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Best Segregation Poems

Below are the all-time best Segregation poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of segregation poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Segregation Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Segregation poems are below this new poems list.

segregation today, segregation tomorrow by Cheng, Julia

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The Best Segregation Poems

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Who am I

I am black
I am great
I am the father and mother of great Kings.

I am John Love the sharpener inventor
I am Mae Jemison the astronaut
I am Martin Luther King the peace maker
I am Tomi Morrison the contemporary novelists.

I am Muhammad Ali the boxer
I am Wilma Rudolph the Olympic track and field champion
I am Tiger woods the golfer
I am Lucy Laney the educator.
I am Jack Johnson the heavy weight
I am Rosa Parks the segregation leader
I am Jesse Wilkins the physicist and mathematician
I am Serena Williams the tennis player .

I am Issac Murphy the great through bred jockey
I am Bessie Coleman the first licensed African American pilot
I am Chester Burnett the blues singer
I am Eleanor Holmes the polictian and civil rights activist.

I am Thomas Dorsey the father of gospel music
I am Will Smith the famous actor
I am Barack Obama the  forty four first black afro American president, we are the future.
We are hope for the lost and forgotten generation.

Copyright © Patricia Garcia Howard Bramble | Year Posted 2009

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Lines of Separation

During the Civil War, the Mason Dixon Line 
Divided North from South, separating families
In 1961 guard towers were erected
On the Berlin Wall, separation strategies

Although the Berlin Wall was finally torn down
The Great Wall of China remains a monument
Created to protect the Chinese Empire
Keep out nomad invaders with a firm armament

Now a line spans the aisle of the US Congress
They’re seated to the right or left, never centered
And if a brave independent tries to speak out
Be assured this courageous soul will be censored

Lines are used to separate wholes into sections
What mankind needs is more unification now
Segregation is wrong, regardless of intent
To those who seek to eradicate “lines,” I bow

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Black History

The past
I am a black prince
Who use to rule over a kingdom 
But now my people and me are enslaved 
Force to pick the white mans cotton 
I see my brother and sisters 
Being whipped and branded like cattle 
They think we are cattle 
So we are treated like cattle 
But my people dream and sing of the future
Where we are free from our shackles 
The future 
I am the black preacher 
Who has been freed from his shackles
But now fighting for our rights 
So my son and daughter
Can go to a pool and not be separated
By the racial line.
Or when they go outside to play 
They don’t have to worry about the KKK
Trying to hang them from a tree branch
That is the reason I fight that is why I want equal rights
For there can be a better tomorrow

The better tomorrow
I’m the son of the preacher
Who was the grandson of the black prince.
Here saying that enslavement and segregation
Is over
An now the only problem remains is
The fact that we are killing each other
Over money and women
This makes no sense
Have we as a people suffered enough?
Have we shed enough blood?
So I ask you
Put the gun down spread the word 
Tell our brothers tell are sisters that the 
300 years of enslavement and segregation is over
We have our black president 
We have the power 
To show the world that
We as a people are united 

Copyright © kevin goodrum | Year Posted 2012

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My funeral

Remember me like the holocaust 
Many die without having the chance to live
Millions of them without a funeral
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets

Remember me like the Great Depression
Markets crashing from the sky
People try to find a new hope 
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets 

Remember me like Abraham Lincoln
Innocence died before it had the chance to discover freedom
Bruises and wounds, too much hate to move on 
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets 

Remember me like the Pope
Always forgiving and justifying the facts
Way up in the clouds we all go,
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets 

Remember me like Martin Luther King Jr.
Giving up my own rights to end segregation
Bloody violence in the streets God bless us all
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets 

Remember me like the kids from Columbine
Assault rifles and bullets stray in the high school cafeteria 
Empty souls and dreams fill the school with ghostly thoughts 
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets

Remember me like the people on 9/11 
Jumping a hundred stories to avoid burning
All the innocent blood spilled because of the Middle East
Bury them with a casket full of bouquets 

Remember me like the Pharaoh
Build me a temple and a shrine
Put everything in tomb that reminds me of life
Bury me with a casket full of bouquets  

Copyright © Trent Turney | Year Posted 2015

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The African Cry

Mama Africa, 
Land of my ancestors' birth;
Source of all mankind, 
the once Shangri la of mother earth.

Stir up the spirit of the Mau-Mau in vibrato on the bongo.
Your ways are far higher than the crags of the Kilimanjaro. 
Let the cry for freedom rides the winds of the Serengeti,
 and the walls of segregation fall like confetti.

