Careful—what you hear
is not truly what mind heard;
bias wears a voice
we sort the world by its sound—
kinship hums in tone and tongue.
Talk sounds funny—strange,
not what you're used to hearing
through your native ears
guardrails narrow to constrain
how you render each word's sound.
Hearing listens first
for cadence, tone, inflection—
truth dressed in accents;
one voice rises, one falls through,
judged before the words arrive.
A child chooses friends—
not for faces, but a voice
that feels like their own;
in accents they speak at home
echoing inheritance.
As youths grow older
their speech bends towards the room,
softly converging—
to belonging in the crowd
with a learned change in accent.
Careful—he might hear
you—not as you fully are
mutual bias
is voiced in accented sounds—
kinship strummed in scope and tone.
Bound to notepad page
Mind locked in a cage
Margins rule insight
Cropping left and right
Bias frames the view
Cutting truth askew
They want to lock up Officer Crespo for 27 years
But is the case as it appears?
I got a letter from the Center for Police Defense.
They claim the accusation makes no sense.
Crespo was called for backup, drug dealers were speeding at night
They pulled over and pointed a gun, wouldn't that give you a fright?
He wanted to make it back to his four kids and wife
He managed to shoot first, killed but saved his life.
The court did not tell the jury about the drug dealer's crime spree.
Reading what he did that night, that doesn't seem fair to me
The guy had just beat up his girlfriend and he was high on a drug.
The car was stolen, the gun illegal, not the type to give a hug.
The letter made another claim: that the D.A. dislikes police
If the letter is correct, this witch-hunt must cease.
Cops don't start a day wishing to kill a man
Life in jail for manslaughter is not part of their plan.
If you get rid of good cops, someone else will fill in
You won't like the new enforcers; results will be grim.
I'm not a blind believer, we should follow every clue
But it's easy to make judgements when the gun doesn't point at you.
Is there any DNA identification leeway?
Can a savvy forensic scientist fake the results?
Can their opinion and bias overrule guilt and innocence?
Do they sometimes work on a relative’s case....
without divulging their relationship?
Questions which will probably never be answered.
Scary, isn’t it?
It’s not your fault, I tell you;
You show me things as they are,
Without any bias or prejudice.
But, it’s mind that presumes
Things quite differently.
Without you I become blind,
I miss the world around.
In pleasure and pain
You rain tears alike.
You’re the tool of my sight.
2nd place
They died in silence, but they died
They cried in silence, but they cried
They shrieked they shouted, who knew?
You ask why know, what could you do?
But you focus on some trendy cause
A life under a lamppost, to peer applause
Outside the light, the monsters roam
I don't see you straying out of the dome.
You live in a bubble, a bubble others made
Its a shallow pond in which you wade
confirmation bias, and a wrong path
Few people leave it, few do the math.
One day the fists will rattle your door,
You'll plead for reason, you'll ask "what for?"
So, investigate now, let the circle extend
When the mob refocuses, every man needs a friend.
I wrote this poem, after I read Raymond Ibrahim
He talked of places where some lose, some win
Lots of conflict of which I knew zero
I can't really help, but he's a hero.
away from the unconscious bias in the world
i escape my comfort zone and open up my mind and my heart
new ways of doing introduce themselves to me
new worlds worth seeing welcomes me with unexpected open arms
new people with interesting personalities meaningfully school me as well as own me with the best intent
tears flow rather freely because i am experiencing and discovering beyond complicated, constipated fear
i am totally and completely inspired to find out about and experiment with More
away from the unconscious bias of the world
Honest salesman is a semi-oxymoron
Just like an honest politician
Please do not laugh, all lawyers or
Accountants are not crooks. When the door
Is wide open a mouse, a rat, a cockroach
Would me more than happy to approach
Some politicians have tried to be better
And more credible. Some are men/women of honor
However, others are pathological liars
They are professionals who behave like traitors
They think that the "truth is not the truth". They're confused
Lies are lies. Dogs are dogs. Politicians play politics
Call the exterminators to annihilate the ticks
Liars always ignore the truth. Please, let's not mused
In politics, it is probably not easy to be too honest
Because so much is involved. Let's chase the pests
The corrupt politicians who are ruining everything
And destroying the dream. Let them flee. Let's ring
The bells. Not all politicians are crooked or criminals
That's true. I am not lying, just check the election polls.
Copyright © November 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
---unconscious bias
I crawl as my tongue slither back
forth lies and untruths,
my rock heart, my mouth spews
-out disproportionately facts
represented or excluded from certain roles
my verbal statement of reform mine associations we hold
I and my friends (I mean fiends) be a sign of
---unconscious bias
Who are we as I and we snap judgments?
Assessments, who whom are I and we to past testaments
Them there whom they be negative attitude,
We in ourselves outside of self can’t let them be
Of which one is not consciously aware,
Against a specific social group none of which we I care
Eternal hatred, jealousy and slander
Why? Must I (we) inside those hearts speak aloud ill of
--Oh? What wroth,
Such a lot
Is this unconscious prejudice
Human resources do they measure this
--- Those whom internally thinking unconscious bias
9/11/24
For This or That, Vol 27 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Written: September 08, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He has blue eyes and lovely blond hair,
Curls rose above his pink and pretty ware.
