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Ronald Stroman Poem
ain't it a shame
when hate lynches
a 14 year old Colored boy
in 1955 Mississippi
and blows away the dreams of
four innocent little ***** girls
in 1963 Birmingham, Alabama
yeah
bus that to your segregated thoughts
as I interracially walk you
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children
to march along side the National Guard
on their way to a lily white school
as the message of this
un-segregates & untangles
the history of hate
attackin’ ******* in 1957
whose only desire was to be educated
and schooled too
racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide
the white citizen council back
to their good senses
‘cause racism
don’t care ‘bout nobody
being Jewish or Colored
when it needs to
fire-bomb
***** churches with ******* in them
or feels the need to hang someone
from a tree out of existence
racism even devours its own kkklan
as the innocent
pay the ultimate price
racism doesn’t care
if your church is the 16th Street Baptist
and 14 yr. old Addie Mae Collins
is one of the four black Alabama children
killed in attendance
racism ain’t concerned about
you being white either
or your last name being
White
Black
Brown
Till
Schwerner
Evers
Liuzzo
Mandela
Martin or Rodney King
and so many other names
that we’ll never know of
that racism wounded or buried six feet
under hate
racism doesn’t care about
what kinda NAACP dream
you’re having
or concerned about your last name
being "Parks" in 1955
when it attempts to guide you back
to the "Colored" section of the bus
where you know your
civil-rights will be denied
every time you allow
" segregation & discrimination"
to collects its fare
racism & its hateful followers
have no regard at all
for one’s race / religion
or sexual persuasion
especially when racism peers
into its discriminating mirror
century after century
time after time
day after day
and tells itself in 2006
"it’s better than you"
because you’re "cultured" different
from them"
yeah
racism stirs an ugly pot of soup
that no one should ever have to taste.
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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Ronald Stroman Poem
she asked me
was it big:
(being the man that I am)
i said it was.
she asked me
was it long:
i said looong enough,
to satisfy her
plus two of her girl friends.
and if… she had any doubts
about it,
that she was welcome to
come to my house,
to see how large
it really was.
when she came over,
i dived right in it.
both of us
was totally satisfied-
back strokin’,
swimming in my
newly built…
swimming pool.
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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Ronald Stroman Poem
Some times
I wonder why
the white bread
hates the brown toast
when the sandwich maker shows
what the
bread maker knows
that the dark bread
and the white bread
are both
created from dough
even the sweetbread with raisins
that's totally different...
the baker made too!!!
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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Ronald Stroman Poem
some times
often
when Mother Nature chooses
not to be your best friend
she allows life's winds to blow
a strong force
of its own
like Noah's rain
giving birth to forty days
& forty nights
of oceans and rivers transformed
into weather unable to behave
and too violent for science to hold
Mother Nature's way
of letting the whole world know
that she also has no favorite child
some times
very often
"perseverance"
is all the "life-boat"
one may need
to deal with the mood swings
of Mother Nature
if one's "determination" is scented
in the hope & sunny promise
of what can be
when you find yourself treadin'
in a sea of trouble
and you choose
to not stop swimmin'
because...
you may find
"perseverance & determination" alone
can be a life-saver
with its own religion
to guide you ashore
even when foul weather
has intentions
to expose you to other ugly moments
you'd choose not to remember tomorrow
some times
often
"life" just wants to test you too
especially…
when life needs to know
what you're capable of...
when all your "possibilities" decide
that "today"
is not
your
perfect storm.
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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Ronald Stroman Poem
i spent
two months in
my mother's womb,
before she even knew
i was there,
in her stomach stealin' space.
during the nineth month
she kicked me out;
for kickin' too hard,
and requested i call her
“Mom,”
and pay her
back rent
with hugs & kisses,
all of my life,
and on Mothers day
"interest,"
'cause she somehow knew
up to the day she died of old age,
that when i was being born
inside her,
that it was me…
who also “stole” her heart.
Happy Mother's Day
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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Ronald Stroman Poem
he got so close
close enough...
to be mistaken
out in the woods
for what he was huntin' for.
he dressed himself with horns
and adorned his body
in the camouflage of deer skin.
he got so close
so perfect in his masquerade
that another hunter
couldn't tell the difference
200 yards away
when
he shot him dead.
Copyright © Ronald Stroman | Year Posted 2007
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