With careful utterances, 
ransack the minds of the pig-headed souls.
Uhuru milele! Milele bure!
Adamantly, gluttons deprive her black gold. 
In the villages, griots will invoke a new story.

Follow the way of the lion, 
and watch out for the hyenas.
When the rivers are dry in Tanzania, 
danger resides in the mud. 
Remember; when liberty is threaten in Somalia,
 freedom is written in blood.
Blood stained her crevices with love; 
black sons’ and black daughters’ blood.

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.


The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.

Copyright © Nikkia Roberts | Year Posted 2014

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

SAD Seasonally Affective Disorder

SAD Seasonally Affective Disorder

Some are prone to depression in winter when days get shorter when
less light enters the brain through the eyes and thoughts become darker

I am also affected and when news gets explosive when fighting grows
fiercer when smoke bombs and debris shadow the lands so much that
you cannot see dead men’s women’s children’ shadows no longer because
an outline silhouette of contours necessitates contrast when darkness prevails

Crying shambles when the world does not listen and some say that I’m a political
prisoner to my conscience so I must roar this loud and clearly to illuminate
my insufferable affection my sadness turned into anger and anger to shame

Surely not so many wish to dwell on sad seasons as not for unhappiness to
again and again contaminate squeaky clean order sequenced contentment
so it is clear as trenched mud that more stories on Syria Libya Yemen Iraq and
Palestine have come to be repetitious monotonous sort of a jejune boring
unimaginative overkill for common sense enjoyment if you pardon the pun

So its time for some older stuff not that far back as the Holocaust just a tad slightly
more recent some light easy reading on Genocide with some SAD thrown in for
good measure some Surely Antagonistic Disruption to relieve the depression

As a poet I have some habit of reading and while the sun stays higher up on the
horizon south of the equator where I live I leaf through dust ridden pages bound
in beautiful leather ex-cave from ex libris and smell musk and history and other
writings on the wailing wall of cacophonous silence in the comfy chair on the patio

Treblinka I promised to pass and who wants to really know about the slaughter
in Armenia a century ago that is only for google philologists experts of doom
Bosnia may well be too euro-centric for my African perusal and Cambodia too Asian
when othering leads to othering of dissecting racial segregation lines in cold blood

Not to offend American emotions when discussing chemically modified pardon mortified
well deader than dead Kurds gassed with chlorine and ignorance supplied by the West
I shall restrain myself to simple brutal killing with a view to extinguish on African soil

Kigali it is then where or thereabouts in three short months twenty-two years ago
and the figure is truthful 800000 Tutsis where killed by the Hutus which is I believe
to be quite a lot of shadows and plenty of sculls when machetes ground to the bones

It happened and was reported at the time in graphic detail by journalists and the
Canadian UN Peacekeeping General in Rwanda and was ignored diverted misrepresented swept under bloody rags of Realpolitik meaning that even the truth had been slaughtered

Billy The Kid Clinton was not even busy with Monika and her blue stained dress yet
so surely he could have had some time on his hands but nil nada nothing not a single
cabinet meeting on some Blacks slaughtering miserable Blacks ‘They do that all the time’
they stated in earnest ‘It will be like Burundi just 50000 or so’ and so the resolve at
that time was to withdraw the meagre contingent of blue helmets and hope that
the situation would settle itself which it did there was no rush to produce weapons
of mass destruction for either side as bicycle spokes and suspension springs would suffice

Everyone covered their lower backsides with brown stuff leaking out and nobody really
gave an excremental fart no concern no expletive in public just bleeding screaming silence

So as an afterthought and in plain effortless ease it might be prudent to remember
the odd slit open abdomen food for thought and summer night light contemplation
what to do and what not to just in the possible case a genocide creeps into your sphere

Written in Johannesburg some time in so called modernity

Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Purge Our Consciences

From my lowly bachelor’s house
Proudly christened ‘Embassy Fair’
I woke up to the chirping of birds
On the trees above and across the vale
And the riverine bushes in-between
I woke up to the crowing of cocks
And the mooing of cows
I woke up to the leaping of calves
And the bleating of anxious goats;
To the braying of the donkey
The barking of my brother’s dog
And to the mumbling of the sheep.

