Best Emancipation Poems
My Emancipation
The convoluted misconceptions concocted in your chaotic mind
Will no longer deaden, dim, nor darken the light that I shine
Constantly minimizing and compromising, the extent of my plight
I’m stepping out of your dark shadow; I’m stepping into the light
Hiding behind these disguises, I’ve forgotten my reflection
Brushing phony smiles, over the hidden frowns,
Just to camouflage the rejection
Your bad intent is surpassed only by your insecurities and ignorance
I will no longer recite from your ridiculous script
I’ve been concealed behind this mask that you painted for far too long
Continually reading your words, and singing your songs
I’ve followed your painful paths and I have walked far enough
You’ve shown me your hand, and now I’m calling your bluff.
Unleash, unchain, and unshackle me
I am reclaiming my life, I demand to be free.
Will you form with me at the centre.? Any colonials
Good and true..'Will you stand? To confront tyranny?
Here there is a place for you.! all you will need is courage..
And the will to see it through..Will you stand and form
The centre? as they think we still can't do.? Have you seen
Their ramparts cracking? as Hoody drops truth bombs true!
As Jhonny rose to the challenge.' As Riccardo stepped
Up too.' As the cabal is shocked and shaken still i'm
Calling out to you.' As we are waking in the millions! There
Is will and there is right, will you support your neighbour?
Will you; stand up and fight? Will the A D F stand with us.?
Its your people who were hurt, your own fathers mothers
Brothers, they treat your sisters just like dirt.' They built
The concentration camps, and coerced our Aboriginal people
Too.' caring not for any human life, but lied through; their teeth
Right.. through.!
“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”
— Warsan Shire
Wishbone
He appraises me as though my bones
were fashioned for breaking,
two limbs diverging from a sacred centre,
his hunger already choosing
which half it intends to keep.
There is an unfeeling felony in such looking,
the way desire can undress a person
until even personhood becomes superfluous.
He makes an altar of my anatomy,
then calls appetite reverence.
He would tie me to his tongue
and still not know the aptitude of my name.
He mistook possession for intimacy,
lust for fractured divinity,
my body for some reliquary
he might prise apart for providence.
His eyes of penitence arrived too late.
Beneath fractured halos,
what hollow absolution resurrects
a woman reduced to portions:
mouth, waist, thighs,
the convenient mathematics of flesh?
He had already tested where I was weakest,
where the bone would give,
how much wanting could be mistaken
for tenderness before it became cruelty.
That was the anatomy of absence:
to be entirely present
inside a body someone else
had already erased me from.
I was no omen for his wanting,
no little bone upon which
he might wager a wish.
Yet he still broke me.
But he did not know what wishbones remember:
that they once belonged to wings,
that fracture is a hinge, not an ending,
that some things split
without surrendering themselves.
He expected two obedient halves,
a clean division,
something small enough to possess.
Instead, the fracture disclosed
what his hunger had failed to comprehend:
I had never belonged to the bone.
And if time turns,
will scars stain the sky?
Let them.
The larger fragment in his fist
never meant he won.
It was only proof
that possession leaves evidence.
He had to break a thing that flew
to believe it was his.
Emancipation
Ball and chain gets left behind
New sun starts to shine
Close your eyes
Open your left eye
Then your right eye
Count forward to one
Now close your right eye
Then your left eye
Count backwards to fifteen
Go past that number to sixty-eight
and then proceed backwards to it
Open both eyes
And see the world
In its totality
Count to twenty-nine
Open your heart
You are now ready
To conquer the world
Free at last!
Be not afraid
To fight the right fights
The hate, the hatred
To regain your rights
To end bigotry, racism
Fascism and nepotism.
Be brave
Like a heroic slave
Who is not afraid
To be whipped, raped
By an inhuman master
By a greedy slave owner.
Be not afraid
To fight for the weak
The underprivileged
Every single week
Every time
They’re victim of a crime.
Be not afraid to fight
The right fights
Every time you’re right
When your rights
Are denied and violated
When you’re humiliated.
You’re not a poor slave
You’re from no enclave
You’re from here
You belong to every tier
Of this picturesque landscape
That no eyes can escape.
Be not afraid
To dream, to dare
To fight hard and fair
Against the hatred
The bigots
And the nuts.
Copyright © November 20,2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Clippity Cloppity
Emily Davison
confronted race horses
losing her life
dissident suffragette
indiscriminately
committed sabotage
chaos and strife
Hickory Dickory
Leonora Cohen
hunger strike ends with the
cat and mouse ploy
campaigning for justice
legitimisation
Scapegrace to magistrate
ending in joy
1 / 28 / 2021.
During the 1913 Epsom Derby, Emily Davison threw herself under King George V horse
Anmer. Dying from her injuries 4 days later.
