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Deborah Johnson Poem
By Deborah Johnson, copyright 2015
Only in America the land of the free, you may find men hanging from a tree.Men will cross the border expecting to be free; instead they catch a bullet in the eye or the knee.
Only in America the land of the free, native are slaughtered, and/or driven away from the sea. Men will deliver goods, for trading you see; the men must never speak of the word "we."
Only in America the land of the free, you may be shot in your head, while lying in your bed. Men take babies straight from the womb; crush them with no remorse and have lunch by noon.
Only in America the land of the free, you may sit in your living room , while watching rape and/or murder on a TV. Men will go to clubs just to get laid, women will go to jail if they are paid.
Only in America the land of the free; murderers are licensed, so are the theive's, schools are literally war zones, while children are not allowed to turn on their phones.
Only in America, the land of the free; dogs are more privileged.... than you or me!
Copyright © Deborah Johnson | Year Posted 2018
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Deborah Johnson Poem
Deborah Johnson, Copyright 2018.
I can't be sure what she said, but as we were walking...
her bright' eyes were looking straight ahead.
I looked at her, but I didn't say...'we can't do that anyway.'
I recalled where I stood; maybe she can, but I never could.
What can it be like to think free, thinking...far beyond what I see?
I've never had the freedom to think free (...).Why?
Oh!...because...I live, and was born... in captivity.
Copyright © Deborah Johnson | Year Posted 2018
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Deborah Johnson Poem
Deborah Johnson, Copyright 2015
I thought de' was animals, so I didn't properly feed'em;
I'd laid down beside'em, and place my seed in,em.
I thought de' was animals, so I'd take their black babies out the shed, and giv'em my white babies to breast feed instead.
I thought de' was animals, so I'd work the crap out'em,
and I'd cut off their genitals because I was jealous of' em.
I thought de' was animals, so I'd giv'em my last name
because de' was my animals I ain't had no shame
I thought de' was animals, and I'd whipped'em until they bleed,
if I ever caught my animals trying to read.
I thought de' was animals, and I'd make'em dance
if I didn't like de' dance I'd burn de' pants.
I thought de' was animals, and I'd work'em from sunrise til sunset
now if de'it run off I'd giv'em some'em de'it never forget.
Now some of 'em...my chattel... was pretty darn stubborn, but if I couldn't tame'em I'd kill'em or sell'em.
Copyright © Deborah Johnson | Year Posted 2018
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Deborah Johnson Poem
In the Shadow of the Night, Love or Lust: Copy right (2008). By, Deborah Johnson
Stars sprinkled over blue and gray skies, oh my Black Prince is it love or lust as we search and embrace each other's eyes?
Gentle sweet kisses, we hold each other tightly. A warm breeze, how thoughtful, to pass by, to complement the moonlight.
I look at you and you look at me, love or lust, which one do we see.? Lust takes flight when exposed to the light; it only remains in the shadow of the night.
I awake in the morning, to the smell of the sea. I look around as far as I can see. Sounds of splashing water; yes I like, but my Black Prince is no where in sight.
Desperately, I look in the direction where the sky meets the sea, a surfer on a wave coming straight at me. The pain in my heart is no longer tight because my Black Prince has remained both day and night.
Copyright © Deborah Johnson | Year Posted 2019
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Deborah Johnson Poem
Calsgoo copyright (2010) By Deborah Johnson
Abstract reasoning, may be incomprehensible or absurd;
to think without a touch, who would have the nerves?
Foreshadowing implications; suggests, antagonistic energy, which permeates through. No one knows the story, not even you.
No breaking apart, during this elevated climb; Sub-dividing suggests the inability to sublime.
Hold together; through this walk of time because there is beauty in all folks, of every kind.
Outside of the whole, parts have insignificant value; we must all bind together, adding strenght as we travel.
Copyright © Deborah Johnson | Year Posted 2018
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