Best Discriminated Poems
MY FATHER'S GENTLE HANDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I remember my father’s hands as a plumber’s hands—fiercely strong, calloused, rough, knuckle-battered, and dirty after a long-day’s work. Those hands shoveled; unclogged drains and toilets; repaired leaks; and installed pipes, commodes, and bathtubs. Those hands provided.
I remember my father’s hands as a fisherman’s hands—perfectly patient, tenacious, self-confident, and unwavering as he held his fishing line and lure stabile, waiting for a fish to take the bait. “Keep your hands steady. Stay focused,” he prompted me when I asked him to teach me how to fish from his flat-bottom boat. Those hands fished longer than they ‘plumbed,’ rarely missing an opportunity to commune with nature, seldom losing a fish. Those hands fed.
I remember my father’s hands as a treasure hunter’s hands—firm, certain, and capable, listening intently to his metal detector’s tones learning to discriminate the sound a good coin makes compared to the choppy, broken sound a junk target makes. Those hands searched, discriminated, and found soulful answers to life’s complex questions and dilemmas.
I remember my father’s hands as gentle healing hands—kind and comforting as he wiped away the tears that sometimes streamed down my face. Without saying a word, those hands loved, consoled, and encouraged—always righting my world.
I remember my father’s hands—full of strength and hope as he took my trembling hands in his. Those hands gave me courage—the courage to reach up in search of everything impossible, leaving me with the unbridled sense that to do anything less was the greatest impossibility of all. Even now whenever I need courage, I can feel his hand around mine helping me to feel invincible once again.
In my mind’s eye, I often see my father’s hands—every line and every wrinkle. They told a story about the kind of man he was. I’ll remember my father’s hands for the remainder of my life. I’m grateful for him, for his enduring spirit and presence, which continues to grace my life despite his passing some years ago.
Dad's hands tell a tale
they did countless loving things
they touched and guided
they shaped and molded
they encouraged me to reach
they held the stars in place
they held rising sun
they sought deep understanding
they chased lonely moon
The poet Marshall Mathers
whilst "Cleaning Out My Closet"
blasted with inquiry-
"Have you ever been hated on or discriminated against?
I have...''
Interesting enough
in these crooked times
it is impossible to make a man like you,
or your art,
especially with unbounding determination.
Nevertheless,
It sure is mighty easy to attain their hatred,
through no fault of your own.
When they protest or demonstrate against you...
finally you have arrived!
That's powerful!
Common sense says,
"Never drive in the rear view mirror!"
Though, it sure is helpful to take a quick glance back
periodically
to check out Jealousy,
back there
doubting and shouting and eating your dust!
Take a whiff...
Listen...
AHHHH....
The band begins to play ferociously!
Off-key.
Off-color.
Slander Slogans pasted upon your face.
Furthermore,
Suddenly,
Systematically...
like roaches with lights bright,
they disappear into the night,
back to the slums;
begging for crumbs.
Once you've been Blacklisted;
Swallow.
Digest the miracle.
Pure, glowing gold
the alchemy of their anger,
visibly discernable from the glossy pyrite
appearing with fake praise.
Heed the old adage:
---------------Keep yir' friends close, and enemies closer.
Their futile harm repels from the Teflon donning your heart.
Envy
burns bold, boils,
melts and cools, then cold,
forging the sword.
Adding to your arsenal.
Stumble not
upon bone fragments,
brittle blacklist bandits...
the Catacombs of those
who aimed to defame your name,
staking claim for their
shameless sea of debris
and Rotten Forgottens
which only bolster your begotten flame.
Remain steadfast, undaunted
TROUNCE THOSE TREACHEROUS TROUBLES;
________________________ TO ________________________
MARCH THROUGH THE RIGOROUS RUBBLE!