There was no time to brood
Or think negative thoughts
Or linger on yesterday’s deeds.
I opened up all my senses
And voluptuously drank of the new day.
As my feet stroked the dew
On my way to the reserve fields
My eyes fathomed Mt. Ithangune
The eastern fortress of Mt. Kenya
Itself a mere one thousand feet higher.
Then we were mountain warriors
And our locale elevated us accordingly 
Leaving no room for flippancy
Even when it was flipping cold.

Times were when our men grazed there
On the slopes of Kirima kia Ng’ombe
Times were when Omo elders made rain there
Little did we know then (as now?)
That the God of Rain had slumbered
And demanded pure white fattened rams
Delivered by pure white-haired men
Whose penance upon the mountain
Would atone the sins of the Meru clans
And make our mountain God weep
And let his tears soften our rich soils
To ward off barrenness once more
And banish famine from our midst;
And as our fast-flowing rivers swelled
So, too, our cattle and our granaries.

For although our God lived at the apex
Yet he allowed us to get this close
And so to commune with him
Without touching his garment
Craftily spread over the three peaks.
Krapf and Rebmann never knew this
They were mere trekkers, mere explorers
Of a continent pregnant with mystery
That their kinsmen sought to make a home,
A distant home away from home.

Was the first man to see Mt Kenya
To which I responded, ‘Really? Aren’t you kidding?’
So what kind of men were the mountain warriors-
Blind men? The Meru, the Kikuyu, the Embu,
The Wakamba, the Masai, the Samburu, the Borana-
Were they all blind men then? Stone blind-
All those Africans that had known it before Krapf?

Desecration followed desecration
As alien men sought to climb Mt Kenya
And alien men sought to expropriate
Not just a field but all our land.
From a handful of missionaries and clerks
To shiploads of coolies and soldiers
To throngs of settlers and administrators
To segregation, imposition and subjugation
Till the people- wary, weary and desperate
Rose from the caves, valleys and forests
From every blessed nook and cranny
Chanting MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU
(Mwingereza Aende Ulaya
Mwafrica Apate Uhuru- 
White Man Return to Europe
African man Attain Independence!)

Though a youngster and much afraid
I sang that, too, in my youthful heart
Forbidden, I still sang it, in my heart
For I had seen the sword on my mum’s throat
As they sought to extract a confession
I had seen the village burn down
And I had seen the limp body of a fighter
Paraded through the village paths
But that was over half a century ago
And although I had seen the aftermath
Of Kaya Bombo and Kaya Tiwi in Kwale
On my way here (but thought it a dream)
And the agony of the 1998 Al Qaeda attacks
I had not seen much else; nor will I ever see
The likes of Eldoret, Nakuru, or Naivasha
After the 2007 election- I ardently pray not
For this is not the white man in Africa
That we are up against, surely not here
Not this long after regaining our independence
No! Not here in my beloved, bounteous Kenya.

It is commercial and political greed
A vicious, ugly cross-breed beast perhaps
That is all there is, that is all there can be
And these we must banish from our hearts
For who can bear to see Kenyan blood
Flowing down River Tana or Athi or Nzoia
Or swelling the banks of Lake Victoria, Nakuru or Turkana?
Who can plead such a case before God
And come away with his soul intact?
Have the Kenyan people not chosen
Through a brand new constitution
Their route to freedom, justice and progress?
Have they not decreed their own destiny?
Let me hear it from you and you and you
Whose hand or sword or bullet or arrow
Was stained by the blood of woman, man or child
Let me hear it from you who schemed or aided
And you who lent your tongue or thought
Or simply sought refuge in silence and waited
For something, anything to happen to ‘them.’
Let me hear you say, ‘Enough, enough!
Purge our consciences O Mighty One!’

Copyright © Gerald Kithinji | Year Posted 2013

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Withdrawal in a dream

How different this place
this sanctuary feels, here
inside one’s head. Where
insidious illusions fondle
a subvert mind, and obscenities
resonate within the confusion,
when fidgety creatures, assume
guardianship of my preternatural
situation, scurry around my space,
creating lattice of fabrication
across the quaking ceiling.
My imagination becoming
their fodder, my perception
their power, my tenacity
their strength, before spinneret
interweaves segregation of my
day and night.
Bollocks! To the physician of eastern
promise, he that controls this
nightmare, drip feeding diurnal
poison to this empathy
lost within an advocated paradox!
“Yet surely I have no need of
hatred, now I am confined within a
fragment of one’s dream.”
A genus of warmth; yet a confused
state of perplexity that knows
no boundaries, where bloodstain
walls survey me, incessant shadows
dance in gutless sunlight, and
radical rays anoint me with
“Hope and religion.”
I call out to Rock’n’roll!
Sammy Turner gives me
an impetuous rendering of
“Lavender Blue.”
Then I see an old man struggling
with his own situation. Touched
I call out.
“Are you ‘Jesus Christ?”
He scans my inquiring mind.
He senses I’m an imposter,
he raises one finger
affords me two words!
Both of one demystified syllable!

