Long Skins Poems
Long Skins Poems. Below are the most popular long Skins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skins poems by poem length and keyword.
It's time to stop adoring and rewarding criminals.
This makes lawful human life here, quite useless and dismal.
Perhaps, white police need to dye their skins dark!
Before they ask someone over to park?
I would resign from the police at once, if one is white.
They are assumed evil,even if just seen in sight.
Hit over heads with metal pipes while checking out a crime scene?
That's totally insane and beyond mean.
Certain media, you know...which ones..
Think, making white people evil is great fun.
Evil does comes in all colors.
Making one race, devils, does not make us sisters and brothers.
Don't let the media make you hate!
Remember, they give a rat's butt about America, just want their
media numbers go up and rate.
5/4/2021
~ 3~
! Alas when I am often frozen, and or so cold;
I feel my skins sparkle, a risen
My state of my skin in excitement, chilled or in pains;
I a risen
Small bumps appear on the surface of my skin
As my hair erects, by this effect
Rounded dots do emerge stimulus neurotransmitter;
The cold has just given me goosebumps
Spiritual chills often directed from guided Angels;
transient paresthesia confirming an underlying truth;
Spiritual chills one of the first psychic senses to open up skin tissue loose
skin tingling, tingling, tingling hair erecting microscopic bumps risen up
and goosebumps are often for those on a spiritual path
whether they done something wrong or right
2/25/20
For N-A Rerun 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
written on 11/6/19 entry date
For original "Goosebumps Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by: Delilah Ventura
Justice
Just Us
What just us
We of colored race, what's up
Variance of browns shaded skins
Overly concentrated in melanin;
Just us!
Of African descent and other dark places beings;
Just us!
Those of you are of bad consciousness;
Where's ya?
Justice!
Hate the haters;
White Supremacists;
Just us!
We did it have to say so ever such
Father where the Justice
Is it just?
Not me...
Open my eyes, my heart so can see?
Am I just?
In behavior and treatment;
Am I qualified just;
Righteous!
Equitable moral upholding;
Lawfulness this I'm believing am I being been fair;
In the treatment of others of my fellow man;
What's just us just to show shout out in fairness?
Integrity honesty!
Am I Injustice or is it me?
Thinking it's only me;
Just us!
I'm just saying it's'
Just us!
All I'm needing;
is to pray not for man's birthday;
But Establishing the mercy's grace and freedoms;
In His justice !
~Jesus~
11/12/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
I know well of a cat's ear, eye, nose, teeth, coat, paws and claws,
Do I know, what's behind its look and mysterious pause?
I know a dog's acute sense of smell; muscles and fingers,
Do I know what's going-on when he quietly lingers?
I see my neighbor-child stand exuberantly leaping,
I stand in awe, when, within seconds, I see him weeping...!
Fair or black or tanned skins - with smiles show human externals,
Soft or hard or kind or cruel - who, knows, their internals?
Streams and lakes seem silent and gentle, surface still and calm,
Within, hurling currents and whirlpools, don't they, sometimes, harm...?
Seas and oceans have treasures abundant; who, knows, how much?
Midst greed to collect these, who has dared their bottom to touch...?
Stars are matters of joy; we count them; do we know the whole?
Puzzles of constellations and galaxies touch each one's soul...!
Is rhythm of universe and cosmos, fully explored?
In their elegant contours what a mystical concord...?
Faith and theologies talk of God, who is he or she?
Hill or vale or human form - how he or she looks to be...?
Death I know; grave and coffin too; there from where will I go?
Does sun glow there? Breeze blows? Snow falls? Rains with squall? What I know...???
18 August 2022
This or That, Vol 13 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Gone
lit-up-light-of-
nothing peculiar
we-you-and this
sewing tight the nebulous.
Salted tongues of silence,
pillow-sex for the nearly departed.
Adjust body-images,
fill cupped hands with
day and nightly needs.
Arms shrouded in animal skins,
see the bones
of long gnawed desires?
Rhythms, be thee in-sync,
REM cycles of desire
be thee loosely hitched
to mutuality.
Grind not - just yet.
Making it, doing it
feeling your it-ness,
our conjoined selfsameness.
The mind has invisible mountains.
let us jump,
just I
and that familiarity
of a former you,
go leap,
both riding shotgun,
with flammable
double-barreled begetting’s.
We do,
we slip in and out of empty shells
smudged by the powder burns
of spent emotions.