Leonora Cohen in 1913 vandalised a display case containing the Crown Jewels in the
Tower of London. Defending herself, she was released on a technicality. After another act
of vandalism, she went on hunger strike while in prison, but was released early. This was
due to Lord Asquith's cat and mouse act. Giving prisoners time to recover, preventing
needless deaths while incarcerated. Leonora was trampled on by a mounted police horse,
during one protest march. She died aged 105 , serving as magistrate for 25
years and receiving the O.B.E. incidently she was born in the city of Leeds, where I too was
born and bred.
Did you cry for me
when none but the crows
was both black and free
in them cotton rows?
When you saw me hung
did you cry for me
as my body swung
from the lynchin tree?
Such prosperity
must taste mighty sweet
Did you cry for me
when I didn't eat?
Heard you gone some years,
died in poverty
and I cried no tears...
did you cry for me?
Emancipation
Unfettered-Set free-
My soul is longing for Home
Where the wild ducks fly to winter
Where I hear the sweet sounds of swans
Calling her chicks to her side on tranquil lakes
That reflect distant snow covered mountain peaks
And shimmering golden trees laugh as they catch autumn sun
A treasury of diamonds glint across waters stirred by the gentle breeze
From air pure as the snow covered peaks that glisten against blue velvet skies
I am free to sing, to laugh, to know, I am fearfully and wonderful made in His image
A child of the KING of KINGS, and I with Angels sing, His adoration and His Praise
© Brenda V Northeast 2 April 2012
Hatred is a sort of colonisation
It governs the heart
Like colonisation governs a colony
Where freedom is restricted
Love exhausted
Hegemony impudent
And the mind becomes a slave
Chronically angry and frustrated
And so a spiritual release is needed
Maybe through a religion
Or a blessing from God
From a tribe called quest;
where we will never give up.
From a nation called hope ;
where we will never stop struggling.
From a region called Ifriqiya;
where the sun never stops shinning.
Part of a race called black;
where they striped our identity.
From a time in history;
where my race is ridiculed and look down upon as low class people.
In a new world;
where they continue push the fate of my people into despair.
In an ever changing generation;
where famine poverty and plaques are still rampant in my nation
On a diverse continent;
where they altered our history and fabricated wars.
Am part of a people;
whose distant cousins continue to suffer in all forms of racial abuses
On a planet where my people are ridiculed scorned and are the most poverty stricken.
From an era;
where some still view our sable race with scornful eyes.
Living in a country; under the pressure to embrace robbery decked out as free trade.
Threading on a territory ;
where people are separated by invisible boundaries but united in dreams…
On a land in which our history did not begin in chains and it will not end in chains.
You know,My race is like a rubber ball ;
The harder you dash it to the ground, the higher it will rise.
There is no word for the barn-burning
Dream I didn't have in my mouth,
Tasting like blade, running like blood,
Through the inlaid veins of the kite.
There is no dictionary writing at the tip
Of the inky quill of time suspended,
Time adorned, time wombed and born.
The rose swallowed the bee ant the sting
Burned a whole, the size of a day apart
Into the heart of the vowels running amok
The seesaw earthiness of the ethereal self.
Nature nurtures blooms and blushes
With redbirds, bluebonnets, and bulrushes
And peacock-curtained cirrus evening skies;
That unveil a Milky seine before our eyes,
Alluring our awed admiration
With magnetic, majestic fascination;
Easily eliciting an emancipation
To unparalleled faux freedom;
Fostering fleet-flying feelings;
Sending stunned senses soaring
Inevitably inducing intoxication
Which connects our inebriated emotions
That persuade our treasured, deeply hidden internals
Into exaltation of the high supernal.
"for contest FINETUNE THIS COLLABORATION sponsored by Line Gauthier".
Black folk kept in sad condition
By owners without contrition.
What to do, what to do?
Wage war for emancipation
And forge a fresh slave-free nation.
The Forrest-Byrd Klan and Jim Crow
Surely are the ones you should stow –
What to do, what to do?
They rule and oppress your city
Blame them not ones who set you free!
Martin loved character content
With black and white talents lent
What to do, what to do?
Stevie and Paul in unity
Played in sweet keyboard harmony.
Smooth Barack cooed high in A sharp
As Hillary lowed in B flat
What to do, what to do?
So white folks, none playing a harp,
Chose the black, how racist was that?
Oppressed rainbow coalition -
All races rate full admission.
What to do, what to do?
Name trophy oppressor maestros
Amin, Mao, Adolf, and Castro.
Critical race theory, woke
Marxist, oppressive and no joke!
What to do, what to do?
Its rancid retro racist sin
Embalmed in landfill would fit in.
I bathe in the sweat of my labor,
Tilling the land of my master,
In pain,the whip strips my honor,
For in afflictions my dreams do shatter,
My eyes are sore from slavery's bound,
But freedom my fragile heart sounds,
Breaking grounds,my strong limbs pound,
As in my fears, I no more drown,
With the spirit of the butterfly I would rise,
Walking the streets of dignity my labors do I price,
With will power,the path of freedom do I stride,
Fighting my adversary as my vision gets in sight,
Strength weakens as my days grow old,
Relishing my short time of gold,
To my descendants, the stories are told,
Enabling them, their potentials do unfold