© Harry J Horsman  

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2012

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Heritage Forgotten

Copyright © 2015
Edited: 7/8 - 7:48pm

Symbols of Southern and Northern pride
  on both sides who lived and died

An American story
  a clash for glory

Whose glory in this land?
  that native man?
  he was already here
  and faced a new fear
  for him, who stands and cheer?

Another who didn't ask to come
  whipped and chained by some

Flag of Dixie became a motivator for hate
years beyond those historic dates
once again the South wrought this debate 

This time it was nine
  who will it be next time?

Those scars, those scars - are not forgotten
  left many of our Americans alone and frighten 

Oppression and terrorism aren't new
  it has always been started by a few-
  from murder to rape
  hardly any one escape

Now, America's Old Glory flies
  standing guard over those cries

Ole confederacy ideas still wants to divide
  by creating the Klan, they tried
  to destroy peace while others were denied

"We The People," aren't a nation for a few
  if our Armed Forces fight for me and you

So, lets not disgrace this divined nation
  with a flag that embraces segregation

It's time to mend and get on beyond our past
  or their Klan will continue to march in mass

The Star Spangled Banner, of Stars and Stripes
  our enemies foreign and domestic love to fight-
  this flag, a symbol of freedom against who might

"We The People" under this Banner, are one
  from numerous wars hard fought, and won

Like that brave American Eagle that flies high
  only one starred flag of Glory should wave him by

by: LPruitt

Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2015

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tomorrows Little Dream

This is no illusion,
Time is never still.
If you were blind before,
What hope can the future bring now?

In this time of loneliness,
There is nothing but segregation.
Nothing more than the existentialist,
What hope can the future bring now?

Now that we stand guarded,
What will the new dawn hold?
If eyes can pierce a beating heart,
What hope can the future bring now?

In this time of bitterness,
Of exceptional cruelty and hate.
Could not the wise ones say,
What hope can the future bring now?

For scholar and learned man alike,
Can spout truths, facts and figures.
But amidst the pomp and spluttering,
What hope can the future bring now?

Rise then and be heard wistful,
No one has our stance and holding.
We are comfort in a sick world,
We are today, tomorrows little dream

Copyright © R. Pinchen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Calls of Humanity

Calls of Humanity

Denial to live a full and free life,
Segregation on creed, colour black or white,
How much tolerance must have been,
A call for human dignity and end of strife,

As came the South African apartheid,
A blot on developing intellectual breed,
Women and children could not escape abuse,
Human rights were not getting any heed,

No jobs, no food, such was the plight,
Even most educated had a pitiable fight,
Imprisoned without trial in unsanitary conditions,
Most horrible was the inhumane sight,

Mandela took a lifetime struggle to rescue,
All false allegations were taken true,
Then first election of universal suffrage,
How the time turned, had a least clue,

Defiance campaign with nonviolent resistance,
task undertaken with strong persistence,
Pursued racial equality and other human rights,
dilemma of democracy was coexistence !!

Written March 15th, 2015
Rubaiyat "On South African apartheid"
For contest by Verlena

Awarded 1st place win

Now entered for Julia's Denial contest

Copyright © Dr. Upma A. Sharma | Year Posted 2015

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Shackles of apartheid

I look all round me and I’m engulfed by shame 
I see people chanting freedom 
But they have nothing tangible to show they are free 
Because their freedom’s trail is unknown to them 

Shackles of apartheid still tight on their wrist
Check the net and go through the list
See the names that exist in our midst
Because the apartheid segregation policy still exist 

Kaffir used to humiliate black men
And Negros to disgrace a black men   
In our minds we think freedom
Yet our attitude shows how tight the shackles of apartheid are

Our history is colorful 
Decorated with blood of heroes and heroines
Who fought for the emancipation of non racial society 
In black and white names of black and whites are recorded

They are recorded for the benefit of everyone in the land  
To remind us the importance of unity    
To embrace miscellaneous colors molded us to a rainbow nation 
Who can turn a blind eye on the colorful history of South Africa

Who can claim an individual victory to the journey traveled 
From apartheid era to become a nonracial society 
We broke free from the shackles of apartheid
Why then adorn ourselves with shackles of shame

Every time you call your brother with derogatory word
The shackles of apartheid shine like a diamond necklace
And the artisan smile, for you pursue his evil art of segregation
Africa is my home and Africans are my brothers.

