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Best Prejudice Poems | Poetry

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The Best Prejudice Poems

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Stars and those with Stripes

"America First",
is the worst.
Should not thinking of others,
be your thirst?
Those who are selfish,
end up being cursed!
Soon they'll be last,
instead of first.

Who among you,
prefers guns and war?
Do you really have freedom,
shore to shore?
If most have less,
are you happy with more?
Should the privileged few,
be guarding the door?
rots you to the core.
In the end,
you won't know who it's for?

What does it mean,
to be "Great Again"?
I'll listen to learn,
try your best to explain!
Were there fields of cotton and sugarcane?
Was it back of the bus perfect,
everyone staying in their own lane?
A pain striped passport,
for those on the soul train.
If you know the truth,
please speak it plain.
I want to find great,
I've wracked my brain.
Whose America are you trying to regain?

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018

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Don’t look at me 
As though I am an alien or a stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy 
Fly out of your eyes.

I am your neighbor.

Don’t call me a foe, an antagonist or a rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves for a fight.

I am your friend.
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand, 
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, or to live.

I am your brother.
If destiny willed me to be born 
On this side of the frontier line,
If my parents wished me 
To wear these clothes 
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?  
If fate desired me to speak 
This tongue foreign to you
And our skins’ color to differ,
Do we have to be competitors?
If necessity decided for us 
To live in this country, 
In the North, South, East, or West,
Do we have to be opponents?
If I believe in Jesus, 
Or Allah,
If this is my philosophy, 
My tradition, 
My history 
And my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
No! A million times: no!

Please, look at me with new eyes 
And throw away your injurious prejudices.
What do you see but a person like you 
Who wants, desires and hopes for the same things in life:
A home, 
Some friends, 
Some love?

I walk, 
I talk, 
I eat, 
I sleep, 
I dream, 
I laugh and I cry. 

Just like you.

I’m born, 
I grow up, 
I learn, 
I suffer, 
I bleed 
And I die.

Just like you.

I’m a father, 
A mother, 
A brother, 
A sister, 
A son, 
And a daughter.

Just like you.

You see: we are alike. 
We are the same. 
We are brothers.
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, and my ally: 
I am telling you the truth.
We are the victims of schemes, 
Well planned in advance
By deceitful evil-hearted men 
Who wished for our destruction.
They, masters of savage forgery, dividers of mankind
Have tricked us throughout history 
With well-orchestrated lies
And with treacherous stories. 
These intellectually impotent criminals
Have instilled poison in your heart and mine.
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and rage,
They managed to shape us to ruthless foes, 
To merciless enemies,
To cruel animals.

Please, listen to me! It is true. We are brothers.
Let us therefore with irresistible will cross all frontier lines 
That the past has erected between us, 
Thus making divisions vanish.
Let us with supreme power break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each other’s arms.
Let us uproot from our tormented hearts thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago.
Let us seize ammunition from destructive hatred,
And make war capitulate.
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness 
In the affectionate sea of universal accord. 

And finally,

Let us unite and march to higher claims, 
To incomparable glory
Where peace can blossom today.
Thus, both of us will go to sleep at last,
Fearless of each other tonight.

© Demetrios Trifiatis 
    08 September 2015

NOTE: This poem, after having been edited, is posted again because 
 of the acute migration and refugee problem that has been created 
in Europe. Greece, my country, receives thousands and even tenths 
of thousands of refugees and illegal immigrants each day. In some of 
the Greek islands the migrants are more than the Greeks. Some of these
 people leave for Europe where in countries like F.Y.R.O.M., Serbia, Hungary
 Bulgaria, Austria, Germany, France, Italy have created social and economic problems because of their numbers. This fact prompted me, after the suggestion
of a good friend at PS, to repost the poem so as to ask from all, migrants and natives, understanding and tolerance for the good of peace! Thank you!  

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

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A Stereotype of Me

You thought you had me figured out 
Before you knew my name 
Cause you're you and you're unsatisfied 
That I am not the same 

You'll never change the way I love
And you can fight for you're dominion 
But I'm worth a million times the weight 
Of a dogmatist's opinion 

I know that all that you can see 
Is a stereotype of me 
All that you thought I'd ever be 
Is a stereotype of me

Did you ever think that you could see me 
Past the prejudice you hold 
I'm not the picture you created
I'm not the things that you were told 

You're voice is long since dead to me 
I won't even be provoked 
When it hurt you to see me smile   
The things you said went up in smoke 

I know that all that you can see 
Is a stereotype of me 
All that you thought I'd ever be 
Is a stereotype of me

By: Kyle Ezra Kriticos

Copyright © Kyle kriticos | Year Posted 2012

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Mankind's Greatest Mystery (inspired by Chris Higgins)

If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few

Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm

For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry

Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize

Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?

Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued

A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given

Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise

And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age

Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species

New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority

Note:  This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers 
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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Untouchable II

I sip Long Island Tea, watch your bare knees upon the tiles,

          The suits and Blaneks pass you, unaffected by your smiles,

     You work so hard to brush the day's debris to ordered piles,

               Still folks pass you, unaware,

               Kick your dirt without a care ...

You are a gem of nature, shining eyes that best the snow,

          A grin of ivory brilliance noonday sun could ne'er bestow,

     And flawless cappuccino skin, with chocolate afterglow,

               Yet these steady passerby's,

               Find you something to despise ...

I see your nails are neatly trimmed, as clean as they can be,

          Work dress, pressed with utmost care, as anyone can see,

     Your hair up in a braided bun, and tied with ribbons, three,

               But all that others do,

               Is hiss and snarl at you ...

I can not help but think just how absurd it is that they

          Can find you so deplorable, like you're somehow in the way,

     When you are working hard for but a fraction of their pay,

               And yet their views and skin

               Are at odds, and far too thin ...

The folly of this picture gets too much for me to take,

          I leave my drink and walk to you, and take your hand to shake,

     But when I do, you yank it back, as if some grand mistake ...

               Your pallor turns to gray,

               And you quickly rush away ...

I'm so sad their biased spell ...

          Has now changed your heart ... as well.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018

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I am strong

 I am strong

You may simply disregard me
with your arrogant throng
You may treat me with disrespect
I'm still here, I am strong

Why don't you like it when I succeed?
Why can't you be happy for me?
I walk on air, confidently
so, foot loose and fancy free

Just like hope and like faith
and the sureness of birdsong
I know where I belong...
I    am    strong

Did you want me to be shaking
so scared and all alone?
Feeling lost and so abandoned
with nowhere to call my home?

Does my happiness distress you?
Does it make you feel upset?
That I'm at peace lovin' myself
Livin' life without regret?

You may shred me with sarcasm
You can say I don't belong
You can hate me with your jealousy
But still, like iron, I'm strong

Does my confidence disturb you?
Can you not visualize?
That my words are captivating
and the crowds they mesmerize? 

From ancestral farmers sowing seed
I am strong
From hardy men of faith who believed
I am strong
I'm a true wordsmith, spinning words so true
weaving and knitting, as true poets do.

Never giving in to fear or to doubt
I am strong
I know what the love of God is about
I am strong
Building on the faith my forefathers had
I encourage the weak, make their hearts glad
I'm strong
I'm strong
I'm strong

John Derek Hamilton
August 17,2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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Reflecting on Police Brutality

It was the spring of ‘74 when my student peers and I
were on the tail end of a group excursion  
through southern Spain, across Gibraltar’s Strait
and into the exotic northern tip of Africa.
I remember lots of greenery and mountains
and the fascinating sights and sounds inside Tangier,
but one small thing that happened somewhere between
the time we viewed the landscape we traversed 
and our time inside our destination city
stands out in my mind forevermore.

Our bus had briefly stopped on the street of a town.
I was looking out the window when I glimpsed a child,
looking poor and ragged, not so old.
He ran down the block with an orange in his hand,
an older man behind him in pursuit.
Quickly I observed that the man 
was a type of law enforcement officer,
 for he wielded a long strong stick
which he proceeded to use on the unfortunate lad
once he had caught up to him.

The event was very near our bus, 
so I could watch with growing horror
as this country’s version of a cop
unleashed brutality on a fellow human being,
a boy who was no doubt simply starved for food.
I saw the heavy stick fall repeatedly
till it struck the boy’s ear and blood gushed out. . . 

I would later view ornate gold buildings in Tangier,
 see colorful hand-crafted clothes and rugs, and smell
the aromas of strange delightful foods,
but beneath all that wonder was the singular event
that stayed inside my brain.

I think of my own country - free, so very free,
with laws against “this kind of thing” that had appalled me;
a land so free that gangs of filthy evil men, 
even sometimes with the help of the police,
had in days of yore lynched the black man
for crimes as meager as the taking of that orange,
or worse, for no crime at all!
Hateful mobs had beat and hanged
men and women, even children,
In the midst of the beauty of 
fragrant magnolia trees . . .