*Heads High,
Let me see those eloquent eyes!~JsL
~Inspired by written words of Marshall Mathers, Cleaning Out My Closet,
Shady Records~
When my eyes close for the last time
I hope to have touched so many in my
Life time on my journey of life
Those I meet and left behind
With my smile and loving heart
That never discriminated
And hated in justice felt from the heart
When love it was from deep with in
Protected with faith those loved
And held closes to my heart
Never hated but forgave those who
Try to keep me down and kill my faith
To those who shed a tear for me
I hope to wipe dry with my love not gone
For my loving heart lives on with in each
And every one who knew me as big as my height
I will be with you in heart and spirit
For you will keep alive every time you think of me
Remember the good memories
Relive them when you feel sad that I am gone
For I will be in a better place at rest
Waiting to reunite with each and every one
Much love always
I’m an alien
From a poor country
A refugee in a rich country
From a far away third world country
Where corruption as cancer is spread every where
And people starve of hunger.
Within frontiers at El Salvador,
Nicaragua, Guatemala.
Refugees like me come and go
Through the frontiers to Mexico, USA, Europe.
There is a great difference in the world
Between rich and poor countries
Holland is a European rich country
The older you get the most isolated discriminated you feel.
As in Honduras in Holland there is unemployment.
Families are unable to fulfill their basic needs for their kids.
You can protest it won’t help!
There’s Unemployment, drug addiction
As cancer poverty spread everywhere in the veins of third world countries.
People are searching in the garbage.
Can you explain me this difference?
Does it make any sense?
I am a child of the palace
Living like a slave
So that these human can relate
That fate
Never comes in a sliver plate
My life is great
No spoon, give me a spade
I am a winner without a race
A stubborn stain you can’t erase
I am known without a face
Set free without a case
When I get lost
I’m sketched and never traced
Too believe or not to
Is a choice
So to me, God is a choice
That inner voice
That refuses to shut up
When nobody is listening
Life is not a math problem
So I never looked for solutions
When I smile, it means I’m happy
When I cry, it means I’m alive
I was born
But never raised
I am adored
But never praised
I am a child of that palace
Living like a slave
So that you can relate
That human are born to be loved
And things are made to be used
But now things are loved
And you and I are being used
And now we are confused
Over what we’ve become
Objects of envy hate and blame
I am a solder without ammo
I am the white keys in your piano
I am the fragrance in your flower garden
The only blessing from the curse of Eden
I was schooled but never taught
I was fooled but never caught
I was hated but never abated
Betrayed but never delayed
Discriminated but never serrated,
Crowned but never celebrated
Mistaken but never regretted
I am a nightmare
That was never unrevealed
I am a gift wrapped up in a small curse
A jewel in life’s golden purse
A bird with wet wings
Waiting for the sun rays
So I can fly
And dance in the sky
I am the mirror
The reflection of what I am
And not who I am
So who am I?
United in isolated collectivity,
Standing erect for reflective solidarity,
Sited to enable individuality,
Symbolising the dead, the loss in totality.
So many damaged people, with so much to remind,
There are tear-laden memories for those left behind.
A tangible grief can still be heard in their voices,
Faltering as they speak out about that day’s choices.
Take underground trains or avoid confused crowds and fuss,
Diverted, turned back, decided to run, catch a bus.
Explosive devices never discriminated,
Primed bombs blasted apart, London was devastated.
They ripped through metal, taking and tearing precious lives
And scarred the future for each one who survives.
Destroyed calm, delivered terror with impunity,
Suicide bombers believed in their immunity.
Now peace, time taken for moments of contemplation,
Silent thoughts that bring an end to all conversation.
Remembered faces, the past a painful looking back,
Centrally listed, names on the newly engraved plaque.
Children run, play chase, amidst the memorial shown,
As people feel emotion, cry, prove that flesh and bone
Continues to exist, to love, to laugh and to weep
But, never to forget those whose memories we keep.
United in isolated collectivity,
Defiant, standing tall in solidarity.
There to celebrate the individuality
Of the murdered dead, fifty-two in totality.
Tragically their hopes, dreams were brutally curtailed
But, ours were not; we are strong as steel, terrorism failed.
ON THE ROCKS
Talk about bad luck, I hit rock bottom and broke a leg
One advantage to hitting rock bottom is at least I know which way is up now
I hit Rock’s bottom and he promptly kicked my bottom from one end to the other
It usually bottoms out when I hit rock bottom
WAXING PHILOSOPHIC (YEAH YOU MOPPED, BUT DID YOU WAX?... I THOUGHT NOT!)
A tree fell in the forest and a hearing impaired gentleman was nearby so it did NOT make a sound
You think, therefore you are and just who do think you are, anyway?