Copyright © Bongani Zungu | Year Posted 2015

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Social injustice and economic inequality 
have always been practiced in our Nation's working industry
Irish need not apply, Hispanics we don't want your kind
and Blacks don't even show your face
this was the typical response to ethnic minorities in America's workplace

nepotism and favoritism were the norm and status quo
as it was not about your knowledge or skill but about who you know
let us never forget the unions and labor laws which evened the playing field
for if it was left up to corporate America economic inequality would never yield

Racism, discrimination and segregation on our Nation's history is a blight
and in spite of all the civil rights laws we still have to fight
for a measure of equal opportunity 
for some respect and a little dignity

let us never forget the Rev. Dr. King Jr., Medgar Evers, Cesar Chavez and Rosa Parks
those who stood up against injustice by igniting a socially conscious spark
they did not back down, they would not back off, they took a moral stance
so that every single human being in this country could have an equal chance

We hold these truths to be self-evident that all citizens shall be treated the same
regardless of race, color, age, gender or how we pronounce your name
and as we celebrate Black History Month let us never forget those who led the fight
in the struggle for social justice, economic equality and basic human rights

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.


While beating our drums—singing, dancing
and giving praises to the Most High
for family harvest, peace and love,
we blinked—became victims
of colonial rape—stolen from the womb
of our Motherland; snatched like babes
from their mother’s uterus; umbilical cords
severed and thrown away—not buried…

Stacked sardine style
in the fecal bowels of ships—
with desecrated faith flags flying
and given blessings to return safely—some 
of us survived the devil’s Middle Passage
Hell—stolen walking dead cargo
reaching the bidding blocks to be sold
into the dreaded dark death of slavery.   

Blood soaked cotton fields claimed
countless lives, wrought to death
to sustain a weary worn nation;
others dangled like strange fruits
from the branches of lynching trees;
and there were those who were fried
like beacon during clan kinky follies.

Yet, we are still here—pushing onward;
and we shall not be moved.

(Nobody Knows The Troubles I’ve Seen…)

Yes, chattel slavery, Jim Crow segregation,
racial discrimination and grazing game
to be stalked and shot down—
ethnic genocide—have all been
designed and practiced to wipe us out…

Yet, we are still here—pushing onward;
and we shall not be moved.

(Ain’t Gon’a Let No Body Lawdy, Turn Me ‘Round)

So rise up my children;
know who and whose you are—
Be aware and knowledgeable 
of the lies, mind tricks, and deceptions
your ancestors have survived—know
that you are the descendants
of great nation builders;
nation builders who have built a nation
within a nation; the black building bricks: 
the blood, sweat and tears of their lives.

My children, my children—truth’s blessings!
Know that you are heirs of something precious:
                                            a great heritage; a mighty ancestry—roots.
Know that you are not remnants of a dried creek bed;
rather, you are the flowing waters of a mighty river—
meandering through a great valley of ebony hued
healing humanity; rising—forgiving but not forgetting.

(Amazing Grace…I once was lost…)

Yes, with amazing grace, our river is still flowing;
taking us to a higher ground.  And we are still here.
And we shall not be moved—rooted in faith, planted
like a tree by the waters—we are here and God free.  And
we shall not be removed from the peace, love and unity
of our blessed humanity. Yes, we are still here to stay.  And
no devious devilish demise can up root our anchored present here.

(Like A Tree Planted By The Waters)

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Heritage and Culture

We have come a long way we have been fighting for centuries and decades to get 
where we are.

Jim Crow and the Segregated south couldn't keep us down.

We fought to be equal by marching the streets of the south all the way to D.C.

Slavery may have tried to keep us down and make us give up.

But we held our heads up high and looked to the sky and Prayed to God to help us.

And he did he saw us through he made us stronger it was another's day journey 
and we were glad about it.

My heritage enlightens me it inspires me to be a better person and to be my best.

My culture motivates to want more to educate the younger generation.

From the plantation to the white house we have come a long way.

To see the future through and have a brighter day.

The south thought they had us bound but they were wrong.

The Lord knew what he had in store for us all along.

He showed us the light............

And kept us through the night.

People like the Reverend Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are keeping the legacy 
alive .

By making sure that we know our rights and get the respect we deserve.