Civil Rights has done a lot 
to eradicate these horrors, yet even now,
a remnant of the Ku Klux Klan mentality
exists inside the minds of some, and even in
 the minds of some we trust to uphold the law.
I cannot know the thoughts that enter
the minds of law enforcers who think they are confronting
a person who they’ve deemed a criminal. 
I cannot know their fear when they see, perhaps,
what they suppose to be a weapon.
We cannot know their backgrounds 
or if they harbor prejudice against another color
or against the lower class.
The court and the jury decide the fate of those
who have used what our society may see as undue force.
God alone will judge them in the end.

We, as citizens of all the world, must be aware
that violence can be used
when the threat of it against themselves
is perceived by our police.
How sad to think that some of those 
who serve to offer us protection ,
whether out of ignorance, fear, or prejudice,
are using brutality so haphazardly. 

Those in my own country who have seen 
or even experienced police brutality
must have felt the same horror I felt the day I saw
a child beaten in a foreign land.
Who am I to judge another country
when mine is also mired still in sin?
God help us all to fight against 
the inane and unjust cruelty of those
who practice police brutality.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Who Am I

Daughter of Mary and Louis (Named after my late grandmother ) My name is Charmaine a name originated from latin Charmaine means -a song Eldest of two siblings Wife and Mother Born and raised in the sun-kissed land of Malta (an island in the Mediterranean sea which is politically westernized yet geographically in the southern part of the European continent) Baptised as a roman catholic (with believes rooted in love and forgiveness) Friends describe my personality as amicable and funny (I love to laugh at myself to make others happy ) Till I get to know a person I might keep distant , even act timid and shy . Friends describe me as humble , yet I can be extremely stubborn. It is said that I'm affable, trustworthy, and good willed Honest, hardworking, warm and kind . I describe myself as a child trapped in a woman's mind A little girl who is extremely sensitive many a time. I trust only with my eyes wide open If ever deceived I erupt in a volcanic catastrophe which fades in a short time. I am a day dreamer, a night dreamer My shadow is lost in the moon's eclipse I float on cloud nine occasionally without a will to return (My X-mathematics teacher would obviously confirm this) I am a hopeless romantic ( Cold Unromantics may find me challenging or boring ). I am scared of rejection, and abhore prejudice . I hate hypocracy, medriocracy, and burocracy. I shed my blood for democracy. I believe in freedom of speech until that speech won't provoke the freedom of rights. I am against fundamentalizm, extremism and anything that suffocates 'the voice' . I condemn divisions between rich and poor. I love life, and all that is beautiful. I love birds, animals and flowers I love mountains, rivers,ocean , and all mother nature I love exploring the world , and all that is adventurous . . I am a loyal follower of Maldena Gandhi , Mother Theresa, and Martin Luther king. I love cooking, art , music, and words. I love reading a good book, watching a great movie (Preferably with tishoos in one hand, and chocolate in the other ). I love sailing away from concrete worlds, far from buzzling sounds of nightlife. I love all seasons, Spring with fresia's perfume, Summer with late walks Autumn with cinnamon spices, Winter with Christmas-lights and snow. (Ah yes,How I love Christmas ). I love all simple things , like a cup of English tea I love making my house a home. Be surrounded with those that I care for such as God , friends, family, or be in my own silence reading sweet poetry. Charmaine Chircop - nee: Brincat Born : 1st of May 1977 Star-Sign : Taurus Favourite Colour: Blue Favourite flower : Daisy Margarita Favourite author: God This is a revised repost, inspired to repost it by a running contest of Catie Lyndsey, and the wonderful bios I've read here, thanks. Not for the contest

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016

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Who am I?
This is a question that unable, I am, a
Definite answer, straightforward to give
Buried myself I find, under layers upon layers of 
Beliefs and prejudices that centuries past, have 
Deposed upon my helpless and unwilling soul!

Who am I?  

Before a reply, to the posed question, I attempt to give,
First, I have to strip off myself of the garments that
History, religion and culture have dressed me with, so
As the real me to appear: 
The kernel of truth that nature has intended me to be 
Nude I will be facing the world with 
No nationality,
Free from any religious beliefs,
Liberated from history and its past crimes 
And so
Naked, untarnished and pure, ready I would be to 
Judge things, once more, with open mind and in that way 
My own and true identity to find: 
The “I” with no adjectives, whatsoever

Having no name this time, I ask the question again:

Who am I?

Am I the Chaos or am I the Cosmos?
Am I the Division or am I the Union?
Am I the Hate or am I the Love?
Am I the Folly or am I the reason?
Am I the Good or am I the Evil?

