‘The natives are L-A-Z-Y,’ she says,
barely pausing as she stirs
her Earl Grey.
The letters fall, like pebbles,
into a chasm,
waiting for impact.
Or for the plate of Huntley & Palmers
to be passed around.
A cricket ratchets up the afternoon
while meager figures
crouch above herbaceous borders,
hacking at something.
Jacaranda, frangipani, bougainvillea…
the garden is overwhelmed
by its inventory.
Back in the paneled hall,
the grandfather clock has been
counting down to the apocalypse
since 1895.
It can wait for another
decade or two.
red is primary
as not
even a shade
as black
and white
and darkness
is a secondary
called
purple.....
the ones
here
before
whites
We conquer
and pretend
to be kind
to
indigenous
beings
here way
before
our conquests...
Blue
is
a lagoon
that appears
and
disappears
with not a clue
to wishing
Yellow
is brave
and never
afraid....
and every
drip
of mixed
comes
up with
the brightest
acclaims
A cliché
are Asians
being so smart
but we know
deeply
its actually truth
and yet
treated
like enemies
at our feet.
Mixed colors in
every day life.
Rooftops
seem so free
until you
glance
at the grey
of our feets....
then
every-day
life
to a beating
no longer present
Black and white
before the fall here...
A conscious
for once
here,
my rapid heart,
can't stop
Flowers
exist,
will die
tomorrow
and
I can't
bring myself
to face
their radiance.
They die as I live
and its not fair.
I've given the clues
to wipe me out here
and for once its fair.
I never have had fun
for decades in the sun
I'm losing my humanity
and I'm so sorry for it....
I wanted to be perfect,
like the ladies so pretty
Radiantly so shining......
I'm fading like a fallen star
and I wish I was already afar...
the devil swings
with the pain Billie brings
to the song of a sparrow, once lost
but heaven cries
with the drug in her eyes
and the weep of a willow's sad cost
the awed repute
of a tree's strangest fruit
never gave up its dead or it's moss
one mother's urn
sifted ash from the burn
of a tragedy's southern-most cross
shall only years
dry that muddle of tears
the torrent drowning races and sin
or will the truth
age a sweeter vermouth
let as blood on a much darker skin?
weep collected
for life, disrespected
would deluge all Jehovah's dear streams
yet not one wonder
that God's loudest thunder
will ne’er quiet that riot …
of screams.
~ for Billie Holiday ~
Copyright © 2020 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
Breathing should be easy
Yet somehow it's the most difficult action
We shouldn't have to remind ourselves
Yet here we are
But what is the point when the world has its knees on our neck
Why fight a battle that strips us of our weapons
The expectations to submit
To actions unfit to complete
When either way our existence gets us killed
Scolded when we plead -
For human rights and equality
Peace was never an option
When survival is to watch us bleed
It's a familiar type of exhaustion
One my people know all to well
Where - we breathe and we die
Or we speak up and it's systemic suicide
Tensions suffocate the air
All we want from life is to be treated fair
Yet, atlas life is a never ending cycle -
For us, filled with chronic despair
It's hard to breathe when silence is the only option
When the words are there, but in the end we end up choking
It's always been this way, of cyclical hope then watch it slowly dissipate
Knowing we can't trust it, yet it clings to us for survival
One day maybe it'll be different story
Though let's not hold our breath
We still need it for our survival, Rome wasn't built in a day, we have to be realistic
They existed, they were here
Real people made to disappear
Hidden history, lies and erasure
For them it was protocol
For us It became normal
What really is normal
In the conversation of racism
Of different rules
When it comes to black people
It becomes opposite -
What is, is what's not
What's not is what is
A confusing cycle
We are expected to follow
When they themselves
Aren't reliable
This isn't about judicial rule
More control of a certain race of people
Don't be fooled -
By the fake smiles they draw
This is not societal
This is purely individual
If it wasn't, their morals would be total
The system of law -
Would be equal
However that is not the case at all
When eradication is their goal
It's why they deny their history of violence
It's why they bury our stories in silence
It's why they bleach the stains of their hate
It's why they burn our bodies to rid of their guilt
It's why they drown our voices in the ocean of their lies
It's why our history books are empty of our ink - just the erasure of our names
She got to wake up the next day
He didn't.
She got to live her life
He didn't.
She got to have her own family
He didn't
She lied
He didn't.