I am enlightened by what Martin Luther, Malcolm X and Frederick Douglass did.

They were motivated even though they came from different backgrounds.

My ancestors pulled through so I could see something unique and divine.

Segregation turned into intergration Jim Crow evolved into the background paving 
the way for Barack Obama to become president.

If only Jim Crow knew he paved the way for civil rights.

For marches upon Washington D.C. and for Lunch Counter Sit-ins.

All those hymns and Justice he paved the way for Rosa Parks to say enough is 

To not give up her seat and to be treated as equal citizens.

My heritage and my culture breathes within me and I must keep the legacy going 

All my days long.

Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham | Year Posted 2011

Details | Segregation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the Angry Soup of Racism

ain't it a shame

when hate lynches 
a 14 year old Colored boy
in 1955 Mississippi
and blows away the dreams of
four innocent little Negro girls 
in 1963 Birmingham, Alabama

bus that to your segregated thoughts
as I interracially walk you 
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children
to march along side the National Guard
on their way to a lily white school 
as the message of this 
un-segregates & untangles  
the history of hate
attackin’ Negroes in 1957
whose only desire was to be educated 
and schooled too

racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide 
the white citizen council back 
to their good senses 
‘cause racism 
don’t care ‘bout nobody
being Jewish or Colored
when it needs to 
Negro churches with Negroes in them
or feels the need to hang someone 
from a tree out of existence
racism even devours its own kkklan
as the innocent
pay the ultimate price

racism doesn’t care 
if your church is the 16th Street Baptist
and 14 yr. old  Addie Mae Collins 
is one of the four black Alabama children 
killed in attendance        
racism ain’t concerned about
you being white either
or your last name being
Martin or Rodney King
and so many other names
that we’ll never know of
that racism wounded or buried six feet
under hate  

racism doesn’t care about 
what kinda NAACP dream 
you’re having 
or concerned about your last name
being "Parks" in 1955
when it attempts to guide you back
to the "Colored" section of the bus
where you know your
civil-rights will be denied
every time you allow 
" segregation & discrimination"
to collects its fare

racism & its hateful followers
have no regard at all 
for one’s race / religion
or sexual persuasion

especially when racism peers 
into its discriminating mirror
century after century
time after time 
day after day
and tells itself in 2006
"it’s better than you"
because you’re "cultured" different
from them"

racism stirs an ugly pot of soup
that no one should ever have to taste.

Copyright © ronald stroman | Year Posted 2007

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Just Show Up

Basic Attendance,
listening deeply to the sounds
and functions
flows and forms of nature's voices,
evolves from enthymematic roots
toward mutually empathic,
darkly transparent
nondual dark energy
as equivalently empowering/disempowering identity
of not-yet full-synergetically integrated
diastatic Time,
equivocating spatially incarnated
multisystemic harmonic balance
between Yangstimulus(t) and Yinresponse.

From this epicenter of Basic EcoPresence,
we begin noticing our over-commodified
over-canned -insured -legaled -domesticated
under-assured -insured
under-invested -regenerate
cultural economy
habitually uses financial currency
as the measure of life-giving wealth,
while using nutritional currency
as our measure of health.

Hmmm. That happens. And?

When we must choose between health and thrival
or competitive individual and familial accumulation of wealth-survival objectives,
we are likely to return to healthy survival of Earth
and all species
as ultimate measure of a culture's wealth
and we are each a DNA-informed culture.
At least,
that appears to be our routine positive behavior
after the tsunami
the tornado
the hurricane
the financial earthquake
the critical interruption of cooperative Business As Usual
vacates our normatively competitive economic chatter
and ego identities.

So what?

and sexism
and class-ism, segregation-ism,
and anthropocentric elitism
and ageism
and capitalism,
evolutionary dead end tributaries of self-perpetuating revolution
that could only become issues
emerging from an ego-centric Left-brain dominant species.
We invest in supremacist (and too often ballistic) elitism
when we assume human nature somehow evolves more entitled
and privileged
and value-capital invested
outside our anawim, our untouchables, our aliens, our enemies,
our emphatically distrusted non-elites,
without concomitant responsibility
and risk
and opportunity
to remember and remain within eco-centric cooperating ballast.

Western red skies
predict Trinitarian Yang/spatial In-Formation,
co-arising Eastern dawn of Basic CoElational nondual culture;
positively bilateral YangYin 
as WinWin temporal-timeless regenerate co-function.