Whoever I am, I’m all of the above: 
The Chaos and the Cosmos
The Division and the Union
The Hate and the Love
The Folly and the Reason
The Good and the Evil and
Every conceivable opposing force in the 
Universe that exists


Creation impossible would be without this 
Endless war of opposing forces:
Of life and death
Of cold and hot
Of arid and humid
Of light and darkness  
The laws that govern the macrocosm are
The same laws that govern the microcosm
As the relentless war in the universe never ceases 
In the same way, the war within us, unending is. 

Who am I?

The answer perhaps is that I am the one who is called upon 
A sense out this Cosmos to make for I am the key with which 
The mystery of life will be unlocked,

The one to understand that the necessity of the opposing forces is
Paramount and nothing can exist without its opposite,

The one that has to realize that he is never pure evil or pure good
But good to the degree of his understanding and evil to the degree of
His ignorance, 
The one who has to grow to the point as to recognize the fact that 
He has to copy the harmonious universal order of things and adapt it in his
Society and within himself for to live in harmony and finally,

I am the one that will eternally struggle to comprehend who he is, where he is,
What he is and the reason of his existence in order to understand the Cosmic 
Order and live according to its demands,
Therefore, my friends, my question lingers:


© Demetrios Trifiatis
  12 NOVEMBER 2014

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014

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In My Mother's Eyes

In my mother's eyes I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her words I feel protection
In her smile I see my face

Because She has loved me first
before  anybody else
She  carried me till the ninth month
so very close to heart

She breathed life into my lungs
Held my hand within her palms
Showed me guidance in every way
Made me who I am today

In my mother's eyes I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her words I feel protection
In her smile I see my face

Her arms are always open
so I can curl within
For her I'm always special
Without my need to win

Her soul ever a rainbow
in hues of humankind
For She carries no prejudice
amongst the black and white.

In my mother's  eyes I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her words I feel protection
In her smile I see my face

Our days , lunchbox of memories
filled with tender loving care
Past nights, eternal bookmarks
of her fingers playing  gently with my hair.

I know one time I'll wake up
in a world of all alone
In the stars I'd have to find her
because mama won't be home.

In my mothers eyes I see my hero
knowing fear is far at bay
In her words I feel protection
In her smile I see my face.

Not for the contest  , but for those interested  there is a contest about mum by Francine Roberts.

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016

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Existential Reprise

Before I scarred the page
Raging what your letters cannot invent
Let me invite you to other books
I wrote before you owed me wage
For all maladjustment and discontent
Tettering on tentacles on hooks
Invite you to an open age
Of change and discourse transfigurment.

In a quiet moment read again
Shards of clay and artefacts beyond
A material functional disdain.
Look at the words like old bones
Bringing chromosomal tablets to rinse
The eyes of prejudices and conceit
You may wince
At what your arrogance did delete.

I have winced for years in broken jars
Unleashing rivulets of tears
For I gave you humanity as a gift, stars
Gave you dust and vessel for it
Time etched your abuse against this spirit
As you idolized barren observations
As if them alone could tell truths
Without the presence of experience.

Strange how you so prone to the material
Destroyed so much of its substance 
In us. Yet it is inescapbale in the footprints of dust
The chromosomal bridges in our bodies
Linking us, reaffirming the gift again
Documents on my body like a stain
Irreducible by Mercator's illusions
There is no survival without the spiritual.

After protests, marches, firehoses and ropes
Still hanging from leftover branches of fear
I have earned the right to forgive you
The inherent gift make me your brother, here.
So now let us turn the map upside down
And draw again the latitudes unbending
In a straight line to your old thoughts,
Can we agree about the silence of the moon
Is a prohibiting noise in our head, a blind despair.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

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On The Edge

 On The Edge

He lays flat on the floor
on the edge of his mind's cliff.
Taking notes, he wonders
“Is this life worth living?”

He tries to remember,
tries to grasp onto happier times.
Flickers of light flutter beyond his reach.
They tease and torture him.
Figments wrapped in glittering paper.
History books filled with white heroic faces.
His brown skin people
depicted as savages on those pages!
He remembers the gold stars on school papers.
He remembers the smell of Elmer’s glue.
Later he’ll brown paper bag inhale those vapours. 
His way of trying to escape promises and temptation,
the tearing away of his foundation.
There remains bits of himself,
imbedded in all that frustration.
All things geometrically angled away from him,
forced him to lose himself in their sin.
To survive he had let them reshape him like tin.
Red man, tin man, not knowing where to begin.
No one was present to help him,
no friends or Kin.
The tethers to his ancestors,
strong although they’re gossamer thin.
He feels the coolness of the terracotta tile
pressing against his forehead.
Soothing him,
studying him,
absorbing his fever.
Voices promising relief,
whispering to him,
"Let your blood accentuate my redness,
I will protect your bones.”

