Charlie Kirk
Breaks my heart
his death today
the bullet was not signed
as is the Zionist way
A Palestinian child denied her right
to sign the death sentence
with Gods best wishes
another terrorist fades into oblivion
Now women shut up
and make babies, your only job
that was his message
Feminist's laughing, this fool a knob
All the women already in heaven
dancing with angels of empathy
and compassion
look down and laugh this pious clown
you live by the second amendment
you die by the second amendment
Jesus will never have to see you again
finally in hells fire, you are with your own
we came up same building,
same busted elevator, same rumors in the walls —
three girls stacked on top of each other
like secrets whispered through radiator pipes.
6S - she’s half rican, half black,
but don’t call her half - she all attitude,
dark skin glowing when she laughs too loud,
hips slick like she dancing with nobody’s permission.
5E - 5’1 and built like a threat,
she got a stare that’ll stop you mid-lie.
she hate surprises, so we never sneak up -
she come knocking first if you do her wrong.
then me - 7N, freckles spread like stars on light skin,
red-brown hair tied up, book in my lap,
content to stay inside while they chase block heat.
they pull me out anyway - stoop nights, corner gossip,
big dreams that don’t always fit our pockets.
we so different it make no sense -
three girls shaped like soft rebellion,
like hard lessons, like love
that never needed no permission slip.
puberty tried to twist us up,
boys tried to break us open,
life threw her worst
and we just leaned closer -
me, yaphia, tarita - same building girls,
same busted elevator,
still going up.
Storms off Cape Verde garner strength in the Oceans.
Fed by seas of angry, restless spirits, Middle Passage emotions.
“Forward Ever...Backwards…Never!?!”
With all
The progress
We made, how
Is it that we’re
Back to where
We once were
With oppression?
Did we become
So comfortable
That we failed
To see what
Was coming
To push us
Back and make America great again?!
How could we have simply missed
The vivid message of Stockholm,
Which, for us, here today, is now
A USA, Oppressor Syndrome?!
We belong and carry
Historic love is buried
In black genes so strong
They ring like holy song
The curl of your hair
Onyx Pearl your eyes
Heavy hips bring stare
Licorice lips defy lies
We create from scraps
Food homes poems raps
Take nothing make something
All despite devilish traps
We fall yet we ruby rose
So all could experience hope
And amethyst amazing growth
We dreamt and made it so
You silver star are the pride
Of hearts love inherited tribe
The sun kisses your skin
Ancestors kiss given by wind
Destined and designed to rise
Be inspired be ready to fly
God gives you truth not lies
Walk your path live your life
It takes a Big Stick,
To approach the Mound with Pride!
It takes a BIGGER STICK,
To encroach a MOUND that WIDE!
A black child knows the song of heavy trains,
as clanging engines brought my father home.
His weary, sweaty, fat thighs bearing strain,
from cooking pots of food for those well-known.
We felt the forceful song of heavy trains,
not rails or trams that ride below the street.
A move that in your gut of gut does reign,
black power that comes up beneath your feet.
Our past has known the song of steel on steel
as trains have carried tired heads held high.
When we approached we heard the air brakes squeal,
and at that sound we thought our hopes were nigh.
We've listened for the song of trains for years.
Their mournful horns just croon a memory,
and often resurrect the blues of tears,
or flash across the mind as reverie.
For many years we've sang the sad refrain,
with strength and power striving in the soul.
This melody of freedom laced with pain.
The weight of all life's longings taking toll.
Oh, sing a song of praise for those who bare
the weight of heavy trains within our past,
a rocking to and 'fro' from here to there,
maintaining in our spirits WILL to last.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my blessed little Sister!
When we were young, Papa always called
You “Black Patti”! Now we know why:
A Senryu Quintet Tribute To “Black Patti (1868-1933): **
For My Sister, Sula “Black Patti” Baye (08/25/1943)
Water gives rivers life
I swanee, “Black Patti” gave
Life to the songs she sang:-
“Black Patti” felt that
Singing songs was to her, as
Sunshine to flowers:-
When “Black Patti” sang,
Flowers flooded world stages:
Concert Halls, sold out!