Basic EcoDance meets Time's Primal ReCreational Dysfunction:
Our economic lifestyle and choices
either lean toward cooperating with Time's unfolding wisdom,
sometimes called karmic flow of sacred grace,
or we can continue to over-invest in competing
to possess larger and larger responsibilities
for monopolizing quantities of life's time.
Plan A is Win-Win eco-logic.
Plan B is Lose-Lose ego-dislodging competitive 
collective insanity masking rich opportunities within
Basic EcoPresence 
sharing Time's 
beloved-ing Nature.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

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Color: Slave Narrative

We are people of color
beautiful of color
but we are viewed as athletes
rappers and 
eventhough we have one of us
in the white house we are still
viewed as such
we were once kings and queens
but was stolen from our land 
and our land was robbed of everything
we were oppressed and forced into a way of life
that we didn't want 
our women was raped and viewed as
sexual objects instead of people
our men was labors and when they
could no longer perform they were tossed
aside left to fend for themselves and when
we finally had our freedom our problems
continued we viewed as second-rate inferior 
to the other race, we weren't
given any opportunities and when it came 
to school it was horrible
just another thing we had to endure
like segregation we couldn't use the 
same restrooms or sit next to them but
the sad thing about it was that it was viewed as constitutional
"Separate but Equal" was what they were calling it
but when the nation was under attack who did
they turn too they turned too us for help
but we were still treated unfair but there were some 
bright moments for us during that era
Jack Robinson opened the door for us to play sports
Dr. Martin Luther King
Malcolm X 
Rosa Parks
fought for our equality along with others that are not 
mentioned in this poem that's why I 
am grateful for all of the opportunities that I have today
I am grateful to go to school and 
sit anywhere I want to 
I am grateful for all the people of color who gave it there all
and sacrificed everything they had so that we could
have this chance to do what they could not do
I love my people of color
my prideful
beautiful of color and 
just to let you know
I'm not a racist just someone 
giving you the history of our people
the people of color 

Copyright © James Wilson | Year Posted 2014

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This Will All End

This will all end
As Jane Kenyon said, “Let evening come” 
Let it come to unite some
The evening when racism will end
It’s so much better when the two blend

Martin Luther king, Rosa Parks
This is how it all starts
Segregation, discrimination, unfair education 
And yet, I thought we were one nation

“They’re colored, them Negroes” they declared
While sitting in their living rooms with stories they shared 
They don’t know what they really meant
Or how “them Negroes” truly felt

Oh them Negroes, they will dream
About how someday, they will be free 
Harriet Tubman was the one
Who helped the slaves that were on the run

Harriet held her head up high 
Helping helpless slaves survive 
While guided by the Northern Star 
Their freedom awaits them afar

They whip their lashes, but I aint afraid 
‘Cause he had a dream that one day
We will be united with no shame
‘Cause blacks and whites are all the same

Letting light skins lead the way
Leaving lonely blacks gone astray
They’re free here, they’re suffering there 
Let’s come together, everyone, everywhere

Let freedom ring, let the caged bird sing
Our journey together will begin 
Let’s wake up, let’s not pretend 
And let’s not worry, this will all end

Copyright © Marwa Mohamed | Year Posted 2015

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The Price of Racial Equality

There was no true freedom in this nation. We were allowed to go with emancipation. However, we afterwards fought discrimination. Ubiquitous was racism and segregation. Often with the rising sun of the dawn, we would find a smoldering cross on our lawn. What has been the price of racial equality? It has been a struggle as tough as can be. inspired by another member's poem

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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When blackness turns into light

When blackness turns into light

Society could not deny
what we saw
with our own two eyes.

We saw blackness
turn into light
soulful stars
white nights.

Jackie was a pioneer
his love lifted us 
higher and higher
his black voice
shining bright in 
the white night
his acceptance there
was no denying.

James Brown led the way
when there still 
was segregation
blacks and whites
in Baptist churches
but in separate 

His voice was strong
his blackness shone
his body contorted
in rhythmic gyrations
his voice was heard
when people listened
and saw as useful
this racial integration.

His strength and stamina
on the stage
and his voice made you 
want to get up and dance
those who saw him
knew that maybe 
racial unity had a chance.

Then came Marvin 
yes that  Marvin Gaye
he blazed a new trail
a new way of thinking
never encountered before,
music with a social conscience
that stirred a whole nation
to even question the war.

Then there was Sly and his
band mates the Family Stone
they were unique and special
mixing races together musically
but they were all alone

Then came Stevie
yes he was a wonder
his talent as a musician
there was simply no doubt,
his music resounded 
a message of peace and
harmony was what it
was about.

