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
Chess pieces
By Michelle Morris
14/08/2021
We are like chess pieces,
Being moved around the board;
Forever in play for political payoffs
For control of the world.
Boundaries invisible, yet
Stark and obvious in place;
Keeping us apart by ambitions;
Monetisation of the arms race.
Perhaps it is time that
We moved off this game;
No longer chess pieces, but
Luminary atoms untamed.
Free to decide our own unique
Paths and fates -
Be our enlightened, powerful selves
In this our universal space.
© Michelle Morris, 2021
A mangled turnip is akin to a fortune fish balancing on rods. Skimming the hedgerows in ecstatic glee. Marvellously pronounced. Not exact though the portrayal. Printing publicly public purposes plain. And a fat duck in a small boat. Parasitical party of an story about a family and a judge waves a stick at a flower bed. Beading bedding then. Great. Wow. Such a different cue such a dividend and a differential highway or a tube laughs as the bail shouts goodbye and goodnight. Hahahaha swords swimming. Hahahaha monetisation z z z