Light flows through stained glass.
Christ's brilliant blue eyes pierce his sadness.
Reassuring him,
There will be more days,
brighter days. 
“I am the way”
Warmth not clay,
Sadness shall be left to yesterday,
the floor will not be fed today.
Instead the floor is washed with his salty tears.
The edge vanishes.
Was he ever meant to be here?
One moment graciously turns to years.
He sits in a pew looking up away from himself.
It now all seems so clear,
He is released from fear.
What was taken he can’t find here.

So he gets up,
walks across the floor,
walks out the silent door.
Deciding once and for all,
he doesn't need or want,
this horrid place any more!

His heart is healed,
God goes where he goes.
The seed of suffering they planted,
no longer grows.
What he remembers sets him free,
he will not be lost to conformity!
He chooses a life of joy not misery.
Those in the church don’t know his history.
So how can they teach him who he needs to be?

Dedicated to native children abused in church and residential schools. 
Their culture was systematically stripped away. in some cases much worse things happened behind what should have been hallowed walls. 

In writing this I questioned if this piece was honoring to Native people. As I thought about this, I realized that this piece speaks to their resilience as a people. Despite what was done to them they have found a way to hold onto their culture, traditions, art and language. We have much that we can learn from them. I pray that healing comes from a place deep within their indomitable spirits.

By: Richard J. Lamoureux

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018

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What Would Wallis Say

What Would Wallis Say?

What would Wallis say if she were there that day,
a divorcee too, American through and through?
Did she offensively blink when Diana winked?
She and Adolf were friends. Let’s not pretend.

Her man was the King, who discarded all things
to take her as wife, this love of his life.
In that space of time, divorce was a crime
so, he put down The Crown when Wallis was found.

Life was no fairytale but great love did prevail.
Ugly words were said and ugly words they read.
Socialites all the style in unspoken exile.
What would Wallis say if she were there that day?

Would she turn up her chin in a bigoted grin
or grow greatly dazed by the change of ways?
Do you think she’d be glad that this woman had
been loved and accepted where she was rejected?


Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2018

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Human Beings Being Human

It would be great if human beings
Were great at being human
And if all of mankind
Were made up of kind men
It would be wonderful if common knowledge
Was knowledge commonly known
And if the light from being enlightened
Into every heart was shown

It would be fantastic if the war to end all wars
Was the last war that we fought
It would be amazing if we learned the lessons
From every lesson we were taught
It would be cool if our freedom
To us was freely granted
And if every seed of kindness
Would grow wherever planted

It would be glorious if neighbors were neighborly
And prejudice a forgotten word
It would be awesome if we shared everything
And being greedy was absurd
It would be spectacular if the golden rule
Was golden to every man
And the good things that we ever did
Was everything that we can

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2011

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In my mother's eyes

In my mother's eyes I see my hero I know fear is far at bay In her eyes I feel protection In her smile I see my face Cause she has loved me first before anybody else She carried me till the ninth month so very close to heart She breathed life into my lungs held my hand within her palms showed me guidance in every way made me who I am today In my mother's eyes I see my hero I know fear is far at bay In her eyes I feel protection In her smile I see my face Her arms are always open so I can curl within For here I''m always special without my need to win Her soul ever a rainbow in hues of humankind For she carries no prejudice amongst coloured and white In my mother's eyes I see my hero I know fear is far at bay In her eyes I feel protection In her smile I see my face Our days ,lunchbox of memories filled with tender loving care Past nights,eternal bookmarks of those fingers playing gently with my hair I know one time I 'd have to wake up in a world of all alone In the stars I have to find her cause mama won`t be home In my mother's eyes I see my hero Knowing fear is far at bay In her eyes I feel protection In her smile I see my face

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013

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I Have Hidden Super Powers

I don't wear a cape around
My neck, breaking the speed of sound
Or capture bad guys in a web
My powers have never fled
From my heart that's where they stay
Secretly until the day
I see injustice come along
Others are treated so wrong
My super powers become stronger
When I can't take it any longer
Hearing stories of bullying
My special skills kick right in
Set loose, no holding them back
My love alert goes on attack
Not stopping for anything
It won't ease up until I bring
All this hatred to a low
I give one huge final blow
Across the land until there is
No more hate or prejudice
Until then, I'm on alert
Making sure there is no hurt
I will be here till the end
All my powers I will send
Into the hearts of those so weak
Mild mannered, shy and meek
That get pushed around each day
I'll make sure it goes away
This promise will be kept for sure
Any kind of hatred I abhor

Copyright © robin davis | Year Posted 2014

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A Baby

A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed
It does not worry about the colour of your skin
nor if you are good or bad as long as you show love
It does not matter if you live in a masion or hovel.

