Race starts, runs fast.
Horse darts, comes last.
Breathing should be easy
Yet somehow it's the most difficult action
We shouldn't have to remind ourselves
Yet here we are
But what is the point when the world has its knees on our neck
Why fight a battle that strips us of our weapons
The expectations to submit
To actions unfit to complete
When either way our existence gets us killed
Scolded when we plead -
For human rights and equality
Peace was never an option
When survival is to watch us bleed
It's a familiar type of exhaustion
One my people know all to well
Where - we breathe and we die
Or we speak up and it's systemic suicide
Tensions suffocate the air
All we want from life is to be treated fair
Yet, atlas life is a never ending cycle -
For us, filled with chronic despair
It's hard to breathe when silence is the only option
When the words are there, but in the end we end up choking
It's always been this way, of cyclical hope then watch it slowly dissipate
Knowing we can't trust it, yet it clings to us for survival
One day maybe it'll be different story
Though let's not hold our breath
We still need it for our survival, Rome wasn't built in a day, we have to be realistic
They existed, they were here
Real people made to disappear
Hidden history, lies and erasure
For them it was protocol
For us It became normal
What really is normal
In the conversation of racism
Of different rules
When it comes to black people
It becomes opposite -
What is, is what's not
What's not is what is
A confusing cycle
We are expected to follow
When they themselves
Aren't reliable
This isn't about judicial rule
More control of a certain race of people
Don't be fooled -
By the fake smiles they draw
This is not societal
This is purely individual
If it wasn't, their morals would be total
The system of law -
Would be equal
However that is not the case at all
When eradication is their goal
It's why they deny their history of violence
It's why they bury our stories in silence
It's why they bleach the stains of their hate
It's why they burn our bodies to rid of their guilt
It's why they drown our voices in the ocean of their lies
It's why our history books are empty of our ink - just the erasure of our names
She got to wake up the next day
He didn't.
She got to live her life
He didn't.
She got to have her own family
He didn't
She lied
He didn't.
She admitted to the lie -
No repercussions
He was a black boy -
He got murdered
Carolyn Bryant,
A murderer
Emmett Till,
A victim
The courts awarded her due diligence
His family fled in fear, that it'd be repeated
Leaving their home, scared they'd be targeted
Their home a ghost to a child evicted
A system built to allow racism
The betrayal of the white liberals
Is one so peculiar
For a party that claims allyship
Why are black people not invited
Or?
Do you already have your token
To show you are open
To the lie of progression
The covert nature of your motive
Is a secret that is no longer hidden
No tear shed for yet another innocent black victim
But outspoken to defend a republican
Then again
Birds of the same feather must stick together
The pitiful pretence of support you perform
Is evil only a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' could have
They move as if they are sleeper cell spies
Rising only for a white man's death
To them race comes before politics
White liberals 'care' until it comes to defending whiteness
They are just cowards dressed up in a cloak of 'niceness'
What? -
All to prove your differences
Or
Just as a way to boost your views
Acting like the odd one out with your 'individualistic' truths
Spare me your drawn on wounds
Especially when you have never had to walk a day in our shoes
Very brutal by nature my mind can confirm,
Poetry marathoners need a cap laced with wisdom,
To grace the desired seats of battlescarred warriors,
The skillet must still burn hotter than Hades.
Surely Marathons are run with endurance and persistence,
So is this one, for my goals are lofty.
Though I lack great speed, power, and technique,
My oak must stand deep-rooted through the storms.
My drafts litter bins as torn scraps of junk,
Haters blot the ink of my masterpiece.
Negativity weighs on my frail shoulder,
Yet my resolve stands steadfast on aching feet.
But no one can deny good poems their glory.
Like smoke they escape all traps and dissipate,
Clutching throats to make their presence felt.
All I need do is write—and hope.
The songs that masterpieces sing
Are heard by the deaf and sung by the dumb.
Their rhythm washes away the dust of imperfection;
They heal the soul and soothe the mind of sorrow.
So, my pen, fill yourself with ink of perfection.
Write on this paper I lay before you—
Another poem no sponsor can deny the top prize.
Write before the last drop runs dry.
An unclear image moved swiftly by
Briefly seen from the corner of my eye.
A rumbling upstairs made my heart pump,
Downstairs in the dark—thump, thump, thump.
This house suddenly seemed to come alive,
The chills enveloped, I pulled my blanket up high.
The movements and sounds—I just heard something fall,
I peeked from my blanket to see the bounce of a ball.
I slunk to the floor and crawled toward the door,
Silent and still, my heart pounding once more.
It just charged down the hall in a wild, playful race—
Then yipped with delight and licked my face!
My puppy at play in the dead of night,
Turns out the scare was no match for his bite.
Do not Fear, will not fade away at these dawns waving crimson flag
Before burns out last owen that fumes above my homeland
It is my nation's star that will shine forever
Its mine, its my nation's however
Do not wrinkle up your visage dear coy crescent, I'll be sacrificed
To my hero race smile once, what is this severity this wrath
Then will not be just for you our bloods that poured out
Deserves independence my nation who is worshipper of God
Written by Mehmet Akif Ersoy
Translation Honor Su
Hashtags.
