to contaminate my blood and flow through my veins,call me hubris names,I allowed you to drive me insane,to deceive me again and again with out restrain.you deceived me but believe me,I knew it all along, I was just trying to hold on strong. Like a solder with the last bullet ,I just didn't know when to pull it,when to pull the trigger,I guess I had to, the day you called me a nigger. Yes you seem to sincerely hold and kiss me,but yet you was with another man, when you called to say you missed me,who knew how deceptive bliss could be,like skeletons bellow the beauteous and glistening sea.I couldn't see because of your sun shine, your well planed deception and the profession of love, which now to me is mystery now theirs no need to worry, your history, like slavery and legal segregation, because to you I was never your better half. I was just another momentary stimulation ,alleviation ,awaiting termination, like a used rag after skins dirty visitation ,but fooled to keep visiting,thinking it was just my toleration, the intensification of this situation is far beyond ratification, you are an abomination,instead of dealing with this this, I should have stuck to poems and masturbation, this is no speculation, exaggeration dramatization, or erroneous accusation.Your lies and motives are nasty, how could I let your funk of a skunk pass my nostrils evaluation?Your unveiled deception brought me to a factual realization,it was to work on my punctuation I should have dropped five million six hundred and eighty five periods to end this death sentence for good....
Poem | |
There was no true freedom in this nation.
We were allowed to go with emancipation.
However, we afterwards fought discrimination.
Ubiquitous was racism and segregation.
Often with the rising sun of the dawn,
we would find a smoldering cross on our lawn.
What has been the price of racial equality?
It has been a struggle as tough as can be.
inspired by another member's poem
Poem | |
I’m thankful for slaves who never could understand, “Why do I work for people and get less than the bare minimum wage?”
Why do I go through the pain and suffering if there’s no gain for my family or me? My greats never were a boss and rarely knew who their family was so why live this life if it wasn’t free to be?
My roots nurtured the seeds who helped create opportunities; if we as the people could see how they lived maybe we would be stronger minded people rather than living like we have no sense
We are a culture that is talented in so many ways but we want to be the target of a negative headline news story.
We already seen shackles on our feet, slavery, segregation, and racism against our peace, so why do we still act as if we can’t change the way people perceive us to be
We are not going to blame it on our past because they gave us freedom to see so why can’t we exploit this and live the true meaning of the land of the free
Disregard the negative news and set yourself apart change the way you act so others can see a fresh start
If we started from the bottom now where here isn’t that living proof we can do anything besides spend money on material things but invest in the future or non-profits to help others to build something and have a heart
We can’t just stay a struggle we have to be humble take over the government and make change not think we high class and go to jail for spending money or getting caught up for the wrong things
Set a strong example for these homeless, gangs, prostitutes, and dealers because they are suffering and have only 2 choices that put us on the news headline story in jail or death coming soon
As we lift up those who make a change on the streets or on Capitol Hill we are happy these people are creating an Underground Railroad to victory without suffering and hopefully this stand is coming to all my people to
We got to take charge in numbers instead of sit back all for nothing
If you better yourself from how others use to see you maybe you can see the roots that can help make the change for you as others grow in this thing called a root lifting cycle. Respect the roots.
Poem | |
THE NEW WORLD.
Keep reading and don't talk,
Robots do major work
As I supervise and watch.
With my cold hands
I read psalm
As the sun is turning on
From the west lawn,
These new world is a song
Long told by the holy monk,
It was kept far in the elephants
We didn't read to be wisdom
The world was a better place,
Till riches came with a sensitive
Segregation enters every page
Poverty becomes a stain and
Pain of the destined age.
Tears is this healthy rain
She can express,
But will never explain.
The new world
Is these great spray
I can't challenge the other
Of the day,
Two stage is all time present
A present or punishment for
The new world isn't the same
And will never remain
The same even for any saint.