Long Black body Poems
Long Black body Poems. Below are the most popular long Black body by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black body poems by poem length and keyword.
It darts past then briefly hovers
picking up the scent of rotted fruit
following it to until it came to the source
where it feasts until bloated.
Back on the hunt it swoops
and dives like a bomb,
flashing its yellow and black body
a warning to all to keep away.
Uninvited it hones in
and joins the bar-be-que,
as people scatter from its path
some flapping their hands at it.
Buzzing angrily, it returns
sourcing out the sweetness
of ripened tomatoes and
flavoursome BBQ sauce.
It darts in and out
grabbing a bite or two
then to everyone's relief
it leaves for pastures greener.
Every Wednesday on the dot,
off to the newsagent like a shot.
A solitary sixpence,all my wealth
picking up the Hotspur comic from the shelf.
To read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,
sporting 'extraordinaire',batted bowled and ran.
Soccer &cricket were a piece of cake,
leaving all others in his wake.
Bowling ,on a sixpence seven from eight,
above average Wilson was uniquely great.
He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,
never stopping to take shower!
In futuristic black body suit,
a record breaker without dispute.
My inspiration,this imagined prince,
never bettered ,'fore or since!
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Embodied
Adam’s Rib?
Adam’s Rib, or did you come from Adam’s Rib?,
Were you a progeny of Man,
Or rather grafted by the cosmos, in the image of sacred splendor,
Black Body,
Beautiful and Slender,
Round and Tender,
Is it your shape that compels me to wonder?
Is it your black beautiful shape, in all wondrous compositions and sizes that captures my eye?
Such that I am willing to die that you might rise?
Or is it something deeper?
Oh sleeper awaken!
For it is not the shape or attribute,
It is not the visage of physical perspicacity, or visual euphony that drives us to cherish
your essence,
Is it your mental alacrity?
Your disposition to unlock the secrets of empathy and objective forgiveness?
Perhaps?
But as Mother Earth nurtures me with the blood of water ridden rivers of the Lamb’s sacrifice,
It is your embodied body that is the source of my amazement,
For you are imbued, and empowered,
Glorified and showered,
By the hue of the effervescent infinite,
The eternal love of life and death, rebirth and resurrection,
Has chosen you for a brighter day,
You are the embodied image of a brighter day, where people look to God and pray,
For an end to the madness abounding,
You are astounding,
My black, beautiful sister,
Enshrined in mystery,
Forsaken by history,
But not forgotten by the cloud of witnesses that you serve with abandon,
Lead on my sister,
Lead us on to the ways of light,
Teach us to fight for right, and the sight of blessed unity,
Impunity cannot stop you,
Rejection cannot stifle the sound of your gentle and courageous wisdom,
If we could just listen,
To the Word Made Flesh,
Black, Beautiful, Female, Fearless, and Ferocious,
Imbued with the light of the infinite,
Embodied, Emboldened, Forever.
Every Tuesday on the dot,
I would be off to the newsagent like a shot.
A solitary sixpence,all my wealth to pick up
my favourite comic from his shelf.Not the
Beano,Beezer,Dandy or Eagle...
the Hotspur and Wizard were my kings regal.
To read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,
sporting giant extraordinaire,batted bowled and ran.
Soccer ,cricket were a piece of cake,
he left all others in his wake.
Give him the ball and the game was soon over,
he even outscored Roy of the Rover.
Bowling right armover,on a sixpence seven times from eight,
well above average Wilson was incredibly great.
He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,never stopping to
take shower!
In futuristic black body suit,an English record breaker
without dispute.My inspiration,this imagined prince,
never bettered then,before or since!
A white sepal falls, it is of the early May bloom,
it is of a blossomed tree
that smothers with the light yielding weight
of its insistence,
that it will be stirred with the gentle wind.
A bee can hover, intent
on its hunger for the floweret's soft pink nectar.
And the black body of the bee
is a deep night, its dawn colored wings
are a flutter of heart strings
that are plucked by the sound of the children
at their delightful play: shouts(orders);
laughter(independence);
a melody of youth sung
as the spring birds
weave a dance over the children's bodies.
A deflated shiny balloon
is the captive of the distant watchful trees
with desert-red buds,
whose limbs shape the faces of ancient spectres,
seen through the snow tints
of the wind blown petals milling an early May.
