Our grand wizard Don has a plan
To shove all non-whites in a van
An evil cruel tool
His masked ICE not cool
Mirrors Trump's beloved Ku Klux Klan
now we call them thugs
they used to be hoods or hooligans
home invasions are their new playgrounds
selfish narcissistic dangerous creeps
no matter what we call them
i guess theres something right in something wrong but not in incest but maybe in a robin hood situation, its like hesitation before you cut your hair and feel someone stare.
Good job
Flash mob
You robbed
Charles Schwab
That snob
He sobbed
The steep steps go down
the winding wash,
along the plodded cobbles
between the cottages
with their smuggling hollows,
their sleet rinsed eaves.
Beyond the scarp
the bay tumbles over
shingle, shale, and scree
to a shore and its contesting tide.
Above my flying coat,
the huddled village
bobs and floats in a flooding cloud.
I could throw a stick
at the sea here
and the wind, like a dog
would fetch it,
elemental voices
return from the deep.
Now a chopping fray,
squabbles at a brim where
flurries of tern and guillemot
trawl for brill;
a pell-mell of light
roiling on a harrying spray.
Today, I allow myself to fail
here at the surging squall,
and crashing crests;
to lapse and founder -
to be redone in the one gulp
of self.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This one was written a pretty long time ago,
but recently fiddled with.
Raining again, floods are no good,
We must all raise our hoods,
Raise them for Jesus, we should,
Ancient hoods, way too good!
Black hoods have replaced white ones
but it's the same old game
quieting tongues-intimidating
to get their way-the only way
burning cities cloaking hate...
swinging bats at ghosts
leaky boats without sails
drifting toward the edge
of flat earth minds..
One day the black hoods
will be wearing suits and ties
scribing laws into youth's restless minds.
Pitchforking them into bales of death
reasoning away their bloody past
gorging and purging on oil
waxing bikini lines and sports cars.
Once a hell-bent 8-ball
now the pillar of a gated community
cracking the blinds
afraid the green hoods
are going to steal their comfort
expose the last scent of their wild.
A storm is brewing, full of hatred and despise
A tornado growing, you can see it in their eyes
The hoods are out, with the pit bulls at their heel
You can smell the fear, you can touch it, go on, feel
What has caused this thing, what has caused the gangs to rumble
What has happened overnight, in this massive concrete jungle
Something exceptional, to cause the gangs to hate and rob
Their welfare cheques have stopped and they have to get a job
17/04/2016
Two men came in the morning cold
Leaving the unmarked car downstairs;
Whitemen, callous and still bold
Knocking at the door. Sun dried our tears
Since. This wind plucked a fruit before.
Manuel was only a farm worker,
His wife nurse children across the shore.
His child here, will not die of hunger,
We swear. Such a shame though. They should
At least inform us where they took them.
History stalks again under the hood.
Maria has lit a candle for all of them,
The yellow flame - so impotent falls
A shadow on the limp, bleak walls.
\So in each darkness we huddle and wait
For the men with power over our fate.
Two men came in the morning cold
Leaving the unmarked car downstairs;
Whitemen, callous and still bold
Knocking at the door. Sun dried our tears
Since. This wind plucked a fruit before.
Manuel was only a farm worker,
His wife nurse children across the shore.
His child here, will not die of hunger,
We swear. Such a shame though. They should
At least inform us where they took them.
History stalks again under the hood.
Maria has lit a candle for all of them,
The yellow flame - so impotent falls
A shadow on the limp, bleak walls.
\So in each darkness we huddle and wait
For the men with power over our fate.
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