Best Slavery Poems
In the silent breathing of night,
treading through
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish.
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.
The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh
With endless stings of cruel misery.
The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.
The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)
I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!
~PLEASE~
Please pick me up!
Never mind I'm gonna fall, anyways
Please show me how to tie my shoes and sing a song!
Don't worry mommy, I'll walk barefoot and teach myself one day
Please daddy show me how to ride my bike!
Never mind It takes up too much of your time
Mommy, please do not hit me again!
It's okay, I need to be taught a lesson
Cousin please do not touch!
Go ahead, they won't believe me anyway
Teacher, please defend me in school!
Never mind, my body is used to the abuse
Please don't tell me sleeping with you is the only way!
Okay, I need to be loved even if it's for one night
Please teach me how to raise a baby!
It's okay, I can't blame others for my mistake
Please don't get violent when you drink tonight!'
If it makes you feel better hit me,
I'll hide the bruise with makeup & tears
Please tell me that I'm beautiful!
Wait! Your right I'll never look like her!
Please someone call 911!
Never mind, it's only a broken bone
Officer, please don't take my husband?
Don't you know it was my fault, he loves me and won't hit me again
Please don't ask what happen to my face!
That's what I get for standing up and defending myself
Please God don't take my baby!
Go ahead and take her I don't deserve her
Please don't tell me your not in love with me!
I understand I'll never be worthy of your heart
Please don't walk away and break my heart!
It's okay, I never made progress or was good enough
Please someone help, I'm hurting inside!
Never mind my feelings don't count
Please God, can you hear me!
Please God, can you rescue me!
Please God, can you walk with me!
Please God, can you show me the way!
God- I was a baby, I was weak, and did not talk
God- you didn't protect me on my first fall
God- I was abandoned and neglected before I learned to crawl!
God- even you rejected all my prayers and call
I understand now I don't need nothing!
I don't need no one at ALL
So PLEASE, PLEASE leave me alone, behind these walls
. **
Please! If you read this teach me how to smile
WAIT! Smiles don't come with self blame & guilt
by;PD
```Pirate Bay the Haiku```
pirates fierce and mean
drowning fish, sea to sea
parrots on their butt
```Polly Wants A Cracker```
bloodthirst & brutal
Quartermaster Gone Wild
dirty wings on deck
```Sea World Adventure```
ship crew goes on strike
sailing the Caribbean
wooden leg splashing
~*~
In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
await him.
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
I laugh out loud
every time I hear a politician say,
that the best way to enrich a black person's life,
is to give them a job
Give them some work to do
Labor is the way out of poverty ---
are you kidding me!
They got the nerve,
telling a black person in America
they need to work
Put the shoulder to the grinding wheel,
get to know the sweaty brow feel
Getting employed will solve most of
black people's problems, politicians say
Hard work will bring an honest dollar our way
But I got a problem
with that four-letter word: work
I am bold enough to speak for my people
on this urgent matter
Telling us we need to work some more,
in order for things to get better for us
No! We worked long enough
Four hundred years is a long enough time, don't you think
We been working ever since
we got off those slave ships that didn't sink
We worked hard
at keeping our eyes and voices low
We worked hard
at pretending that we're slow
We worked even harder
at grinning and gritting our teeth
But we worked the hardest
at not getting lynched on a tree
Listen to me:
This is the children of slaves reality,
the living in America experience
of feeling the societal lash daily
Of being looked down on,
of being spurned and frowned upon
Politicians say they helped us all they could,
that entitlements didn't do no good
And only work can get us to where we need to be ...
sounds a lot like old-time slavery to me
No! We worked long enough
Four hundred years is a long enough time, I would think
We been working ever since
we got off those slave ships that didn't sink
We worked hard
at not getting pecked to death by Jim Crow
We worked hard
at trying to survive under the poverty line below
We worked even harder
at not telling the oppressor everything we know
But we worked the hardest
at letting our unchained KKKourage show
Yes! We worked long enough ...
now it's time for us to rest
Will you pay us back for that?
Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances
A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke
Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun
Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land
Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell
“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger
So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing
Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces
pink and sparkles spout
above liberty statue
cloud tauts happiness
fireworks all around applaud
hands clap on soil and sea
the swirl of nations,
a landing party of dreams...
but some from afar
drag chains as if dead, rowing
amidst the cotton
the white plant—has thorns—
placed on Jesus saving crown.
sowed on plantations —
a reaping of civil war
continues today.
plumes of red and black
fume over the green lady;
a gift from the past.
stripes upon the flag’s backside.
hands raised beg for forgiveness
7/3/2020
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(4)any theme any form Poetry Contest
John 19:1-3 Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they struck them in the face.
Save our children from slavery........
Our beautiful children are forced to hard labor by some of the evil people on earth
And they kill their soul.
Those little hands are holding hard tools instead of holding school books
Those little hands are touching dirty sand instead of their mother's hands
They listen to their evil men called masters instead of their school teachers
Struggling for their bread at infant stage instead for the struggling for their career
Mothers are crying for their children and want to save them from their darkness of future
Many years have been passed but not a single year has been cared for them
Because of our careless leadership our children are still living in slavery
Let us join together and save our little children from the hell of slavery.