May 2, 2021
re-post inspired by Brenda's contest
THE HERO
Every Tuesday on the dot,I would be off to the newsagent like a shot.A solitary
sixpence,all my wealth to pick up my favourite comic from his shelf.Not the
Beano,Beezer,Dandy or Eagle...the Hotspur and Wizard were my kings regal.To
read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,sporting giant extraordinaire,batted
bowled and ran.
Soccer ,cricket were a piece of cake,he left all others in his wake.Give him the
ball and the game was soon over,he even outscored Roy of the Rover.Bowling
right armover,on a sixpence seven times from eight,well above average Wilson
was incredibly great.He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,never stopping to
take shower!
In futuristic black body suit,an English record breaker without dispute.My
inspiration,this imagined prince,never bettered then,before or since!
They make the stereotype of the loud and angry black woman seem bad
But why has nobody questioned who made us like that
The language they use to belittle us
Our mouths hand stitched with silence
And the box of requirements we are shoved into
Threatened by the mark of violence
Yes I am loud and no I will never be quiet
The fire you tried to extinguish burns brighter
I will not be condemned to a life of empty sound
Just because you don't like how one word from me can crumble your empire
Built of stolen voice and compliance
Yes I am loud and yes I won't be silent
Our voices the threat to your generational violence
And if me being black and proud
Equals loudness
Then I am so proud of my blackness
Because my voice echos generations of black power
Of words spoken through the strength of those before me
Yes I am loud but that is my legacy woke up to see
Another death, another black body
Yes I am angry and have every right to be
When all we have done is emit a welcoming energy
And we're met with colonisation and inequality
Not to forget your continuous brutality
Yes I am angry, you will not make me the villain
When you are the ones with a history of violence
Calling us criminals
Can you not see the irony
When we present peace
And you present inferiority masked by a face of envy
Yes I am angry, I have every right to be
You call us poor but trap us in poverty
We shared our wealth then stole all our money
You claimed democracy then campaigned tyrany
Then take the opportunity
To abuse your power against us once we claim mutiny
So yes I am angry as I should
When you killed my people
But didn't even have the guts to say sorry
Yes I am angry and every black person Is allowed to be
Because we deserve reparations and we deserve an apology
Yes I am loud
And yes I am angry
That is who I am and I accept that fully
Every Tuesday on the dot,
I would be off to the newsagent like a shot.
A solitary sixpence,all my wealth
to pick up my favourite comic from his shelf.
Not the Beano,Beezer,Dandy or Eagle...
the Hotspur and Wizard were my kings regal.
To read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,
sporting giant extraordinaire,batted bowled and ran.
Soccer ,cricket were a piece of cake,
he left all others in his wake.
Give him the ball and the game was soon over,
he even outscored Roy of the Rover.
Bowling right armover,on a sixpence seven times from eight,
well above average Wilson was incredibly great.
He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,
never stopping to take a shower!
In futuristic black body suit,
an English record breaker without dispute.
My inspiration,this imagined prince,
never bettered then,before or since!
An autopsy of a black body
One who suffered greatly
The body pushed past its limits
To the point it had enough and quit
A scalpel to their chest
Slowly peeling the layers of flesh
Noticing the rot
Hit by the stench of trauma
The body dissected
The organs removed
Leaving the body an empty shell
Of a broken person
Beaten by an unjust system
There was no hope for the body to be saved
It was always going to give away
The person that had owned the body stood no chance
From the trauma to the head
Consumed by the complexities of PTSD
To the bruises on the legs
From a lifetime full of abuse
Carrying a body hated by society
It was like a troubled home
A place that was out of control
Where the quiet screams of abuse
Are trapped within the cracked walls
Bearing the weight of secrets untold
It was damaged beyond repair
No amount of glue could fix the damage of what was done
The body could heal
But the trauma couldn't be undone
The cause of death: racism
This is what happens when you live a life on the run from discrimination
Beaten by the harsh reality of hatred
Isolated by a world full of prejudice
Living in an abyss of hopelessness
The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for their children's education
They don't see us as human
But they do see us as a money making scheme
They target us and then
Up the prices of our funerals
Their own system to monetize our deaths
Acting is their forte
When they look in our eyes and lie to our faces
Sending condolences our way
But inside brimming with happiness
Not an ounce of sympathy
Not a fibre of empathy
Just pre dug graves and unnecessary funeral bills
To them we are products ready to be exchanged