Do not mention his background or affairs,
With Africa by people who settled there.
His father's family tree has extensive roots,
Has Swedish, Cajun French, and British limbs.
Grafts from Choctaw and Cherokee wood routes,
That got some black stems from long-time whims.
His mother comes from a Creole background,
Descendants of a native African tribe.
Parentage from France and Spain was found,
And mingled with Bayou Indians and more vibe.
Because intolerance and hatred confine,
They also obstruct the expansive plain.
Therefore, bigots are vindictive and supine,
It is only clear to observe the gutter drain.
There are no pleasant views of the spleen,
There are no cloverfields or rolling greens.
Restricted minds lack the ability to see,
a breathtaking panorama of the scene.
And biased men with pretentious pride,
While in white, they become narrow-eyed.
who despise Blacks, Jews, and Native side,
They are completely sealed and closed inside.
Child when born is born to a culture
Loves to smile, feels safe with familiar face
Parents think hard to give a good name
Search, consult, decide, toss for one pretty
First name, easy to choose middle name
last name.
For grace they name after lineage
Who dealt with hardships to earn such good name
And had lived a good life, with virtue
Or like to choose some social star, from film
From sports, from divine, successfully
Lived life.
Name is everything, it shines bright on
Physical existence, on culture, creed
Whispers to all about their land born
Cheers loud, stands first, stays cautious, courteous
to native clan, sings sweet if rich and
famous.
Name keeps one's bloodline warm and running
Once named, sense and soul warms up to that sound
Whenever called out loud or murmured
It brings cheer to loving heart, pleases mind
One strives to live up to it, loves the
Named name.
Startling thoughts on name I read, I see
Prejudice has spurned me n times by name
Yet, I wear her with love on my sleeve
Polish with truth, kindness and honesty
I smile when someone calls me by my
First name.
In the quiet hush of morning light,
He stares at her with tender eyes,
A face familiar, yet out of sight,
In the fog where all memory lies.
Her voice, a melody he once knew,
Now stirs something deep inside,
A warmth, a pull, a feeling new,
Or perhaps, an echo that won’t subside.
She smiles, a tear begins to trace,
The lines of time upon her face.
He wonders, is this love I feel?
A heart awakened, but wounds unhealed.
Then comes the truth, soft and kind,
A tale of love left far behind.
"You’ve loved me once, and still you do,
Though your mind has made me new."
He grasps her hand, both old and fresh,
A bond that time could not repress.
For in his heart, though memories fade,
Love remains, unscathed, unafraid.
In this moment, they both find,
That love transcends the fragile mind.
A love forgotten, yet still it flows,
Through the heart, where true love grows.
Beneath the surface where thoughts often stray,
Lies a bias that colors our view each day.
Invisible threads weave through the mind,
Shaping perceptions we're blind to find.
We see through lenses that age has stained,
Distorting the world with judgments ingrained.
The mirror reflects a skewed truth's face,
A filtered reality, a hidden disgrace.
History’s shadows linger, stark and clear,
Biases persist though we claim to steer.
Masks of fairness cloak the hidden guise,
Concealing the biases that our heart denies.
Turn the gaze inward, seek the inner light,
Where biases drift in the depth of night.
Only by facing what's buried inside,
Can we untangle the truth that’s denied.
Acknowledge the flaws that quietly remain,
And let our minds break free from this silent chain.
For true change begins when we recognize,
The unconscious biases veiled from our eyes.
do you ever get days when you feel broken
totally empty of inspiration
flat and deflated
you are almost unconscious
unaware, invisible, numb
and you must write
your pen has fallen on the floor and rolled
drowsy you are able to find it
lethargic and dazed
you look at your crisp white paper ...
you have a bias for poems about your life
and also favor nature themes
of life I pen ....
my life is adrift
a ravaged garden tangled ...
serene and quiet
of nature I write ...
the birds sing me a song in the cemetery
as I walk a winding path deeper and deeper
into the ethereal peace .... oh, I am getting close
and then, the engraved cold mossy stone
all of a sudden I am no longer repressed
I feel calm and awake
I gather my blank pages
now, I write not caring about other peoples
preconceived bias to my poetry
because I write for me
Unconscious bias can upset one's heart
if kin or friends might shun your written art-
to look upon good poetry as play-
negating words that might uplift their day.
Some think of poetry as silly writes
that jumble words and do not meet the rights
to be upheld as literary worth-
with any thoughtful meanings to unearth.
Perhaps poetic metaphors give pause
and render writers void of earned applause.
Ambiguity somehow dismisses sense;
unconscious bias- inborn to commence.
Most poets may unveil views quite obscure
that sometimes deems their sanity unsure
by those who harbor this unconscious fact-
and hold back ways by which they should react.
We're thankful other poets read our art
with no unconscious bias on their part.
They understand the nuances displayed
in chosen thoughts so artfully conveyed.
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