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Tom Salter Jun 2020
9 minutes in ****, spent
pleading for rights the world has
failed to give him, but the white man
won't listen as long as he’s on that racist
coloured mission - a bent knee, once a pledge
of loyalty but now an act of atrocity: a snap,
crack and one final bark as a shade of black is
smashed, into the sharp, hard ground of the world
he once loved - so, please don't be silent, pick up
what is left at the pavement, a human life taken,
shackled, name-cuffed to a movement that
should have never been needed, but it now
rises, out of a community shattered,
to defend those lives that
should have always
mattered.
Tom Salter Jun 2020
9 minutes in ****, spent
pleading for rights the world has
failed to give him, but the white man
won't listen as long as he’s on that racist
coloured mission - hell bent at the knee;
snap, crack and one final bark as a shade
of black is smashed, into the sharp, hard
ground of the world he once trod, cherished
and loved - so, please don't be silent, pick up
what is left at the pavement, a human life
taken, shackled, name-cuffed to a
movement that should have never
been needed, but it now rises out
of a community shattered,
to defend those lives that
should have always
mattered.
Tom Salter May 2020
“Bountiful
            Beauty”
broken
         beaten
burnt
         by
badly
          behaved
  boys
           bearing
  burly
               bodies
brusquely
                  built
             by
                “Boisterous  
      Benevolence”.
Tom Salter May 2020
It was never in Mother’s intention,
to spoil us with her unaminous affection,
and just like the selfish, brattish child
we demanded for more attention,

and so, we screamed and went to war
and tore this family asunder,
sewing deep the misconception
that Mother was the real offender,

she watched in awe and horror
as we spat on her names’ honour,
committing guiltless acts of treason
against her, more natural, children -

Mother was not impressed, but
she knew we would never confess
as each and every one of us, truly believes  
“the world was built just for me”.
Tom Salter May 2020
A lone pale tree lay in a sea of green decay -
her friends had gone astray, leaving her a castaway
but despite all this pain, around midday
she sat unfazed as if she were prey,
basking in the stunning array of the sun’s gaze -
he kissed her skin a shade of bone-white and grey
as if to say, it doesn’t pay
to be tall, green and all the same.
Tom Salter May 2020
A thick, musky haze - clouds of
   obsidian - took claim to the city,
   it was a gift from mother, a debt paid
   for all the efforts her children
   gave to reach her demise,

   it was a nasty smell, one to end
   summer and spring, but to them, it
   was the smell of victory, for mother
   had died and the world was left
   for us to ruin as we please.
Tom Salter May 2020
Old man Oxford, plump
and merry in shape
and glee, a professor
of all things written
and green, his
friends, wooden and tall,
endowed him a pipe
of oaken skin, gilded
in bark and mirth, and
with this gift, he
smoked their leaves
and painted tales
of fantastical dreams, each
puff and ember smithed
his words, carrying his
mind into the cloud-stained
skies, where they danced
in the golden gleams, with
flocks of eagles, and
the blowing westerlies.
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