What does not kill me only makes me weak in the stomach when I am presented with the hospital bill
People who live in bakeries should not throw scones
DONCHA’ JUST LOVE IT?
Love is blind and keeps bumping into things
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Um…
I loved her to death but got off on a technicality
Star-crossed lovers occasionally get crossed up and can get rather cross about it too
I SAW ONE THE OTHER DAY I SWEAR TO GOD I DID
I made a Snowman that frankly speaking, looked Abominable
The Abominable Snowman retired to Florida and melted on the spot
Bigfoot treated The Abominable Snowman and family to dinner and footed the entire bill (however, things got pretty hairy when his credit card was refused)
Bigfoot often puts his foot in his mouth and he’s got a big mouth too
YOU’RE A REAL PAIN IN THE ASS AND STOP ACTING LIKE A HORSE’S ASS, SMART-ASS AND MY ASS CAN WHIP YOUR ASS ANY DAY OF THE WEEK TOO
A mule got a species change operation and made a real ass of himself
So WHAT if I’ve got it all backwards? (You whole-ass- b_tch-of- a-son!)
Secretariat lost his ass in a High-Stakes poker game
A horse was unjustly discriminated against because it was a horse of a different color
It must be said right now that being strange or weird is not a crime. Only an actual crime is the crime., and just as race, gender, religion, orientation, or nationality should not be discriminated against, pretty much neither should there be unwarranted prejudice against one with a different personality.
Banana tree here! Bwana quick sit with me
Come sit with me friend for a spell
These damn tsetse flies are all out for our blood
By now we all know them quite well!
In African village we no got de fence
But when you share shade of my tree
I find even though conversation may lag
Still half flies bite you and not me.
Possessions I have really don’t matter much
You need what I have just please take
For most of the food that I need grows on trees
To own stuff just leads to heartache.
It’s true that I may never purchase a car,
I also have no place to go
And why should I want to spend money on gas?
Bananas are fruitful you know!
And why in the world would I want a TV,
You think I don’t know how to talk?
A box that is filled with bright colors and noise
Whose predators my wallet stalk?
Some people think God is the friend of the white,
But I know that’s simply not true!
A white skin is simply God’s mark upon Cain (2)
Explains why white souls are all blue.
Brian Johnston
November 20, 2014
Poet’s Note:
(1) Bwana is a Swahili word for Sir.
(2) When I was in college living in off-campus housing in the 1960's, the University of OK decided to interview the landlords of off-campus housing units to see if non-white students were being discriminated against in this market. I happen to be home when they interviewed my landlord. She basically refused to honestly answer the questions asked by the students conducting the interviews and then after they left confided in me that she found it hard to believe that anyone could doubt that a 'black skin' was the curse put on Cain's decedents after he murdered his brother Able. I was shocked into silence. Most of OU's fraternities and sororities banned blacks as well in those times.
The rights to pursue happiness? Our rights to religious freedom? Right not to be discriminated based on race, creed or color? These our the civil rights that our forefather’s granted unto us...based on denied practices which if in another country were you born would have been granted the right to do...which at the time the 14th Amendment was written and later critiqued to embody sex, age or sexual orientation. Marriage has never been included in these rights based on what I see.
Our rights I somewhat question these new aged agendas, solely based on the written doctrine that separates church from government policy, which and whereas marriage was created inside the church and sanction by the church...only later to be documented solely by the government for a means of recording legally sanctioned church marriages...in the effort to document social security claims.
Our rights, yes granted when in line with what is done in other established countries or within a civilized society in another place. If this not be the case? Then pedophiles, bestiality are things which some people believe our their right to do free of prosecution by law? Our rights or not? Question of practice or desire, immoral or acceptable is my arguments to you?
We are all from an Osucaste,
those prepared for the gods of the land but rejected by the sun.
The sand we march on are our brothers and sisters, who were discriminated too.
They died a shameful death leaving their shadows behind,
Leaving their spirits wailing at every dustbins that modernity brought.
Leaving an awful images behind doors;
Leaving their emotions on the bodies of the sky to hunt and hurt us.
The noise named us into death and we smell silence through noise of death,
Discrimination tamed us and we tamed the firmament of the smoke that chase us.