Religion too matters not a whit to a small tot
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.
It does not care what part of the world you live
Nor if you live in a town or out in the country.

Poor or rich, hansome or plain it does not care
You may be a manual worker, a banker or a king,
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.
Holding out its arms with chuckles of laughter.

All pride, prejudice and greed holds no sway
in its little infant heart that is born to love.
It gives a smile that would melt the toughest heart
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014

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MOCKINGBIRD - crown of sonnets

#1 "It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird. When playing games with rocks or guns, defray, them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!" "Whispered words of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day" Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds, exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare, spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees, lining streets, during mad-dog summers. Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring up dust, where resistance incites, although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved. Scout, Jem, bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns #2 Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns yet challenged, the precocious child making assumptions. Folks would confound her! Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring, people napping, long afternoons. Wilted yawns of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed, with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed. Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs and secret hate. Some hid by day, and spending their nights in masquerade, while crosses burned. We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams in 1930. Civil rights were just a dream #3 In 1930, civil rights were just a dream, and motherless children were coming of age. Bare feet were swift. Bandaged knees and hands unclean, would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade. A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house, watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed. The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout! Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash. Putting yourself into another man's shoes, is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem. They've faced their fear, and will make a friend. "Boo", the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems. Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch. A measure of integrity, inch by inch. #4 A measure of integrity, inch by inch, advocate for those who won't stand a chance. Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch in a depression full blown. Money is scant. Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck. What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong. Someone must stand at the end of the day, where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger. Regardless of skin, be it black, be it white Unfit, by standards of talcum shaved chins, if injustice is war, he'll give his lot. The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle #5 When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle, false accusations can simmer, slowly inciting bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries of hate. Screaming "rape" into the night. Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality, amphibian worms, as if from a trough, gorging on mania. They covet brutality. Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing. Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control. Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding the truth. Some would sell their mother's soul. They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin. Where white man's word, over a black, always wins. #6 Where a white man's word, over black, always wins, was a rule of the thumb, during those years... The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned, taken away and waits to die, and endure With Indian summer, waxing and waning, Atticus chooses the simplest words. His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding, in trying to explain, that most men are good. He tells them, gently, how someone so crude, even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil perhaps in his life, was misunderstood. The hellish of summers begins to unravel. But another ill wind, would brew up a storm, to bring more than a flurry, into their home. #7 To bring more than a flurry into their home, burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow. Carved pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail, a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions Then, someone appears! Halts this devil,...,Ewell is not immortal! we come to conclusion. A guardian presence, waiting to rally has kept a vigil, guarding children who run, swiftly through thickets. Lonely Boo Radley, appeared like an angel, a bird seeking the sun So pure of heart, and a thing so rare It is a sin to kill a mockingbird
__________________________ Re-submitted for Skat's Premiere Contest: #4

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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21st Century Indian

It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I am attractive and half naked,
If I am uneducated,
If I speak in broken English,
And sing Christian songs.

It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I am passive and subdued,
If I smile all the time,
If I fit the stereotype,
And am not opinionated.

It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I suffer memory loss,
Don't want to know my peoples' history,
Remain idle and submissive,
And can forgive genocide.

It's ok that I'm Native American:
The kind that was in old movies,
Who said how and heap big time,
Make a mockery of tradition,
Sell out to avoid confrontation.

It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I accept my lot in life,
Stay where I'm told to stay,
Sit down and shut my mouth,
And allow others to think I am inferior.

That is what they tell me, 
Before they turn and walk away.
When my existence is their shame,
They refuse to listen and then they say:
"It's ok that you're an Indian".

Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2017

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It Only Hurts When You Let It

It only hurts when you let it. I used to be the living example of the words to Shania Twain's song: "It only hurts when I breathe." I'm becoming stronger. I need to be. It's called self-preservation...and I need to survive.

It only hurts when you let it. Will I be liked by everyone? NO! That thought in itself used to KILL me. The need to please and be liked by everyone would make me unable to say no to things people would ask of me. I didn't want to lose face. I didn't want to disappoint. I didn't want to offend. I'm still like that....but I'm working on it.

