Long Uncle tom Poems
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Mommy deemed the three-year-old me as an honour
Said that I should become a doctor
Stethoscope and thermometer are in her gift bag
To spark the zeal in me, she set to wave a green flag.
Daddy came all running to put a hard-hat on my head
Said that I should become a builder like his dad
I'll be a great architect, he believed, he already knew
He said it's inherited to me and is nothing new.
Aunt wanted me to follow her baking love
Her skills, no doubt, deserve a bow.
Cakes, cookies and all that she bakes
will now be taught to me, with no breaks.
Uncle Tom said I should inspire the world with my words
He weens that they're powerful than the swords.
An Orator or a writer, a counsellor or a life coach
Be it whatever, he says, I should be there for those who approach.
Everyone has their plans for my future
Looks like I don't need school or a teacher.
I'll be home-schooled and trained every day
But should it start right from the 3rd birthday?
I'm afraid they'ld stop talking to each other
As their dreams for me greatly differ.
Keeping their dreams aside for a minute
I thought of what I wanted, for a moment.
I want to smell the soil when it rains
I want to swill down all the snow flakes
I want to ride a horse and tame rabbits
I want to make friends and take new hobbies.
I want to build castles with clay
And play Peekaboo with Jill and Jay
I want to string the stars and crack the clouds to rain
Eat lots of cake and fake a belly pain.
I love dirty feet and dusty hair
Clay and Crayons is what I care
Play, play, play the whole day
I plead you all not to block my way.
Julio was born in Guadalajara,
And waited for years to leave.
Got his visa and moved to Dakota
To work in the oil fields.
Some folks in suits came up to him,
To cheer illegal voices.
He scoffed and said he didn’t care,
Those people made their choices.
They heard his accent and they puzzled
They thought that he was bluffing.
He threw them out and raised the cry:
‘I’m a free man, or I’m nothing!’
--
Eric was born a city fellow
He was tall and dark of skin.
He saw the stores flee one by one,
No work left there for him.
He would not take a hand-out, no
Nor let someone else provide,
He knew too well the slow decay
Of a person without pride.
Some cried ‘Uncle Tom’ the day he left
And set about to angry huffing
But on his porch Eric painted proud:
‘I’m a free man, or I’m nothing.’
--
Mark was born in old San Fran,
And found his tastes turn to men,
But he hated taxes and being told
What to do by the government.
Two people who liked to wear black,
Saw these thoughts as a heresy.
They tracked down Mark to have a ‘talk,’
To let him know how things would be.
But when they set upon the man
To beat from him his stuffing,
Mark thrashed them both while he cried out:
‘I’m a free man, or I’m nothing!’
--
Aaron was once known as Ahkmed
Until teenage doubts grew louder.
He walked away to find his truth
To find peace unlike no other.
Some took not kindly to his act
They raised the cry of ‘apostate!’
Proclaimed for this that he must die
On that there was no debate.
But when they came upon his gun
And their knees, they started buckling
The final worlds they ever heard:
‘You’re a free man, or you’re nothing…’
he is big and fierce, a mean looking ogre too.
On his bald head is an enormous spider tattoo.
My boyfriends all became terrified, they stayed away.
His name is Mad Manfork, with them he loves to play.
Why did you have to fall in love with him I asked Mom.
It was either this yahoo or your weird uncle Tom.
You mean in the whole world there were only two?
She nodded her head, and said, less than a few.
Giants are hard to come by in these times I know.
But having Mad Manfork as my dad keeps boyfriend level low.
Once they meet him, they dump me and run promptly away.
Potential suiters are especially terrified that my Dad likes to play.
The sun is shining,
warm summer,night
time to set the grill alight.
Wait untill the charcoal is white,
then you know,it's right.
Bratwurst, steaks,spareribs,
it makes my mouth water,
thinking of this.
The aroma of the meat
sizzling on the grill,
cold beer nicely chilled.
