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Best Poems Written by Malcolm Burrell

Below are the all-time best Malcolm Burrell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Malcolm Burrell Poem

I Found It

As you look at me I'm not him.
Wearing a face of a man that does not exist, a myth. 
   For i am reserved, deep within the confines of self.
Ensorcelled, impelled, upon a journey of discovery. 
   Under the melanin pigmentation of epidermal.
Through the subcutaneous tissue, to travel around blood vessels, capillaries, and arteries, the rivers of life. 
   Observed and closely investigated all the fibers of the muscles, the joints, and the tendons which bind them.
   From the plantar, up the nervous system, to the cranium. 
Within the essence of me, the was, the is, and the maybe, the realms of my brain. 
   Continuing through the optic nerve, peering through the retina.
If seeing is believing, then there's more says my fervor. 
   So I close the lids and travel further. 
Encaged within the thoracic, observing the pulmonary action of breath taking. 
   At that moment, I hear the rhythm, the drumming of existence. 
Astonished with disbelief, awaiting to awaken from this dream. 
   All the days and years of believing me void.
There it is, pulsating with strength, feeding all the limbs and giving me life.
   Contradicting the accusations and claims 
of the misinformed strife.
   Reinforced by the deeds and sacrifices, the joy and the pains endured.
Shattered like glass, the image i am not.
   Against all odds, I found that I do have a heart.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021



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Black Panther

Stealthy, hidden within the shadows of night. 
Camouflaged, out of mind, out of sight. 
   Stalking, awaiting for the chance to strike. 
Pounce without warning, claw and bite.
   Devour, and satisfy my appetite.
Survival of the fittest, in the jungle under the moonlight. 
   Howls, growls, and other sounds of the fight. 
In the land that has bloody realities about life.
   I am what I am, a beast of fright 
Nose in the air, sniffing out hungers next sacrifice.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021

Details | Malcolm Burrell Poem

Stars and Stripes

As I sit here and watch red, white, and blue.
Waving it's stars of a United nation against the sky blue.
   So much anger, and judgment i could spew. 
For my skin color is the recorded history, of some of your most evil.
   Then there's the lives lost, in the name of you.
Based on a piece of paper, that defines our societal and governmental.
   Our beliefs and values. 
Ancestry is one thing, but I was born here, I am you. 
   So I will say this, as I have pledged allegiance to you.
Or rather, the ideas that are still a dream, and have yet to come true. 
   But the belief is what helps us get through. 
That all men are created equal, and happiness can be pursued. 
   To promote the general welfare, so no one is hated or abused. 
   For when there is such, we can amend and outlaw, for we are reasonable. 
   Allowing all races, and religions to share in a common view. 
   A place to be free, raise our families, with no limits about possible. 
   And lend a hand to the world simply because we're able. 
The home of the brave, protectors of the weak, and unable. 
   A guiding light, to the lands darkened by dictatorial. 
For these ideas, I will allow my blood to flow into the earth, refreshing the tree of liberties blooming floral. 
   Sacrifice, a medal of honor pinned onto the chest of the willing dutiful. 
   To keep you raised high over us, in God we trust, America the beautiful.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021

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About Pain

About Pain

                                 What is pain, how does it hurt?
                              Do you know, would you know?
                                 Life begins with pain, for someone else.
                              Eventually finding its way to everyone else.
                                 Existing in our existence, intertwined,
                              varyingly guised in its approach.
                                 Bruises to abrasions. lacerations to gashes.
                              Trauma is just one of its varying fashions.
                                 Love, betrayal, family and friends.
                              Social deconstruction of personal intimacies,
                                 another chamelic masterdom.
                              Depression, psychosis, internal stressors 
                                 of the mind.
                              Psychological stability unbalanced by this 
                                 cloaked marauder.
                              Belief, faith, value and dignity.
                                 The fabric of the soul unwoven by this
                              camouflaged assailant. 
                                 This omnipresent, omnipotent, indiscriminate,
                              superfluous, hunter of happiness.
                                 Waiting, lurking, like a predator in the brush.
                             Salivating, to devour all aspects of life.
                                 So that even in death, someone else
                             feels pain.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2020

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Blackness

My dark skin, my thick lips, what are they so afraid of?
My broad nose and nappy hair, things they teach to be ashamed of. 
   My strength as a man, so they hunt to cage and deny freedom. 
   My hands creations, hidden, to create a history of no inventions. 
   My knowledge, they give false information, to void wisdom. 
My leadership, weakened by the division of my women, my children. 
   My image, tarnished by orchestrated media depictions. 
My culture, my origin, stolen from my future through past invasions. 
   My life, always a threat, orders to eliminate without reasons. 
   My people, who else could endure so many evils?
My God, my greatness, my blackness, is why their so fearful.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021



