Another American Colony
poisoned with venom and hate
Consumed by the world’s great religions
apparently, this was its fate
The Palestine homeland was stolen
by the powerful in our world
They took it and gave it to others
named it Israel, a new flag unfurled
Then created a thing they call AIPAC
for the funneling of funds every year
Take American taxpayer dollars
with each bomb that is dropped, they all cheer
The Parties all do it together
Jews and gentiles sign-off on the funds
Together with makers of weapons
we all pay for the bullets and guns
America’s funding a genocide
our Senators and Reps have no shame
As the people pay all of the taxes
together we share all the blame
Netanyahu, a villain and killer
has a bank that’s called US of A
Anytime that he wants to kill Gazans
AIPAC’s ready with money to play
As for Schumer, he has in his pocket
Booker, Jeffries and Torres and more
It is why he keeps running for office
to keep Israel funded for war
Now the Trumps plan a new Riviera
by Republicans they will be led
With American taxpayer money
they will build it on all of the dead
"This New Eden"
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
the car lights shine
luminosity along
the road, the dark night
dims eventually and
morning arrives
This eden
rolls gently over me
life through pages
the antithesis of
a booker prize
don’t get all
literal on me
I’m in draft
it's messy
notes in the margins
left for heart
right for mind
the middle road
a highway of words
the body parched
the tyres all melting
sticky slow grips
the wheel shifting gears
up a notch or two
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
they can’t see the
forest for the trees
the stings of bees kissing
velvet bookmarks silky
stretches of moist
long-necked fevers
I’ll park here for
a little while
the dark night
dims eventually,
morning arrives
this new eden
rolls gently over me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"SomeDay"
SomeDay I just want to show you that I can love, and to give those things you've prayed on.
SomeDay I just want to take it all serious, and to be the shoulder you can lean on.
I know that I am not easy to deal with, and I am a lot confusing too.
But someday I'm going to love true, and show you that I can be faithful too.
SomeDays are harder than others, our good times are shorten by pointless arguments.
SomeDays we are in love, with our hearts mounted like a beautiful monument.
SomeDays I think deep thoughts about my future, a wife is apart of it too.
SomeDay I'm going to be a married man, and I pray that my wife is like you.
SomeDay your are going to realize, that I was really the man you pictured me to be.
SomeDay we will raise children of our own, and what great kings and queens they will be.
SomeDay I hope you will forgive me, and know that I didn't mean for it to play out this way.
I promise to put my pride to the side, stand up like a man, and do things Gods way, Someday.
SomeDays I just pick up my pen and let my words flow, because SomeDay someone will need these words to help them let go.
- Brashard Booker
"Love Hurts"
So many times I've weeped in anger, from thinking he was the one for me, one unanswered phone call to the next, now I regret, how stupid could I be.
She gets butterflies from the thoughts, of what her love life has brought, all the pain that it has cost, and the lessons she's been taught.
So many times she just wants to text, call, get in the car and just go, to wherever he is, just to say hi, do what he's doing, you know.
Roll with him for the day, because that makes her day, His smile, his hug, his kiss, his presence, simple things take her breath away.
Then she sees small signs, but tries to look over them, because it just can't be. Please no, we were posed to grow, a love as deep as the sea.
Signs turn into true actions and it comes to realization to her, that although she saw something different at first....to him...she's just another. Remember. "Love Hurts"
- Brashard Booker
"Can't Lose"
Today as I sit in this bed with my head hanging low, I begin to think about the struggle I go through and how i want to blow.
It seems as if I just can't win for losing, it's like everytime i take steps forward I always take a brusing.
So as I think about these things in my life I drop to my knees and pray, I just want to think my good Lord for blessing me with another day.
For every action that I make I know that there is a price to pay, but i keep my faith in the Lord and ask that he will show me the way.
When you look at my face, deep into my eyes, I plead my case. The terrible life will soon erase, said my Lord, as I run my race.
Many years I'm thankful to see, just how blessed I am to be, many blessings yet to see, just what the Lord has in store for me..
So today as I sit in this bed thinking about wat he gave me and how its not going to waist, I thank my Lord cause im not going to be another sad case.
Most things will subside, but his gifts last forever, I'm at peace with myself, I can't lose, things are getting better....
- Brashard Booker
Phoenix guard Devin Booker
Is a three-point sharp shooter.