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved @ 2015
ON THE WAVES OF LOST MEMORIES…
These salted memories tell stories
The oceans and seas gave birth to.
Over the tempestuous waters
Echoes from the bellies of slave ships
Ride the tides of history
Spreading ripples over the shores
Of time proclaiming forgiveness
For lost souls.
We sashay along bleached beaches
Where white sands mask the shed blood;
And splashing waves drown out
The ghost echoes of rattling chains:
We no longer remember
Our beginnings here.
Thank you Lord for drawing me near
and opening my eyes to see;
The sin in which my heart was enslaved
and in great need to be set free.
The gift of repentance is truly a gift;
For by it I know Your Spirit is in me,
as He brings me to sorrow over my sin,
and turns the eyes of my heart towards Thee.
It is You the only One and True
that can set a prisoner free;
Little by little showing me my sin,
and little by little changing me.
So as I live my life abiding in You,
and You abiding in me;
May I find joy in repentance for by it I know,
Your Spirit is living in me!
Got kidnaped from my African village,
tossed on a big, long ship that sailed far away
Stripped of every decent human privilege,
forced to work on short sleep, long hours, no pay
Didn’t come to America on a pleasure cruise,
land of freedom wasn’t nothing but fake news
Forced to work on short sleep, long hours, no pay
Looks like to me, everyday is hard Labor Day
A black stone with diamonds inside
She shines but you would never know
They hit her but she never falls
They whip her but she never breaks
Speed in her step even though they try to slow her down
Make her fail, just so that they can beat her down
Again and again
But they never get the chance
They tell her she's property
Meant to be owned
Planting plants that their too lazy to grow
In their eyes she's just a cotton-picker
But she knows better than to believe their foolish words
Black as night
But bright as a star
Hard as a diamond
Hard to break
Locked in a concrete box
That's hard to take!
She writes with passion
In the shadows
Hidden from her captures
Writing the truth of her sufferings
Sometimes writing away the reality of her captivity
White clouds surrounding her
Caving in
Watching her every move
So clear but so dark and evil at the same time
She barely wants to move
But she doesn't have a choice
She writes with her heart
Not with her head
Writing is her release
Reading is her consumption
Breathing out then slowly inhaling each and every word
Falling deeper into someone else’s life and wishing it was her own
That’s why she started writing
To create a new reality for herself
Envisioning a world of peace
Released from the cage that she has been confined to
But the cruel world that she has been cursed with by God
Creeps its way up to her neck
Taking hold of any freedom that she had created for herself
In those so few minutes alone
Pulling her from her slumber
Stripping her of her innocents
Marking her with fire
Crippling her into ashes
Making her realize that there is no way out of this alive
She can only pray for that last day to come sooner
The morning sun taking her out of her trans, making her sufferings all the more relevant
I watch a sunset
that I'd love to share
and nobody sees it but me
I'm scratching my head
in utter amazement
that nobody cares much to see
Things to accomplish
things to get done
a million things every day
And all of these things
have one thing in common
they manage to get in the way
"In the way of what?"
as you may well ask
"I'm doing my best to get by."
And oh, what a shame
so sad and so true
we squander our lives 'til we die
And doing their best
devoid of expression
their faces are empty and bleak
So busy, so dizzy
en masse, repetition
robotically, chronically weak
And what are they doing?
Yes, why such devotion
to this seemingly endless malaise?
They're taking a rain check
and storing up treasures
and longing for much brighter days
No time for a sunset
no walks in the park
no place for a soft ocean breeze
They march on in madness
a dutiful army
en route to their chosen disease
I've been trying to fill this hole deep inside my chest.
I promised I plead but you still left like all the rest.
So here I sit once again I’m all alone.
You won't even send a text to my phone.
This is where I fail to stay strong.
This life of mine starts to go wrong.
I took my lighter and fired up the brass.
I applied heat to get the bubble in the glass.
I heat the rock and watch it melt down.
I'm all smiles in the happiness that Ive found.
Before I knew it im drawing from out of the spoon.
One, two, blastoff soon ill be higher then the moon.
You get that little burn in the back of your throat.
Hang on cowboy cause you just hit some bomb dope.
Then comes the ringing in your ears.
Just sit back and all your worries and fears simply disappear.
Don't worry about the lights fading in and out.
That's the dope coursing through your veins ya your high no doubt.
The color will leave your eyes.
Your body engulfed in the warmth of a million butterflies.
But now the demon has got you like a needle to thread.
Welcome to the struggle cause you got to keep the demon fed.
Now we've been up for nights and days.
Given up hope we succumb to her ways.
When she leaves you she leaves you feeling dead.
You can't silence the voices screaming inside your head.
Now you just look for the next high.
Cause without that demon you wanna die.
People will wonder where have you been.
It's no secret with those track marks up and down your skin.
Now you will know new lows.
It's a sad story but thats just how it goes.
Now your alone and feel so close to death.
Just remember who did this her name is crystal meth.
Now if you could relive that day.
When your pal held out that needle tell what would you have to say.
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’