It only hurt when you let it. What others think of me....doesn't define who I am. It used to. That related to my poetry as well. I'd try to write what's kosher. In particular, my sensual writes were and are a source of torment at times. Judgementalism still stings. It only hurts when you let it.

Yes, it only hurts when you let it. I will TRY not to give anyone the satisfaction of bringing me down through their criticism, prejudices, and yes, even through their neglect. If I'm not read or congratulated or applauded, I won't let it get to me because it only hurts when you let it.

This is a big step for a sensitive soul. However, I'm taking that step. I'm tired of letting it hurt me, but here's the thing: It only hurts if you let it! :)

Eileen M

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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Places Of Worship

Majestic cathedrals are erected for the worship of God,
Featuring towering spires and ostentatious facade.
Grand organs acclaim ancient hymns with clarion flourish.
Melodious choirs sing hosannas, languid souls to nourish!

Most congregants worship in less pretentious surrounds,
But the same generous blessings from above abounds.
It matters not the size of the building or its congregation.
The people are the church worshipping with joyous celebration!

Upon distant fields of frightful martial campaign,
And upon naval vessels plodding the roiling main,
Dedicated chaplains in simple settings minister to their fold,
Proclaiming just as effectively the cogent message of old!

Whether it be mosque, synagogue, cathedral or canvas tent,
And whatever the religion or creed may be the people's bent,
One thing they have in common and it will be clearly evident,
They all witness the presence of their God ever omnipotent!

Perhaps in lieu of building mighty edifices prone to decay,
Bridges of understanding could be built to keep prejudices at bay,
Drawing diverse peoples together for a common good, 
Fostering charity, fellowship and world-wide brotherhood!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

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The Colour of Love

The Colour of Love

Kaleidoscope of spectrums
On the outside... looking in
There’s only one colour—Love—
Bound by prejudice.

Archaic transmutations
Bequeath this cancerous blight 
Upon each generation
For mass genocide.

Rose-coloured glasses can not
Tint the mind of the insane…
Only the revelation 
Of true love unveils.


Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012

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My Deepest Feelings

(Dedicated to those who have found true love for the very first time) Written a ton of poems Many of them silly, many about love Have decades of experience But the love I'm feeling now Surpasses any I have ever experienced before In my whole entire life Free of encumbrances or prejudices Finally able to just let the love flow And where it stops, is where it stops My heart explodes with excitement The thought that after all these many years I have finally found the one That special someone with the heart of an angel The soul of the most precious being I have ever had the exquisite pleasure to know I call her my love, my absolute treasure I'm on top of love's mountain Way up high feeling the fresh waves of love Engulf me with a rapture sublime Writing poetry brings out my deepest feelings Feelings I have never ever felt before Even after all these many years I am still learning how to love © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Initiations of love - Part 2


In you I saw the BEAUTY of life, in it’s many forms,
spanned across time to undrstand the complexity of adoration.
To see the beauty of innocence flower to bloom,
and furthermore to create beauty of life without prejudice.
Beauty to behold, for eyes to see, but even more; to feel.

The balance of beauty, love, and continuance of life’s entity,
to fathom life’s meaning and scales to balance all existence,
and find calmness through HARMONY of emotional touch.
Fulfilling unity through tranquility of togetherness, a family,
to nurture love as a mother nurture’s a child, to let love grow.

Emotions of love, those amorous feelings of desire, excitement,
brought forth by all-absorbing infatuation, but one that lasts forever,
through secrecy of PASSION, the fascination of pure love to remain free.
Openness; freedom of desire, released from the chains of love,
for love to remain virtuous in a self-respecting humble existence.

Eternal love demands a spirit to withstand the desires of victory,
not conquests of love’s pleasures; but instead renounce in favor of another,
with courage to SURRENDER to one’s own inhibitions, to be free again,
free to feel love once more with an innocence earlier perceived,
but hidden by mortal thoughts, false expectations and wordly needs.

Openness; freedom from deceipt to shatter dreams without intent,
not only of treachery of others, but from one’s own naivity of thoughts.
Understaning the falseness of imaginings through awareness,
sincerity of one’s feelings, admit in fairness self’s limitations;
HONESTY to oneself  and hence unto others and the world.

Integrity to oneself being the moral foundation of love,
adherence to priciples, of values, conforming to conduct right,
becoming whole, with wisdom of righteousness without demands.
Above all, LOYALTY to one’s self and to love’s commitment,
to find oneself, without being tied down by the chains of ignorance.

Learning to understand oneself, the deception of dreams,
will lead to WISDOM, insight to true meaning of love,
knowing what is real and what is merely a wistful dream,
without losing touch of it’s beauty, it’s serenity,
to find peace of mind in learning to love life itself.

