A black boy stands in front of a mirror
Practicing how to address an officer
"Yes officer"
I promise I'm good
I won't cause no trouble just because I'm from the hood
I won't make a noise
I won't make a sound
I'll make sure to leave the hood of my hoodie down
No frown on my face
You dont need to tell me I already know my place
You dont need to remind me of my race
"Yes officer"
I am in school
I also have a future I'm looking forward to
No I don't sell drugs
I'm just playing football
And yes I live in this neighbourhood
Black people can be rich too
"Yes officer"
My father is around
Never been to prison but is the mayor of this town
As for my mother she is a lawyer and that makes me proud
We aren't on food stamps
In fact we are the type of people to give back
And yes we can afford to do that
"Yes officer"
I'm black
But that doesn't give you the right to attack
Billions in property lines
Child hostages
John Candy and male stripping?
Owners of school holsters
Ama Jewish norigins
Watered ears kneeling
Complicated boarding times
And unfinished conversations
When and won't
Built a school
Running out of jobs together
American Debts we can't shove
Out of the paperwork
Streets littered with white paper sheets
Printed with the ink of black missing kids
Floating through the air desperate to find somebody who cares
Empty are the streets, just like their parents home
Awaiting the day they'll be reunited with their beloved children
Authorities won't listen
Not one eye lid batted
They look the black parents in the eye feeling joy from their sadness
And as cold as ice say their kids disappearance doesn't matter
They claim they've probably run away
That attention is what they want
So they won't feed into their kids 'temper tantrum'
Then to sprinkle salt into the wound
They claim the town has been much quieter
I didn't know that it was a crime for children to play
But then again when you're a black kid innocence doesn't really matter
Last week they stated BLACK LIVES MATTER
Then again it would be naive to believe
That a system built after slavery
Would care to 'serve and protect' black people
Maybe there is a reason to their indifference
Their ability to lack sympathy
Maybe just maybe
They're the reason the black kids went missing
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter
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Mystery of Pumpkin
One upon a time, not far back,
Grew in my small backyard garden
A pumpkin, size of a tortoise,
A monster, with weight of a ton
And had to be chopped with an axe;
Friends wished to have its seeds to plant,
Alas, it was a seedless male;
News spread fast in the neighbourhood
Leading to police enquiry
For concealing information,
But after investigation
Turned out to be a mystery.
246 bullets
10 Cops
1 black man
And a lifetime of pain
1 funeral
1 courtroom
12 jurors
1 judge
1 verdict
Not guilty
1 claim of self defence
This is the world we live in
One in which black people choose freedom
Which is stolen From us
And white people have their skin
Which means they will automatically be acquitted
This is the world we live in
Stop being ignorant
She died in a body she hated
Her last memory was watching herself get assassinated
How she died isolated
Surrounded by a see of white faces
Who stood there being witnesses
To something that would be talked about across the ages
Her blood had painted the pavement
The cop stood there admiring his painting
She died in a body she hated
She didn't even get to experience the freedom
Of what it's like to experience self love
All her life she had spent her time being critical
To her blackness
Not only was her time stolen
But she didn't get to experience the joy that comes from
A black girl taking control
And realising she was never the problem
It was the system
Who destroyed her self image
And finally realising her blackness was a superpower
She died in a body she hated
The cause of death: racism
She died in a body she hated
Not realising the only reason they hated was because of their envy
And jealous behaviour
She died in a body she hated
Without finally understand her full potential
She died in a body she hated
Before her life had even started
When the music died
It turned into police sirens
When the music died
It was like playing musical statues
Without the music
And forever stuck in silence
When the music died
It gave space for the gunshots
And the screams that came after it
When the music died
The soul died too
When the music died
The world stood still
The echoes of what could've been
When the music died
Tears fell from our eyes
The part of us that carried joy had died
When the music died
We mourned all the black lives
Held a funeral and said our goodbyes
When the music died
It wasn't a surprise
When silence filled the streets
Waiting for someone to speak
Waiting for the moment the black people
Who introduced colour to the world
To come back alive
When the music died
The streets cried
Hard story..Hard to Beleive? airline pilot Mark Harris does
Reveal.' Opening his memory 2008 till now.' On murder kidnapping 'child abuse' and coersion by medical dr's on
His health situation.? This is all just wow..' Reports to police
Never being pursued.' How is this event not headline news.? Its
Been screened on 'redacted Clayton Morris as the host'
Why not tune in.? Or search for their pod-cast.. Maybe
Check this all all out.. if you might have doubt.?
