David Smalling Poet Verse

An Immigrants Position

I came first but you did not write me in history
You made me mute, invisible, estranged
From my own heredity and great memory
With the slivering tongue arranged 
Upon my brain. You brought me back, later
Across the wet desert of the Atlantic 
From coffle to cotton, without choice in the matter
So I would believe I was a lunatic.

For only lunatics have no sense of place or name
Make roads they cannot walk, make garments
That cannot cover the stereotypes of shame.
I proved genius in better moral arguments
Did not let me take your life for all your cruelty.
Here is one more for your book, from islands
To continents I made them all the same
 You left them blood and gold from your hands
Dripping, I followed you with a different name

Look again, who is the immigrant? Who do you fool?
Let me not deny your stealth, this separation
Of the vine from the root, by dividing you rule
But before you set us at variance, a suggestion
What is the DNA of all your wealth, the legacy
Of pirates and slaves? There is no beggar's hand
Here, just agents to recoup with undue courtesy
The treasures stolen from love and native land

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Tim Ryerson June 30, 2012 at 1:07 PM Very powerful write. Yes, we are the true immigrants (invaders) The indians were here first and robbing them wasn't enough. We thought we needed slaves so we went over to Africa and helped ourselves. VERY good work, David - Tim

Vince Suzadail Jr. April 21, 2009 at 5:42 AM We never lived what we preached. History taught by our own depicted us as the good guys and the rest of the world was screwed up and every one bought it and taught it to their young. We've come a long way but still have miles to go. Vince