Love of life in place of rivalry and victory,
acquired knowledge to make sacrifices in place of demands.
It is without demands, silently I bow my head, 
in an UNSELFISH act I stand aside in kindness,
to honor your dreams, to let you go; tenderly.

With love I set you free to discover your destiny,
discretion in atonement for inconspicuous togetherness,
to find TOLERANCE in place of sufferance,
at last to realize the true meaning of fondness,
to let go without regrets, without sorrow.

In rememberance of the past, I rejoice,
to discover ONENESS, alone without loneliness,
for I know you are, I know you feel; you exist.
I shed no tears, I feel no misery,
for in my soul you will live eternally.

For me to release my soul from love’s suffering,
I must withstand the lure of love’s lust,
and instead of passion, accept that love is also COMPASSION.
Since your effect lives in me, I love you softly,
without cause, and reach towards noble ends.

We were destined to find each other, only to remain apart,
through initiations of love to search for love’s deepest meaning,
a journey through time, through life, through pain and yearning
to fathom the lasting wisdom of eternal love,
to understand that love is ALL.

T.J Grén

Inspired by astrologer Linda Goodmans book „Love Signs“ and it’s concept of initiations of love, whereby each sign of the zodiak has a lesson of love to teach and to learn.
Lessons to teach: Love is: innocence, patience, awareness, devotion, ecstacy, pure, beauty, passion, ho-nesty, wisdom, tolerance, compassion.
Lessons to learn: Love is: trust, forgiveness, feeling, freedom, humility, fulfillment, harmony, surrender, loyalty, unselfish, oneness, all.
For me all this means that LOVE IS ALL. 

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015

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Romance Day And Night

Romance Day And Night

How the Romans played their moonlit dreams
splashing out near viaducts of love I can only
wonder same as with knights in shining armour
or rather without when the Ages seemed dark
and oriental spices called for senses and beyond

Roma and Sinti travelling with passion in horse drawn 
wagons moved to the tune of lute flute fruit and delirious
fires I suppose howling with wolves or howling without

I am also a bit of a traveller enchanted by foreign 
lands and customs and my gorgeous lover is the Gipsy
Queen of Fairy-Tale-Land with 'Tinker-bells' and
nights in white satin embraced and embroidered as 
we attune our chords and accords in tune with what is
as the sizzling romance preludes from the rise of the sun

Sometimes we travel on our own and distance makes 
the heart long for even longer and deeper longing and
so on my journey to Egypt a bazar for tapestry fabric
mosaic textures and patterns called for my visit

Here a kind Muslim woman a gentle soul veiled and 
covered with culture decency aura and soul offered 
to advise me on night dress with frills and imprinted 
desire for my wife’s curves and compassion a courteous 
dignified transaction with respect and knowledge for
romance and a thousand and two Arabian nights

What plays in the night stays in the night when skin 
touches skin and states of dress and undress reflect 
the journey together through bright stars and in sparkle 
when we move to rainbows and horizons images in love

I have travelled the world saw the ‘Harem’ in Topkapi 
the back streets of Hamburg ‘Hamams’ in Bagdadh 
‘Passiflora’ and ‘Hamamelis Virginiana’ in the gardens
of plenty and mystic depictions Kama Sutra and all

Celibate monks and virtuous nuns have shown me
temples monasteries ruins natural wonders and 
the Taj Mahal at full moon equalled some grandest
of canyons effervescent springs and the valleys of love

Apart from my lover exploring such sights is the most majestic 
teacher and leader far sighted druid sage and romantic
and many misconceptions can fall and come brittle when 
we mix and we mingle with others on far away grounds
and  the feminine shopkeeperes in Cairo led me some 
way and dissembled some more prejudice in this instance
not just what buying lingerie in the Levant could be like 
but how women of the world can be both quite agentic 
sensual and empowered when seen through their very
own lens harmony preview perception beliefs and not with
distortion of macho controlled domination's limited margins

The 'half mooned' veiled women who transacted silken
see-through garments for your senses’ heights and
and for mine while covered and decent blew gently 
away covert racism sexism gender-ism ism in general
an overt overture away from silhouettes of insanity 

Coming home coming over overcoming all those isms 
in this crazy controlling misguided world we live in is
an antidote to aggression skinning and feuds and in the
magic of our miraculous dreams an exquisite requisite 
and ensemble for what becomes 'loving it better' and
for romancing and dancing heartfelt romance in the night

01st August 2016

Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016