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Am I Free Yet

The emancipation proclamation of incarceration
 has got me defacing public property, with words like
 don't shoot, or i can't breathe.
     So say can you see by the dawns early blue and 
 red lights, illuminating another crime site.
     Melanin enriched lives carelessly taken from others,
 unknowing today is the last day of life.
     Just another deposit added to the treasure trove 
 of injustice.
     Closely monitored by the blind eyes of authoritarians,
 utilizing legislation of codification with invisible ink.
     Visual images of atrocity captured in the day and the 
 darkness of night.
     The demise of those in custody, reports backed up
 falsely.
     Freedom tarnished by the guise of the guardians 
 of dishonesty.
     Giving deluded delusions diluted of substance
 as truth.
     Confident in the ignorance of the masses, and
 ability to marshal the herd.
     In due course, the end of all things as was 
 is inevitable.
     Willfully, naturally, or by the measure of any
 means necessary.
     Consistent shoves, and pushes and jostling, the
 posterior is against the wall.
     Countless days, weeks, months, years, decades,
 centuries pent up.
     The mantle of oppression shall divide under pressure,
 most abrupt.
     Eruptions of pyroclastic flows from pain, hurt, betrayal,
 slavery, murder, and poverty.
     Ghosts of the cotton fields saying don't forget,
 remember me.
     No longer echoes of a wanted to be forgotten 
 past.
     But a beacon for the future, free at last,
 free at last.
     Dare to dream, to hope, to succeed and pursue
 happiness.
     Epidermal pigmentation no longer judgements 
 catalyst.
     But the road to opportunities for sharing lifes
 differences.
     Only to discover that we are all undifferentiated.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2020

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Lucid

The marsh is thick, and my shoes are ripped.
Treading through the swamps of my mind.
   Sluggishly moving onward through the quagmired 
lands of this perceived world.
   Constant mental struggles conflicting, go left,
or go right.
   Avoidance of the insects and animals known as homosapiens.
Aiding in the difficulties of navigating quicksand type footing.
   Consistent droplets falling, drowning out ones own thoughts.
Slippery, wet, humid, and dark, even in the day.
   Dodging and swatting at blood sucking mosquitoes known as family.
Irritating with the saliva they spew, as they open their mouths
injecting lies.
   Cold blooded reptilians guised in the art of deception of being friends.
As the lay in shallow muddy waters, awaiting opportunities to 
ambush and death roll victims into submission.
   Lucid dreams decoding realities chamelic disguises of cannibalism.
Loneliness and depression augmented within a room full of people.
   As the walls creep closer, the chatter is muffled, as if speaking
under water.
   Increase in body temperature, as beads of sweat form on the nose.
Parchedness motions the opening of the top button, while slowly
reclining to close the eyes.
   As conditions stabilize, eyes reopen to the untrustworthiness.
Evading mosquitoes, while avoiding being pulled into the depths.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021

Details | Malcolm Burrell Poem

As I Lay In the Dark

As I lay in the dark, accompanied by only my thoughts
and memories.
   I can feel the grip of the night, clutching with its embrace
of ill intent.
   Plunging me into the depths of its blackness.
Slowly drowning me in my fears.
   Attempts of self calming being overrun.
An increase in body temperature, partnered by tachycardia.
   Failure, rejection, compounding self doubt.
Anxieties deriving from outside opinions of charlatans.
   Holding water in the cranium like edema.
Deep deliberate breathes, followed by a slow exhalation.
   Subconscious whispering rebellious philosophy.
Swiftly lungeing into an upright position, telling myself
to listen.
   Face all opposition, no matter the resistance.
There is no tomorrow, until you live through today.
   Matter of opinion isn't really a matter at all.
Vanish the world and become enthralled with self.
   No over the shoulder glances until destinated arrival.
Being alone, unsuccessful, and betrayed, comes with 
the package.
   Delivery need not be accepted, opt to refuse.
Self imported zeal reorders the path of one's own deliverance.
   Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot
change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom 
to know the difference.
   Now I lay me down to sleep, reassured I will claim my victory.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021

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In Plain Sight

The hood is foregone.
Into the past, of fired crucifixes upon front lawns.
   The day has begun, a new dawn.
Bare faced, in the sun's illumination.
   Guised within the roles that make a nation.
Spread throughout vital occupations.
   Where darkened communities suffer from the
bleached cohorts occupation.
   From tainted patrols roaming free on the range
with no scrutiny.
   To deliver captives to like minded counselors 
and judiciary.
   As aesculapian institutions dispense succor to
the most monetary.
   In conjunction with polity, where signed documentation
continues urban poverty.
   Strengthened by miseducation from chameleon educators,
educated with an educational degree.
   Conjoined in unity of conspiracy, waltzing through the
capital of democracy.
   The confederates state their supremacy optically.
It is time for the rolling back of sleeves, to fight
the good fight with bravery.
   Steadfast, and observe closely.
For the greatest trick the devil ever pulled, as evil stands
before you and me.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021

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Dyadic

A thesis, ascertained through abrasions of
decubitus ulcerations of existences austerity.
   The colluded effect of unbeknownst
certainty.
    Preluding the path of non precluding.
Additioned to the implausibility of unintended
effect.
    Multiplied by the multiplicity of ignorant 
ignorance.
    Divided by the hidden figures of plausible
deniability.
    Equaling the copiousness of insurrection
and egalitarianism.

Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2020

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Book: Shattered Sighs