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Brent Kincaid Feb 2016
You people that say
“There aren’t any gays
In my race or church!”
You’re so wrong, I say.
You’re so wrong
It will be hard to get back
To right, you know,
Where you went off track.

You people that say
There are no gays
In our holy country
You’re wrong too, I say.
You’re hiding something
About yourself to say it.
You’re driving yourself crazy
The way you want to play it.

You people that say
“Jesus hates blacks and gays!”
You are totally wrong
That’s not what the book says.
You people that think
You know the path to heaven
Couldn’t find you way
If it was at the Seven Eleven.

You people that say
“God damns you people to hell!”
Haven’t read that book
Or understand it very well.
The book never has Jesus
To utter one punishing word.
So, where did it come from,
All that hatred you have heard?

You people that say
“There aren’t any gays
In my race or church!”
You’re so wrong, I say.
You’re so wrong
It will be hard to get back
To right, you know,
Where you went off track.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
You are fighting again
And want me to come
To worship at your temple
Of the dazed and dumb
Who are led so easily
By the mention of God
And find us who question
To be diseased or odd.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.

You dress yourself in medals
And thousand dollar suits
And pretend merchants
Are not your family roots.
You think to disguise profit
As your one raison d’etre
So you speak flowery nothings
And haven’t made sense yet.

We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

You create your holy mantras
About defense and protection
While every kind of help for us
Meets with official rejection.
You make excuses to invade
And make money out of death.
Then, make up tales of threats
Until you’re almost out of breath.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.
We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2015
BIG BUT…

I’m a tolerant type of person
So, I try to look at others leniently.
(But...)
You sent the fox to guard the hen house,
That kind of thinking doesn’t makes no sense to me.
I don’t know why you took the stance
That this was such a clever thing to do.
(But…)
Then with all the chickens gone
You tried hard to blame everyone but you.

You got to look out for that big but.
It gets in the way of so much you say.
You always seem to show that big but.
It’s gonna bit you in the end someday.

Your peers have chosen to trust in you.
They sent you to work to represent their case.
(But…)
You took it as a treasure chest
And ran amok, and now you are off base.
Your corruption is nearly absolute
You job is to care what the people think
(But…)
You lost touch with what you are
Right now you don’t know just how much you stink.

You got to look out for that big but.
It gets in the way of so much you say.
You always seem to show that big but.
It’s gonna bite you in the end someday.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
The lakes and streams filled with natures goodness,
Skys eerie and filled with only questions,
The lilting laughs of the young playful women,
And the prompting for springtime suggestions.
I was always laughed at then, ridiculed, a joke.
In the mornings I would bring with me as always
Oats and honey for breakfast. Your beautiful doe
Eyes always batted at me. I was youthful, bearded face,
Strong lean body. My friends had all but abandoned me.
Everyone said we were evil, poisoned fruit from a tree.
The bon fire lit agains all of our faces, sparks flying into the sky.
The woven basket filled with dates, nuts and rice,
My work never finished, speaking of kindness, of life.
They thought I was there to ruin them, to give them over
To the authorities. My dream was to inspire them and give
Them a better understanding of innocent philosophies,
Never once did I mention eternal suffering or grief, let
Alone the way a life without pain. I was there to enliven
Their lives with music, with fine art, wild unruly entertainment,
I never quite respected the forceful authority figures or
The scorn of those who wanted us to "behave,"
But for one reason or another, everyone sought to clean
Up each of my statements.
But you were there, amazon lady, with such strength,
And I your effeminate match, how could it be that I'd found
Such a catch? Our story would go on to be silenced,
Bound with lies, why? Because when they found
Out the truth about us, they sought to change
It to something popular, so they could sell it.

— The End —