On the truth of my post.'
What they did to tamir rice Cold as ice I'll give some advice Think twice Think thrice An innocent paid the price Which led to his demise This is a matter of black lives Our final goodbyes We look to the sky As we wipe our eyes A burning rage on the inside So then we devise And collect our allies To symbolise To vocalise Our need for you to apologise And recognise Your many lies You televise And improvise A way to criminalise Black lives
Everything was upside, down and inside out
Snoopy neighbor heard a scream, and then a shout
Did you investigate? Asked the police.
Of course not, lied their lying niece.
She had sneaked up to their window and seen the whole thing.
But she wanted to save this info to go live on TV with Larry King
this is american child
poverty
trash
boy
sex
gay
******
homosexual
weak
ugly
only half irish
Don’t!
Don’t put your thoughts on paper
Don’t dare to think out loud
Don’t express on social media
Don’t put them up in cloud
Don’t criticize the useless
Don’t voice a point of view
Don’t flex your vocal cord
Don’t think you’re immune
Six burly officers are coming
Because of something you said
They crash the door early morning
And they’ll tear you from your bed
They’ll whisk you down the bridewell
Slam you in a six foot by eight
The CID will make you confess
About all the things that you hate
You can shop lift for a past time
Carry a machete along the road
Threaten cut all white throats
And never do as your told
Keep your gob shut firm and tight
Take the pen and put it down
Don’t tweet early morn or late night
Decent is only for a clown.
David Cox 29/03/25
As supposedly told by Michael Fanone, Capital Police Officer
A bit of snow melted on the ground
as the crowd gathered loudly around
Their leader liked the boisterous noise
especially intrigued by Proud Boys.
An ordinary, cold-weather day
with flags and banners in proud display
Their leader said, "fight" and so they fought
a sadder day, I'd have never sought.
Jan.6 promoted as Best Rally
and will ever be one to tally
the Police wounded and those who died
as the leader's warriors stormed inside.
I fought today in stunned disbelief
I was filled with the worst kind of grief
for it was our countrymen we fought
against iron rods and sprays they had brought
The floor was slick with everyman's blood
the very floor where Abe Lincoln stood
the law-makers ran as the walls shook
No word came, as leader chose to look.
They searched and searched for VP Mike Pence
to hang for he obeyed law and sense
But the next time may ring the war's bell
and Democracy die--time will tell.
If I live a thousand or more years
time won't dry the hundreds of my tears
I've shed since our country's fateful day
hate and anger ensure that they stay.
Raise me up and carry me home
There is no longer a reason to be alone
See me there with my head held high
Coppers aren’t supposed to cry
Those are the things I remember true
Stamped forever forming part of what I do
Bury it down or sliced out and thrown by
Coppers aren’t supposed to cry.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Rudolph and Santa, two jolly good friends,
On their own friendship, so much depends.
One day, they both fought,
'Cause someone stole what they'd bought
But soon, they were able to make amends.
Later that day, they caught the thief,
But learning he'd sold their goods caused them grief.
They then informed the police,
Who gave them ten Pounds apiece.
That their kind gesture brought them relief.
While heading back home, that same day,
They both discovered they'd long lost their way,
Because of the beer they'd drunk,
They sat in a blue funk ~
That Santa was drunk no longer hearsay.
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