Salads,jacket potatoes,
garlic bread too,
any thing else,just wouldn't do.
Guests seated at the table,
all there from uncle Tom to aunty Mable.
savoring the grilled delights,
talking, well in to the night.
Aunty mable, stands up to go,
not too steady,don't you know.
Nothing to do with the drink,
it's old age, I think.
We party till early morn,
after having drunk, lots of korn.
Telling of tales old and new,
wondering how the time flew.
Yes that was a good night,
now it's time to sleep tight.
He came into my room glowering.
I rolled my eyes, but inside my head, silently, so he could not see.
He comes to me daily, to get away from his “mean” teacher.
I am feeling a bit mean myself.
What happened?
She is teaching math, she is looking mean at me, I hate her.
I know this child well; he truly just wants to play in a sand pile.
And he despises math like I despise math; I keep this thought a secret.
We play in the sand pile and he says “My uncle died.”
I ask him “when?”
He says “we don’t know, we have not found his body yet.”
I said “How do you know he died?”
He glares at me. “Mom and me went to his house this weekend.
We knocked and knocked, and no one came.”
I am on board so far.
Mom pointed to Rex’s water bowl and said “You know what this means don’t you?”
Rex is his dog?
Head nod.
“What did it mean?”
“It means Uncle Tom is dead. He would never let Rex run out of water.”
Steampunk Cat had some weird feelings in his head.
They clanged around against metal, filled him with dread.
Something is happening, he told his Uncle Tom Stead.
I feel a storm is coming, that might make us dead.
Tom was a cagey old codger, all curiosity gone.
He rolled over sleepily on the couch he was on.
Steampunk has made you suspicious he told his nephew.
Even if a tornado comes, it probably will not get you.
Steampunk Cat did not know what to make of this.
He rolled his eyes merrily and blew his uncle a kiss.
His uncle never got stressed or excited anymore, he was old.
His advice was sage however, incredibly gold.
They say your color defines you,
that it is your identity,
that pigment must determine what
it is that you choose to believe.
You are no individual,
just lumped in arbitrary groups,
if you don’t buy what they’re selling
then the bastards come after you.
You’re an Uncle Tom, a Twinkie,
an Apple or a Coconut,
tou’re a sell-out or a traitor,
to be hated no matter what.
You’ve never been human to them,
just a vote for which they pay,
if you want a meaningful life
then it’s time to walk away.
They say that gender is all fluid,
that there are no women or men,
yet still insist all ‘real’ females
are gonna have to vote for them.
They declare that reality
is what they’re ‘feeling’ in their hearts,
that you can be a manly man
even if you’re lacking the parts.
To say that youe real gender
might influence how you think
will fill them full of rage and get
you fired within a blink.
Despite thousands of millennia,
the truth of it they cannot say,
if you would see things as they are
then you have got to walk away.
They sat that we need tolerance,
to appreciate differences,
by the way they act I wonder
if they even know what that is.
Borrow from another culture
and they cry ‘appropriation!’
Forgetting that we’ve always thrived
on free assimilation.
And God forbid you win power
and they suffer a defeat,
they cry ‘fascist,’ put on black masks,
then assault people in the street.
Elections, see, are only cool
if it’s their side that wins the day.
Should you believe that people rule
then you are bound to walk away.
They sat that it is quite alright
to dictate what’s ‘hateful’ speech,
forgetting that hard arguments
can enlighten folks, and teach.
They always come after your guns,
saying it is for your own good,
leaving free folk vulnerable
to all tyrants, thugs, and hoods.
They say that all religions are
superstitious and absurd
but never will dare to blaspheme
all their hallowed leftist words.
They paint a smile on their lips
to hide just how much they hate,
and if you would live a moral life
then it’s time you walk away.
This is a tribute to my Uncle Tom. He died from Covid 19 last week, even though he was healthy and strong. He was my Dad's last surviving sibling, the baby of the family. They are now all gone, the names in this poem are of his brothers and sisters that went before him.