[Written for my four year old great granddaughter
who has developed an interest in the moon. Only after
writing it did I discover already existing ’stuff’ called
‘A baboon on the moon’. Never mind... Who wants a
Booker prize anyway?] [In UK bum is bottom]
There’s a baboon on the moon
And he’s got a shiny bum
And if he wasn’t up there
Bed time would be glum
He isn’t on his own
He’s got his sisters and his mum
And when it’s getting dark
They turn their backs toward the sun
The the moon is made of rock
Yet it glows up in the sky
Which should be quite a shock
Have you never wondered why
When baboons stick their bottoms up
Toward the setting sun
The moon so brightly glows
Because the sun shines off their bum
First Corinthians
chapter twelve verse twenty-five:
Care! (undivided!)
in tilling a field,
there's as much dignity as
in writing a poem!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Adapted from quote by Booker T. Washington:
"No race can prosper till it learns that there is
as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem."
With reference to 1 Cor. 12:12-31
As noted in the Bible commentary entitled,
"AFRICAN AMERICAN: The Body of Christ"
in The Catholic Youth Bible
There was a longshoreman named Joe
in the pub he let the beer flow
when he played pool
he fought the fool
wanting to cash in on his show
If it lasts it must be good or is it just a bagatelle?
Mountain tops inspiring cryptic lines that vanish in some moth infested haze,
Boulevards beloved of budding artists whose mocha fueled creations stray off point,
Mother Earth obsessives as they press their rosy vision
into silver clay mosaics,
tune smiths in a dither over windy forest musings without rhyme,
the rising tide of booker listed penmen cramped by their own inflated style,
heady tales that stretch across horizons as muggy moonlight antics tapered off, bag and baggage endlessly recycled and repackaged, needing to be told or so we’re told
Hilary and Obama, woe-begotten
'Centrists' like them long forgotten
Sanders' philosophy - Big Tent
Bernie's, ahem, almost incontinent
Biden's supporting increased Medicare
He'll smell grandma's and grandpa's gray hair
O'Rourke's no 'Beta;' he's a Francis
Around questions, he does artful dances
Ocasio-Cortez so wanted to run
But paper ballots use too much carbon
Wayne Messam's the Mayor of Miramar
He's qualified for Vice-President of Miyanmar
Newark's ex-Mayor, the strident Kory Booker
His pledge: In the Oval Office, no hookers
And lest we forget, there's Senator Liz Warren
Claims to be 1/64th Indian, the moron
Just can't wait for that first Democrat debate
Twenty candidates -- every last one of them GREAT
Dinner at the White House
Theodore Roosevelt a robust, Republican president
had to Booker T. Washington a dinner invite sent.
Roosevelt was progressive for his day
and the segregated south had much to say.
Villanelle : Merchants of the Word make Writers write for Prizes
Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes
Does not the failed writer pose as house editor
Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges
Prized-writers in our midst make all kinds of noises
Matters little so long as till fills publisher
Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes
Lope de Vega scorned long-suff'ring Cervantes
His plight mattered only to French Ambassador
Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges
Prized-writers need not fear e'en wise connaisseurs
Don't they write with flourish cocking-eye on reader
Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes
Does the Nobel go to some who serve lost causes
Or to some who serve publishers like the Booker
Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges
True, ancient poets sang under patronages
Yet those we love most lived life under the jailor
Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes
Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges
© T. Wignesan - Paris, May 4, 2018
I am tough like Huey,
I dream like Martin,
I see like Malcolm,
I stand like Rosa,
I am educated like Booker,
I am the stature of Fredrick,
I am the embodiment of a civil right movement,
But I am the reflection of history,
I am the rebellion of Nate,
I am a leader like Tubman,
I am the community of Black Wall Street,
But I am the audacity of hope like Obama,
I am the most hated man like Colin,
But I am the most beloved person like Nelson,
I am the ascendant child of Africa,
But I am a citizen of a nation that is United States,
My oppression is of a third world,
But I have an opportunity,
I am from poverty,
But that won’t stop me,
Where I go,
My people will follow,
I am the example of greatness,
But endure failures,
I am victory like the revolutionary war,
But I still have a long way to go to be free.
Truly History In the Making
Remember when some sweaters we wove
Was while we were sitting in a pretty grove
Birds started singing and others flew by
Certainly a delightful day cannot deny.
Trees were tall and much shade they made
And there on lovely lawn we often laid
Exchanging things that we did discuss
About having to ride in back of the bus.
Even had to go to school of our very own
Booker T. Washington until fully grown
We saw Cassius Clay fighting in the ring
Who all of us loved more than anything.
One day he turned out to be a dear old dad
Died just before Father's Day and are said
For him to a far better place he has gone
No longer any big crowds will ever be drawn.
Made peace with master; put away each glove
Was thriller from Louisville we so do love
Wanted one last thing done which was sweet
Be sure to have Hearst driven down a street.
Mohammad Ali in private place was buried
After to see him last time everyone hurried
Events he did in his life were breath-taking
He had truly been history in the making.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
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