She was Mitilda
Sissieretta Jones: singing
Abolitionist!
Black Patti, rather
Than Adelina Patti, was
Their Era’s Greatest!
**When others sit down and do oursrorical research,
They will know why Papa gave you that honor. Go
And enjoy another blessed year, perpendicular to
Earth and Heaven. To God Be The Glory. In the
Onederful oneness of the onement of Extended
Family, Peace And Love, your favorite Brother,
Deac.
"My things as you."
People as Friends and kettles?
"My things as you."
The witness deprived
Absorbent in deny
How in interchange
Are we spoken
Misleading waste
Papers as snakes
Only in cuisines
Last, hander of things
Gone in time
Decade of take
Sales of ink
And all town
How to announce
Tone?
And all are tow'n
Being towed in the time
Time of all Involved as microcosm In discussion from?
Fearing reprimand of ink as letters ?
Allowing incorrect Consistent sing
the blind justices repeal?
Confound surrender?
Your not printing the article
Your afraid of reading
And the "free" cost!
Remains are extensive
The times grow small inside of earths journals
My sistas
A good woman once prevailed
Yet as her eyes sight the abandonment vessel
Reluctant wrath hatred vision
Prometheus googles
Declare upon the abomination
This place the unaffected
Christ
lived
under
the
Roman
government
Innn we've come, honey rooms that don't fly
Leaving me at bedtime
With
Windows as desks part
And Jest in time, you'll return the best part
Knowing I'll beJust as fine
Talking in hills climb
If you are about
Signing my bottom line
Paris?
I've got latin blues and jewish sop
Records that show outs
But I haven't swam on home
In cities we just get by
Arlington's at side by
Frantic paces, friends always me
black female warrior
(2/7/13)
She was my black female warrior and she stood proud and tall
And upon her shoulders, her silk hair did fall
A spear in one hand and an axe in the other
No one would mess with her, not even her brother.
The strength of a lion searching for prey
She would not let anything stand in her way.
She knew where she lived - it was a jungle out there
But she was strong in spirit and did not care.
She is the black warrior and as strong as can be
You will find her in the annexes of history.
Just like the movie of "BETTY AND CORETTA"
Who showed what they can do- when they stood
Up against the politicians of the RED, WHITE and BLUE.
We are still being monitored by the land, air and sea
But we'll continue the fight so that we could be free.
These two women are the black warriors who walk
Hand in hand with all oppressed people who are willing to take a stand.
I am Hispanic and we've been denied many rights
Just like any other nationality, we're all willing to fight.
It does not matter our color, religion or
Sexual preference that we may have
"ONE NATION UNDER GOD WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL"
That is FREEDOMS CALL.
© L. RAMS
Chiaroscuro ballerina,
Rond de jambe in chaînés
Jeté, jeté
Grand jeté
Mariana Victoria,
Your Seiren eyes speak in
Adamantine lies
Forbidden apple gates
Amina Afrikana,
Runes enjambed in chains
Adamantly denying
Grand opries
Bloomeria guro,
Your six-petaled cries sing
"Beaujolais, beaujolais!"
Forbidden pomegranates
I carry the weight of unspoken names,
ancestors carved in the marrow of me.
Chains once bound them, yet their spirit still walks,
pressing my steps with a rhythm of fire.
The mirror does not reflect only my face,
it holds centuries of silence and struggle.
Songs in languages stolen yet remembered,
rise in my chest like thunder after rain.
I walk between worlds that do not see me whole,
a stranger marked by the color of my skin.
Their gaze is a wall I cannot climb through,
yet I plant roots that crack its foundation.
Hope is not fragile, it is rebellion,
stitched in a cloth by my grandmother’s hands.
Every breath I take is survival’s hymn,
every stride a bridge to what was denied.
The journey within is to claim my truth,
to stand unbroken in a fractured world.
And in my veins, their courage speaks again:
“You are the dream we refused to surrender.”
They lowered the flag
And I showed my frustration
They try to blow my candle out
But I raise again holding my head high
I let my balloons fly also
Red, white, blue and black
The balloons all flying irrespective of colour
I raise again irrespective of my colour
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