Best Alton Poems
Little Max to Alton towers did go,
He went with his granddad, who some trains did want to show.
He loves his trains does Maxy, his excitement was mounting fast
Until he went on the “Runaway Train” then even his granddad was aghast.
The train set off WOO, WOO said Max, enjoying every minute
Until the speed picked up and he could hardly hang on in it.
Granddad hugged him close and tight
And looked at his little face, all screwed up in fright,
Then he found it was a reflection
Of Granddads, own pale complexion.
They clung together through all the dipping and the diving
Granddad trying to be brave, and Max not be depriving.
Woo, Woo, went Max but in quieter voice,
He didn’t really like this choice.
As the ride slowed down to stop, relief in Max and Granddad grew,
But oh they were in for a shock, when a second time round it flew.
A smiling Granddad holding tight to Max, he was trying to look so brave and strong
I don’t think I like this granddad, I think you have got this wrong.
Then the ride came thankfully to a stop,
Granddad lifted Max down, who to his knees did drop.
Thank you granddad that was good, but please make me a promise
I’m not sure I’ll believe it’s good, you can call me a doubting Thomas.
I’m sorry Max it was in, fun and I promise, and this is law,
I won’t take you on a train again, until you are at least the age of four.
A
Special
Heritage
Of bravery,
Strength, and charity
Abides in hearts and homes.
Legacy of ancestors
Who sweat and bled to birth the town.
And now, the future generation
Is raised to do the same in all the earth.
The mountain stronghold whispers through seasons
Where summer months are warm and busy.
Autumn full of leaves, food, and school.
Winter boasts cold, snowy nights,
The days fun, snow-filled sports.
Spring comes with new birth.
Baby creatures,
Raised spirits,
Grasses
Green.
My
Hometown.
Peaceful place
Where family
Extends the whole town.
A pretty little place
Where friends of old, and friends new
Join in raising kids and moral
Fiber for the world now and future.
Camaraderie of great quality.
Tucked within the folds of beautiful hills,
With coral ledges raised above them,
A place protected from the world.
Becomes holiday retreat
For those who’ve moved away,
But come back each year,
Like drifting birds
Who like the warmth
Of places
Further
South.
CHRONICLES OF 3 DEAD BLACK MEN & ALTON
Louisiana: Alton Sterling shot dead.
Crime: selling CDs outside a grocery shop?
Outcome: "No charges for police over death",
says The Department of JUSTICE. Yes, 'justice'.
Methinks the last word above is misspelt.
They said: "No sufficient evidence",
Yet, video footage spread everywhere.
And so, death strikes. . .
three (3) black birds,
Six (6) years apart;
A thousand tears in New York,
hundreds of wailing, Georgia sobs,
a whole race & souls mourn in Minnesota
as we recount the tale of a white lion & curb
out on an hunting spree,
Gregory, former police officer (64)
and son Travis McMichael (34) in a truck
pursued a 25years old black lamb,
gunned down the lamb like it's a game,
Ahmaud Arbery was to be the sacrifice
to the gods above the law
and so...his vibrating breath seized,
his flesh mutter to his departing spirit soul:
"I can't breathe"
just like 2015, we reminisce
Eric Garner's last words:
"I can't breathe"
and now,
George Floyd's swansong:
"I can't breathe".
Garner growled 11 times
after being throat cooked by men in black,
Floyd muttered in 15 times
after being strangled by Derek's cursed knee,
Arbery jogged then ran the race of his life
till he got holes in him straight to death,
Devil had the smoking gun of a white dad
and son all to thank.
One simple question needing answer:
Is the game of Numbers being played against us?
In loving memory of late Alton Sterling, Ahmaud Arbery, Eric Garner & George Floyd.
VickWizzy.
Form: Narrative.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}.
Copyright © May 28th, 2020
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you lean back
like you always did
and blow
wearing your bell bottom slacks
cool
just like you always were
I hear you now
maybe I always did
I just didn't know
it's all I ever wanted to do
paint a picture
lean back
see
feel
and hear the music
so please understand
I'm not trying to be you
I'm just trying
© Whit Howland 2019
surrounded by trees
a trailer lies in decay
the front door tugged by the wind
a home left behind
littered with animal waste
shadows seep from doors ajar