Then came Michael
and Prince at the 
very same time
two forces of black nature
twisting and turning their
blackness into light.
Music of healing the world
and the crying of doves
transfixed hateful gazes
into havens of love.

And don't forget 
Luther Vandross and
Teddy Pendergrass too, 
their songs of love
helped conceive a 
million children or two.

If you never lived
at a time like I did, 
growing up with 
Soul music's beginnings
it would be like being a 
football player who
never experienced 

Now they're mostly all gone
but their music still lives on
we were witnesses 
to the legends
in the making. 
Now the message carries on 
hope is never really gone
it's still there 
for the taking.

John Derek Hamilton
April 25,2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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The Pride of a Black Man

The Pride of a Black Man…
is evident from birth
from day one he’s the strongest on earth
It grows in him like a planted seed
giving him the will and fortitude he’ll need

The Pride of a Black Man…
is what makes him unique
giving him that special quality others seek
It makes him stand tall on the darkest days
his mettle never ceases to amaze

The Pride of a Black Man…
is what makes him whole
embedded in his heart and soul
It’s what drives him to be the best
enabling him to withstand any test

The Pride of a Black Man…
is a wondrous thing
passed down from African Kings
It has survived slavery, apartheid, and segregation
Manifested into id and Kwanzaa celebrations   

The Pride of a Black Man…
is Evers, King, and X
Mandela, Farrakhan, and whoever steps up next
It’s a Panther struggling, fighting for a cause
dying for his people not applause

The Pride of a Black Man…
is all he has at times
but its powers are sublime
It’s what allows him to be
at once imprisoned and free   

Copyright © Rodney Turner | Year Posted 2010

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July 2 A D

76 years today a legend retires his bat
70 years today another loses his battle
87 years today a nation gets back pride
49 years today Wal-Mart lures us inside
60 years today Bob and Ray on NBC radio
60 years today the Milky Way says hello
74 years today Amelia never flies again
71 years today Hitler infringes England
35 years today Vietnam resides its hate
32 years today Susan shows up at a bank
47 years today Johnson ends segregation
545 past since a Nostradamus prediction
50 years today Hemingway publishes fate
235 to the day the SCC vote to seperate*

*More: http://te.patch.com/articles/why-july-2-is-really-americas-independence-day

Copyright © ... Gigno | Year Posted 2011

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The Book

I am a book and I’m the author
I walk experience in my pages
Pages made to cover similar hardships in novels 
I puke poetry and sing boring songs while cooking words in ovens 
I believe in walking crippled paragraphs

I am a book 
Look i designed my cover in smiley looks 
A very loud template with innocent news 
Piles of smiles that attract visions not prisons
I am a lesson don’t fall in my trap 
I've dribbled my own games with my own words 

Say it
Say you love me, even if you don’t 
I long to taste the sound of your affection
Say the things lovers fill their tummies with
You don’t have to mean it 
Please say it
Fool my mind, give me a hug before Sunday

My life is a statue 
That Arrogance standing motionless in front of uninvited opponents 
My old school way of speaking new images 
Life undresses my naked truth with no omissions 
I am a lost sculpture like my mother's grave 
I am brave 
I forced my lovers to hate me in many ways 
They tried making sense of my existence
I hardly speak for other verses but souls

I am a book
Say the words in the back of my heart
Say you adore me 
Even if it’s not registered in your mind
Be blind and see your love for me, be kind

Why me
Why am i a recollection in your old shelves
Bloody memories
Why revisit me when life blesses you with hot claps 
I am covered in black 
I spared wheelchairs for any of my broken pages
I am far from segregation
I am your bestselling knowledge in high voltage 
I am your tour guide with guaranteed knowledge
I am a jacket to self-made cigarettes
Your soft pages 
My dusty unreadable pages are covered at the end of my life no worries
My mind has muscles but suffer not from steroids
I am addicted to meanings of my metaphors 
Say something about me please, 
Even if saying it decreases your energy 

Blind fold your approach and pride 
Neighbour my disciples and their kinds 
Just give me hope for preaching hope 
Crown me King
I am a simple bible
You know that 

Say the things you thought about me 
Hello be thy word, thy medicated voice
Thy will be written in different styles
Hello be thy easy to speak to many hearts
I am a book hated by many
My racial skills are empty not blurry
I am a book and I am the author
I am your words in your world

© Raymond Ngomane 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014