We-are-this-long gone togetherness,
meeting again
in an overdue daydream
embedded within a night-ride,
exposed way behind the optics,
playing the black keys
on high tide crests,
tunnel visions narrowing
to ne-plus-ultra disclosures.
We the cross-hearts,
cross-stitching reality,
time out of time,
yet again.
Morning glory _
From our car
Along the hilly path
Numerous they're
With the attention
of doing math
In their voice
A guitar
Colorful headgear
Off and on
mutual whispers
The Tea Pluckers
Mingled with the green
Humming and plucking
Unique discipline
Never a machine
Sometimes carrying
their babies on their backs
While moms work
Babies relax
In sun and shadows
Day after day
On substandard pay
Mostly illiterate
Inconsiderate employer
Do you feel a jerk?
In addition
unpaid domestic work
Through the ages
The same pages in the book
The same hook
Same tired look
No brook
Many a blade
No cascade
Delicate tea leaves
believe the tender hands
Just the touches
between the skins
No command
The soft tender stem
Approvingly expand
Smilingly withstands
The pain of being torn
Thorns of death
At the love-smeared hands
of mothers
Or lovers?
The Tea Pluckers
WILL HIS MAJESTY BECOME EXTINCT
Poachers arrive in scores of ten,
Made up of brutal, evil men,
Their strength lies in their guns and nets,
They have already placed their bets,
As to how they will be rewarded,
For slaying this King,
Will it be dollars or diamonds,
That bling?
Poachers take the lions bones,
Skins and head,
For unsubstantiated notions,
They are used as potions,
Which are sold for a ridiculous price,
And of course a dead lion in tact,
With his head,
Is the ultimate prize..
Wealthy greedy men,
Have also developed this yen
To hunt lions,
Farms are set up for financial gain,
Churning millions of dollars,
Due to this detestable game!
These loathsome
People put their trophy,
On show for all to see,
How brave they appear to be.
This horrendous cowardly act,
Is a very sad fact,
That we are on the brink,
Of our majestic lions,
Becoming extinct!
They chained my ancestors so I would break free from the shackles of slavery.
They colonized my family tree so I would embrace freedom through dissidence.
They imprison my kin so I may wield my convictions as weapons of war.
They imposed the plagues of capitalism on the colonial trading posts that sharpened my clarity.
I will never be their favorite house *****.
They sanctified racial hatred as if there were multiple human races.
I was schooled in the colonial classroom, yet liberty and equality keep me from blindly singing the praises of fraternity.
I know that some dark skins were born with the genetic code of betrayal.
I am a Sub-Saharan animist, aware of my Africanness, on a planet hostile to my humanity.
Born of the cradle of the first human beings,
those bloodthirsty colonizers disguised themselves as missionaries to violate the dignity of my people for centuries.
They want me to drown my determination in the maze of the illicit.
They want me to be their scapegoat when they seek to conceal their incompetence.
I will never accept being the doormat on which they wipe their filthy feet.
I will never be the lectern for the Negrophobic and supremacist stereotypes they’ve kept alive since their so-called abolitions.
I am not only free: I am a rebel they will try to marginalize.
Their devilish schemes will have no effect,
for I am the product of the slums of an Africa persecuted since the Arab-Muslim slave raids.
I have never been a native subject, but I like to reread meticulously the Code Noir through Colbert’s own eyes, so as not to be one more blind man facing the savagery of the makers of the black bomb.
I stand in the skin of an undocumented immigrant who can never be assimilated after being “Frenchified” in the furnaces of colonial cruelty.
I will never trust the Republic of Slave-Trading Enlightenment.
These compulsive racists want to see me dehumanized in the slave plantations of their supremacist alienation,
just as they did to my forebears for centuries in Africa and the Caribbean.
“I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no girl reaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try“
(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones
NO SATISFACTION
Relinquishing clothes, unrestrained except for those
blankets that keep us, until our skins warm, underneath.
Tingling so close, there’s a rapture in magnetic attraction.
Mussing with hair, touching his whiskers, the slowness
of lips draped, the parting of their waves, the tongues
talking without words, unexplained beauty. Breaths, beats
forgotten, mind elsewhere attracted, until the peak of
winterscape, where the wind moans, the wolf howls,
the thunder of stallions’ throes, damp sheets in flames.
Head looks to God
with eyes closed
Smiles on the ground
beneath muscular riptide
Knees no longer ache
Arms prepared to lumberjack
Dreamy eyes
flutter
Brunettes’ hair askew
Blanketed cool flesh
No satisfaction explained away
rock’n roll our way
11/2/2020
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest