The white man stole their land
now the red man has the blues
the white man sold their families
and the black man's still ill-used
the white man shot the American buffalo
now the red man sings the blues
the white man put their people in chains
and the black man's grief accrues
the white house is to blame
the Government just the same
the white man broke the treaties
now the red man feels the blues
the white man did the dirty
and the black man he's abused
the white man has no conscience
but the red man has the blues
no the white man does not care
tho' the black man's overdue
the white house is to blame
the Government it is too
Native tribe thrives, they share their lives
Native tribe's school, mother land's rule
Native tribe tries, white man speaks lies
White man makes rule, white man's hand cruel
Native tribe's toil, mother land's oil
White man spies fuel, white man's eyes drool
Tribe's land narrows, white man's arrows
Mother land dies, native tribe cries
White man's hand thrives, white man takes lives
Mother land cries, native tribe dies
On the last ring of the phone
Just around the corner, but unknown
A night spent apart, alone
As a mourner for the lorn
A dozen roses for another hectic day
On Valentine's day one never supposes
The reason for being fashionably late
In the movies, in the seats
One on, and one off the train
(As the background music begins to play)
One on each side of the door
with words, but none we say
The crescendo then the scene segue
I'm Astaire, Gable, Grant and Kong
To your Ginger, Marilyn, Audrey and Fay
I'll see you at home tonight, don't be long
We just missed each other today
white roses
in a silver chalice
vanilla curtain in bride’s boudoir
one pastel petal on floor
pristinely cupped
purity and innocence of chamber
wedding dress & petticoat
on satin hangers
pronouncement will be made
in morrow
when her soft skin is kissed
tenderly
and carelessly
the gown and petticoat
the old, new, borrowed, blue
and one potent petal
on the floor
below
a silver chalice
of
voluptuous white roses
I love seeing the pretty white flying dove.
The betrayal of the white liberals
Is one so peculiar
For a party that claims allyship
Why are black people not invited
Or?
Do you already have your token
To show you are open
To the lie of progression
The covert nature of your motive
Is a secret that is no longer hidden
No tear shed for yet another innocent black victim
But outspoken to defend a republican
Then again
Birds of the same feather must stick together
The pitiful pretence of support you perform
Is evil only a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' could have
They move as if they are sleeper cell spies
Rising only for a white man's death
To them race comes before politics
White liberals 'care' until it comes to defending whiteness
They are just cowards dressed up in a cloak of 'niceness'
What? -
All to prove your differences
Or
Just as a way to boost your views
Acting like the odd one out with your 'individualistic' truths
Spare me your drawn on wounds
Especially when you have never had to walk a day in our shoes
I am intrigued by the letters dancing on the white sheets, forgotten on the desk,
Chapters that lead nowhere, a monotonous and tiring journey.
But what captivates my soul are the pebbles on the riverbank,
I wish to ask them where their journey through time began.
Were they pushed by rebellious waves or did they stop for rest?
Silent, they carry the secrets of the waters that caressed them through time.
I am also intrigued by the fallen leaves, guides of the changing wind,
Was their separation painful, or did they say goodbye gently?
Clouds like cotton candy float on the sky as blue as an ocean,
Will they pass by my house or bless me with their rain?
These questions weave my thoughts into a labyrinth of melancholy,
For in the simple mysteries of nature, I find magic and solace.
With two left feet
he's clod-hoppery
tho' her little white porkies
are quite whoppery
as he thinks aloud
she's merely frippery
meanwhile she knows
he's really foppery
but slinking around
slippery-sloppery
in sandals she found
flippery-floppery
she came a-croppery
a total eye-poppery
yet flummoxed
gob-stoppery
he refrained
from quippery-flippery
remained on toppery
and maintained
ever chippery
A pair of white lotuses floating atop green lilypads.
A rare occurrence for me and yet they are so out of my reach.
Just like a blooming love I can sense between me and thee.
They left Southampton with a coal fire down below,
Olympic class of the White Star Line, little did they know.
Irish-built in Belfast, one iceberg was all it took as,
with insufficient lifeboats, the whole wide world it shook.
Departing Queenstown, compartments not all watertight,
unsinkable or so they said, until that tragic night...
(almost a six-day cruise).
She was poorly equipped and, as all good Captains do
(tho' that is not his due), Edward Smith
(and fifteen hundred souls or more)
went down with the ship.
And the band played on as the ship was going down,
were they blind (drunk?), out of their minds,
they were all about to drown.
Some thought 'Bravery,' others, 'Stupidity,'
(altho' cold as ice), I can say, quite categorically,
I would have jumped ship if it were me.
Tho' it's a deep subject, rock-bottom at very best,
the play on Broadway (take a bow) you won't see,
of lost lives and broken hearts
is... 'The Titanic, In Two Parts'.
As she lays tucked in her white crib,
she hugs her brown monkey.
Other animals fill her crib,
but she chooses the brown monkey.
Why one may ask?
even as a baby she has a choice to make.
As the years go by she wants her brown monkey,
for love and peace no other animal will do.
The years pass by as she grows up,
with every move her brown monkey will follow.
Now grown,
she looks at this bedraggled stuffed animal.
Her heart is filled with love for her brown monkey,
he was much more than a soft toy.
if
love
be
this
white cloud
rose
that
open
and
close
i
shall
cleave
thy
heart
for
thee
this
white
cloud rose
You're the star in the gallery
of black and white masterpieces,
only flash of light iconic in my temple,
distinguished radiant freckles.
Its been so long since....
A black swan engulfs a white-ness
hidden behind blood-shot darkest hues,
colour only drains so I flood the gates
in an attempt to make the morning shine
Whispers become intolerant of mad stricken
forgotten sea-shells left in a ruck sack,
carried out by the tide to a breach of sea,
like finding numbing needles in a hay stack.
Giggles haunt, not fondly but now violate,
tin soldiers scattered over a wedding cake
and gone the warmth of hallucinations.
Icy cold popsicles flare in your wake...
Watch the leaves swim in the wind
As Autumn’s corners unfurl
And as we sail on
On the face of reflective waters
In our relationship
Just you and I now empty nesters
No one to pester us
(but we miss drinking from the scuttlebutt)
As we greet and kiss the morning
(And each other)
Now I'm her knight in white
And she's my bride in white
Now its just us twain
Reflections of when we first met
A baby is born—
wrapped in soft white,
breathing gently,
half-asleep,
a trace of a cry still lingering in the air.
The sister carries this tiny bundle
from the stillness of the ward
to the waiting arms of the mother.
The father stands close,
eyes fixed,
heart rushing ahead of time,
as if he too is being born again.
The mother,
her body weary from the long storm of pain,
rests, breathes,
waits—
and then at last,
the weight of the child settles in her arms.
She studies the face,
the skin, the fragile fingers,
searching for traces of God
in every curve and color.
In that moment,
time halts.
Tears fall freely—
of gratitude, of surrender,
of love that has no language.
No sound, no word is needed.
The world begins anew
with a silent kiss.
Related Poems