She admitted to the lie -
No repercussions
He was a black boy -
He got murdered
Carolyn Bryant,
A murderer
Emmett Till,
A victim
The courts awarded her due diligence
His family fled in fear, that it'd be repeated
Leaving their home, scared they'd be targeted
Their home a ghost to a child evicted
A system built to allow racism
in a dream -
Mississippi, the 50's
lone hike on a sweltry spring-tide day
rolling fields of cotton and wheat
cauliflower clouds like lazy old men
creeping across a buttery haze …
as I walk, I tickle the tops of the grasses
hands open, palms down
blessing them
like mischievous children …
strolling a rise
in no hurry but oddly compelled
ball cap and short sleeves
skin rosy from the midday shine -
naked, dazzling sun, yet …
an odd trepidation as I round the hilltop -
below is a peach grove
in glorious, pregnant bloom
such strange fruit, these southern trees bear
burnished, dark, twisted
slowly spinning in the cruel heat -
and flies … darting
then …
realization
hits me like a doubled fist
and I retch into the beautiful snowy
blossoms at my knees
turning away from the bloat in
abject horror and shame …
for my skin is white -
the fetor, overwhelming
and he ...
was but a boy.
~ For Billie Holiday and Abel Meeropol ~
Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
If you plant the seeds of love
You'll reap gorgeous flowers of love
If you spray the seeds of hate
Many plants and trees
Will blossom flowers of hate
And you won't like the fate
Nobody enjoys death and miseries
Ugly, dirty and evil flowers
And people with ill manners
Love is the answer
Hate is a toxic cancer
Be positive and make sense
All the time
Is obviously not a crime
Violence is unacceptable
Peace is divine and preferable
Please use good common sense.
Copyright © May 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
They crowd around their leader
unqualified, unfit
Vying for some action
all chomping at the bit
They’ve given-up democracy
their morals are all gone
Instead they honor Donald Trump
a two-bit, traitor con
They don’t want an America
with those who aren’t White
They’d rather burn it to the ground
and threaten that they might
They’re homophobic bigots
and condemn those who are trans
Scared of life, scared of love
they punish them with bans
Like preachers, they quote scripture
hang crosses from their chains
But then deport small children
far away, alone, on planes
The MAGA base is poisoned
hating all that’s not the same
Then praise an unfit moron
who’s a fool and has no shame
We won’t give-up our freedom
our vote, or right to talk
Together, we will march as one
resist, and walk the walk
RACISM
I see people playing racist games,
I hear people calling racist names.
When is racism going to end,
Can't we all just be friends.
After all it's just the colour of our skin
So come On people
Let's put racism in the bin.
I am black, you are white,
So let's stand together
To all unite.
To hear it once,
To hear it all,
To rise together
Through pride and fall.
Hashtags.
Used to promote to get more attraction to a desired cause
To create a movement , to even open doors
But - like most things it has its flaws
Used to manipulate for narrative control
Stories of real life trauma
Plastered on social media
To be auctioned of and sold
To the highest bidder- usually a politician
Their favourites, those that contain stories of racism
Not because they care
But for emotional manipulation
Used to make them look like a 'diverse hero'
Claiming to love everyone
Yet create policies for a mandatory stop and patrol
'Coincidentally' in only black neighbourhoods
Most hashtags aren't even harmful
If used for the greater good, it can be very useful
A way for slogans to become a movement
One example - #blacklivesmatter
To boost, to help go viral
To become a worldwide sensation
After all you can never have enough people
To tackle this centuries long issue
Yet human nature makes people resentful
When they aren't the centre of attention - when they aren't popular
Usually the oppressors, they can't stand feeling inferior
They'll twist a cause to suit their reputation
After all what's a campaign without deception
Where do all the voices go
When told to repress their emotions
Do they fake a smile and swallow it whole
Or do they bury their heads in the ocean and scream
The black voices are silenced
Trapped in the purgatory of compliance
Usually erased by a history of violence
Or thrown into solitary confinement
No light, no windows
Just an eternity of darkness
Voices hidden by oppressive shadows
But what of those that demand to be heard
Voices beneath the earth
Silenced by death and historical erasure
Instead of words
Do they make the ground tremble with their anger
Do their spirits control the weather
Do their souls become messengers
To represent all those who go unheard
All those black speakers
To continue a legacy of black courage
Of daring to speak up against the oppressor
Unmarked grave
Epigraph reads slave
Not even dignified with a name
Just a ghost of a boy surrounded
By tombs of those known
Tombs of those never alone
In a cemetery full of strangers
Even in death he is separated from his family
Who was he?
The world may never know
His body buried just like his story unknown
He was born into shackles
And died in them
He never got to taste the sweetness of freedom
Even in death, even in the afterlife
He will always be known
Through only his skin colour
We will never fully know will we?
I am only a voice
not the loudest in the crowd
not the softest either
but steady enough to be heard.
Shape me into fire
a rising sun on darkened streets
so I can burn through hatred
so I can light the cracks of racism.
I am just a sound
the trembling roar of a cub
but let me grow into a lion
so I can tear the chains of corruption.
Make me more than an echo
make me thunder on the horizon
make me the horn that will not quiet
until justice learns my name.
Specific Types of Racism Poems
Definition | What is Racism in Poetry?
Poems Related to Racism
discrimination, bigotry, bias, segregation, apartheid, unfairness, partiality, one sidedness, racialism, sectarianism, illiberality,