Used to promote to get more attraction to a desired cause
To create a movement , to even open doors
But - like most things it has its flaws
Used to manipulate for narrative control
Stories of real life trauma
Plastered on social media
To be auctioned of and sold
To the highest bidder- usually a politician
Their favourites, those that contain stories of racism
Not because they care
But for emotional manipulation
Used to make them look like a 'diverse hero'
Claiming to love everyone
Yet create policies for a mandatory stop and patrol
'Coincidentally' in only black neighbourhoods
Most hashtags aren't even harmful
If used for the greater good, it can be very useful
A way for slogans to become a movement
One example - #blacklivesmatter
To boost, to help go viral
To become a worldwide sensation
After all you can never have enough people
To tackle this centuries long issue
Yet human nature makes people resentful
When they aren't the centre of attention - when they aren't popular
Usually the oppressors, they can't stand feeling inferior
They'll twist a cause to suit their reputation
After all what's a campaign without deception
EBONY REVELATIONS
We are not
Their Hams,
We are Lambs
Of the Lord:
Our Liberator:-
Their race-based
Biblical thoughts,
Are as winter snowballs,
Falling into the fires of hell:-
What should be an atmosphere of excitement
Becomes something more deadly - more violent
A child's first sound should be heard
Instead silence echoes
Even before life began
A black baby understands
That in order to survive the world outside
Their cries should be kept on the inside
How painfully sad
That before it's existence
It inherited generational silence
Ones whispered through the branches of their ancestry
The unspoken rules that come with the guide of how to survive -
Being black and alive
There are way scarier things then the dark
Like the clothes on your chair, something innocent
Becomes dark and twisted
Once the lights are off
Morphing into shadows
Worse than any nightmare your mind to conjure
If you don't understand this metaphor
I'm talking about the performative actions of the modern day oppressors
How messed up
That we live in a world
That claims that us black people are the 'monsters'
Yet before our children are even born
You've forced
Our sons and daughters
Into a life dictated by silence
A black boy stands in front of a mirror
Practicing how to address an officer
"Yes officer"
I promise I'm good
I won't cause no trouble just because I'm from the hood
I won't make a noise
I won't make a sound
I'll make sure to leave the hood of my hoodie down
No frown on my face
You dont need to tell me I already know my place
You dont need to remind me of my race
"Yes officer"
I am in school
I also have a future I'm looking forward to
No I don't sell drugs
I'm just playing football
And yes I live in this neighbourhood
Black people can be rich too
"Yes officer"
My father is around
Never been to prison but is the mayor of this town
As for my mother she is a lawyer and that makes me proud
We aren't on food stamps
In fact we are the type of people to give back
And yes we can afford to do that
"Yes officer"
I'm black
But that doesn't give you the right to attack
Where do all the voices go
When told to repress their emotions
Do they fake a smile and swallow it whole
Or do they bury their heads in the ocean and scream
The black voices are silenced
Trapped in the purgatory of compliance
Usually erased by a history of violence
Or thrown into solitary confinement
No light, no windows
Just an eternity of darkness
Voices hidden by oppressive shadows
But what of those that demand to be heard
Voices beneath the earth
Silenced by death and historical erasure
Instead of words
Do they make the ground tremble with their anger
Do their spirits control the weather
Do their souls become messengers
To represent all those who go unheard
All those black speakers
To continue a legacy of black courage
Of daring to speak up against the oppressor
Unmarked grave
Epigraph reads slave
Not even dignified with a name
Just a ghost of a boy surrounded
By tombs of those known
Tombs of those never alone
In a cemetery full of strangers
Even in death he is separated from his family
Who was he?
The world may never know
His body buried just like his story unknown
He was born into shackles
And died in them
He never got to taste the sweetness of freedom
Even in death, even in the afterlife
He will always be known
Through only his skin colour
We will never fully know will we?
A burned up system of control
A revolt spoken with flames
Silence was no longer an option
Peace had been exhausted
The only language they communicate
Violence
The police man specialises in brutality when it comes to the black man
'Stop and search'
An excuse they use
To abuse
The 'blacks"
Used as a slur
By the oppressor
As if it's poison, as if it's something to beware
Of
The Brixton riots of 1981
An explosion ready to happen
All that was needed was a lighter to spark the fuse
13 bodies
13 humans
13 black men,
Lost to hate
Tensions rose like the smoke in the buildings
A quite smile left on the faces of those reeling
Their own kind of justice, it was oh so freeing
Retaliation they didn't expect
In their own words they believed they had 'controlled the blackies'
But we have a weapon
One that whispered through generations
Nothing loud
Just something strategic
Something quiet
A lingering secret
Black rage
A communal experience
Of built up fatigue
Of the uk's involvement
In the mistreatment Of black people
Specific Types of Race Poems
Definition | What is Race in Poetry?
Poems Related to Race
bolt, breed, chase, color, compete, competition, contention, contest, course, culture, dart, dash, event, family, gallop, hurry, hustle, marathon, match, nationoffspring, people, progeny, racism, relay, run, rush, scamper, scramble, species, sprint, sprint, tribe,