August 11th

South Central cloaked in evening gray
streetlights plotting our course

that wheel in daddy’s hands
like the pages in a book
turning, revealing
more and more of our story

a reality in the form of gasoline
a bottle, a rag, and some fire
from the hearts of neighborhood soldiers
forced us down, down, down
into the abyss

remembrance dayrightssocietyfree verse

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Susan Ashley

Date: 11/7/2017 4:57:00 PM

Richard, a great write. Your first stanza builds suspense, your second stanza, a reality in shear terror. How horrific that situation and experience must have been. The feelings echo through your words and are moving... ~Susan

Ricky Muse
Date: 11/7/2017 7:24:00 PM

Poetry has helped me deal with tough times in my life. Thanks for your support Susan........................peace!

Patricia Cresswell

Date: 11/6/2017 4:00:00 PM

Is this a real event? If so it has made me angry that such things happen in my world. It is mine as it is all of ours and these aberrations can not be tolerated. How can we expect peace when we expose children to such actions. Stopping now I am getting preachy I think. Good write got me going anyway.

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 11/6/2017 7:10:00 PM

I am sorry that happened to you.

Ricky Muse
Date: 11/6/2017 4:08:00 PM

Yes the situation in this poem actually happened to me. It was a long time ago, but still fresh in my mind. Thanks for stopping bye.....................peace!

Laura Breidenthal

Date: 11/2/2017 4:26:00 PM

"street lights plotting our course" I particularly love that line to this compelling and dark composition. I'd love to know more about this poem. Very interesting. Always, Laura

Ricky Muse
Date: 11/2/2017 7:05:00 PM

Laura on August 11th 1965 my family drove smack-dab into the middle of the beginning of the Watts Riots. I'll never forget that day. Thanks for stopping bye.