You can see the ghost of my fathers in that smoke going up there,
You can retrieve the bleeding tears of my mother from the wind,
You can see the broken words of my sisters on the palms of the stars;
You can still see my brothers' virgin fears hang on the cloud,
They died through this course, Osu!
We will gather this cowries of Osucaste in Igboland.
Part ways for the fierce spirit of ogbanje for the punishment of this culture.
Obi Okwonkwo and Clara will marry,
and Achebe's spirit will be at ease again.
We'll survive through the skin of the moon,
We'll survive through this ringing tone
of civilization.
They made us learn to trade life for death when life becomes a threat.
We'll find ourselves coming back when we die at will with their torture.
We'll swing swords and missiles in the name of survival,
We can't marry others, we can't love others, we can't speak to others, what life is it without a human relationship?
Our lives are bags of black colours,
Our images smell horribly to them,
Suffering from what we don't know,
We have placed our plates upon the face of morning;
We have removed all our tears from the belly of the night,
Hoping that this will end when the earth and the mars cross path and we become the survivals.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
It is challenging to face difficulties in areas where your peers have surpassed at ease,
To always try your hardest to fit in, or try to please,
To excessively work on being at least average- is exhausting!
Yet dropping out of school is more taunting,
More taunting than being bullied, alone or discriminated,
You pretend to be alright- yet inside you can’t stop feeling humiliated,
Even if you give in to “being weak” by letting out a cry,
You remain un-heard and instead told to die!
You’re:
A burden upon your family,
A burden upon your school,
A burden upon society,
Being name called - dorky tool!
You let the words fly by you, and in your head mock their pitiful charade,
But right at the critical point when you’re holding that razor blade,
Hands tremble, voice quivers, you try to remain bold,
You can’t help but subside, and finally do what you’ve always been told
The hateful slurs then boomerang right back in your face,
Apparently it’s what’s best for the human race…
Discrimination is rampant elsewhere,
LGBT, PWD and Low Class person got there,
Is anybody can solve this?
Or nothing can break this.
Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, Transgenders,
Everyone says they are curse,
In the society they are rot,
People sees abnormality on them,
They are criticize on physical.
How come they judge them?
They beautify our world,
They got a good career,
And what we sees now they are succeeded.
Persons with disabilities are unique,
But still they are criticize,
They can't get a job 'cause of situation,
Everyone looks them as trash,
Everyone thinks of their differences,
They are drag of everyone.
How come they judge them?
They are unique and talented,
They create a new world,
And what we sees now they are the highlight of all.
Low Class persons are discriminated.
People are ignoring them,
And make them slave.
Everyone sees they are hindrance.
People are teasing their situation,
And banish from the society.
But how come they judge them?
They are the life of society,
They have a noble job,
And a successor of everything.
Some think its ugly
dreads are natural hair art
apart ones identity
discriminated
everyone not a bad thug
dreads get a bad rep
seen most successful
with locks swing proudly head high
most beautiful art
A diminutive girl, born in a colossal world.
Originate as a weed, no one like to plant this seed.
All and sundry cried and swept, feeling depressed
the outcome of their sleepless nights was not perfect,
the girl was never given respect.
Being discriminated and the only one who is unwanted,
never meant to be created.
Struggle for basic amenities like contented lavatory,
Not allowed to hold the school satchel,
and that is the biggest battle.
Her struggle is on but she will never move on,
Find her comfort in a government school,
whereas brother goes to good institute,
learns the importance of school, pen and other tools.
Finishes pronto all domiciliary work but her studies never suffer,
when outclassed she was ignored
and sacrifices still counted as buffer .
After marriage, in-laws and husband are primary,
beaten to death for small dowry,
her dream is to be Lowry.
Never scream and bicker, dodge others folly.
Women are quintessential trees,
they are the root of the family’s ease,
branches depict, they have nothing for themselves.
Are in the business of molding lives,
creating balance as a daughter, mother and wife.
Now she is a prolific writer,
she acknowledged her goal and became a powerful fighter.
The public’s mouth is shut,
and she is a stimulus for all girls, women and young adults.
A women’s plight is only to study and not be a young wife
she can show that she is the potentate of her own life.