I know of a special place, that’s right here in our hearts.
I visit it quite often; it keeps me from falling apart.
There is a big open yard with trees, a couple of swings and an old slide.
It’s even got an old tractor that you can fire up and take for a ride.
You’ll see a big welcome sign for all family and friends.
It’s truly a haven of rest, after a long day’s end.
Whether you are next door or three states away,
everyone is welcome, and there is always a place to stay.
They say time changes all, but not here, not in this magical place.
You’ll always feel loved, hear laughter and see a smile on every face.
You can see Grandma and Grandpa in a swing, as proud as they can be.
Just look over there, it’s Marian and Vivian with brand new accordions I see.
Little Leonard is running around and causing quite a fuss.
Ralph is looking out the window, waiting for his little girl to get off the bus.
Marvin just pulled out his squeeze box and getting everything just right.
I see Bob and Melvin are getting ready for a little fishing later tonight.
Even now I can hear my Dad and uncle Tom getting their guitars in tune.
Here the sun is shining bright and its always late June.
I have to go for now, they are about to start the potato sack race.
But please stop by and check it out, this is now Uncle Tom’s Place.
...In a fury Malcolm shot to his feet,
shouted ‘Uncle Tom!’ in a moment of heat,
got into his car, a half-dead pinto,
in a cloud of dust down the road did he go.
As he drove away in the door appeared
Booker’s love Mindy, eyes half cast with fear,
she said,”I take it things didn’t go smooth?”
Said Booker,”No, we won’t be seeing him soon.”
He went on thinking he’d not see him again,
but fate has a way of making fools of men,
six years had passed, and two daughters had come,
when up the drive came a station wagon.
Emerging form it, brother Malcolm came,
it was clear to Booker something had changed,
with him an olive-skinned girl with a ring,
on her shoulder a newborn boy sleeping.
Malcolm ever dressed like the suburbs,
was it possible he’d heard his loud words?
The something had pierced all the acrimony?
From what Booker saw, this didn’t seem phony.
His brother looker sheepish, afraid to speak,
until his wife said,’Why don’t you come see
your little nephew, his name is Carson.
He wants to see where his cousins come from!”
The young woman came forward, and Malcolm followed,
shame is his face, a very heavy load.
Booker just sighed once, and said there to him,
“Took you long enough, now come meet your kin…”
(Dedicated to you, my Brothers and Sisters)
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words;
This is exactly what the Doctor orders,
For a Nation, who’s trying to fight the horrors
Of blatant racism,
Unfairness, injustice,
Nepotism and sexism.
A man of Peace,
Without controversies,
Is not a genuine activist.
The truth is being tolled; there is no reason to apologize,
‘Cause you’re exercising your God-given rights.
The sickness, the maladies,
Which America has been suffering
For over five centuries,
Need to be healed as you’re reading
My honest feelings.
This is painful, this is long overdue.
My brave People are tired of fighting
The ills and the stigmas of our societies.
This is hurtful, this is way overdue.
The Truth hurts, thank God Almighty;
“Another One” is unafraid to tell the Truth,
“This One” is dissecting the false myth,
And the backward ideologies, thank God Almighty!
The prisons are populated by innumerable innocents,
The Police and their cronies randomly humiliate
Our parents, siblings and cousins.
We have every reason to be mad and irate.
A more just and fair system needs to be in place now.
The Brother is using strong medicine right now:
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words,
To save America,
The beautiful diva,
Who stands for: “Justice, Freedom,
Liberty and Happiness for All.”
We should denounce Uncle Tom
And his monkeys. Brothers, who walk tall
Like you and our President,
Are rare and almost nonexistent.
The Truth will always set free:
The men of Justice, the men of integrity,
The men of Peace, the men of honesty;
The Brothers and Sisters who will tirelessly
Fight racism, the twin-brother of slavery.
Copyright@, Hebert Logerie ,Thursday, February 19, 2009,
All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.