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dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean

crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown

overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs

nobody feels responsible

not  those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees

not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed

not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close

nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics

it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough

those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
      quite suddenly
lose their homes

forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.

Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.

In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.

Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.

Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.

Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.

We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.

Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.

We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.

They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.

Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.

And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.

Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.

Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Anybody know who Willie Lynch was? Anybody? Raise your hand. No one? He was a vicious slave owner in the West Indies. The slave-masters in the colony of Virginia were having trouble controlling their slaves, so they sent for Mr. Lynch to teach them his methods. The word "lynching" came from his last name. His methods were very simple, but they were diabolical. Keep the slave physically strong but psychologically weak and dependent on the slave master. Keep the body, take the mind.  (Melvin B Tolson)

19th  July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.

With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.

With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.

They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.

All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.

A ***** they said
should lower his head.

Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.

If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?

Bravery isn't
a word for the ****,
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.

I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.

Their plan
was to ****,
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.

They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.

Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.

So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.

They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.

So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.

That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.

This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
13th July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
I walk across the landing
and through the double doors
and aim towards the lift shaft,
that's where I'm going, of course.

It's as if it hears my footsteps
and needs no company
as that old elevator
shoots down to level 3.

Every single morning
as I approach its doors
it disappears pretty quick
down to those lower floors.

I swear it sees me coming
and doesn't like the look
so as I rush to hitch a ride
the **** thing slings its hook.

The doors are on a system,
computerised I read.
But whenever I get near them
they change the ****** speed.

I stand alone here waiting
and it just isn't fair
'cause I am stuck up here
when I want to be down there.

It speeds down to the bottom
and sits on the ground floor
you can here it taunting you
with the movements of the door.

Then after what seems ages
it gradually starts to rise
giving me some hope at last
as I can hear the noise.

Then it makes a pit stop
at another floor
and seems to take forever
to open and close its door.

Each and every level
seems to get a viewing
as if it wants to **** some time,
with my mind it is *******.

And then it reaches the sixth floor
as if it is my saviour
and finally opens up the doors
as if it's doing a favour.

It seems as if this machine
requires me to stalk
so now I've found the stairwell
and instead I'm going to walk.
9th July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
This is a True Story of one elevators aim to cause me STRIFE!
The man said look there
and the skies went red,
He pointed directly
as the many fell dead.

Is this now his quiet
words added in.
The legacy from
a world full of sin.

A long, long, long,
time ago it is said.
Even before humanity
ever raised it's head.

The world had a soul,
the tempo was nice.
In fact it was
a real paradise.

Simple creatures knew
that life was rough.
They also knew when
enough was enough.

And although they
sometimes had to ****
it was just to survive.
Never for the thrill.

That curse came later
and when it began
the name of this curse,
the arrival of man.

And so it has gone
millennia has past
and the world that we've ruined
is not going to last.

So here it starts,
plagues on the street.
And people are falling
down dead at my feet.

Trying to run,
driving their car
but with nowhere to go
they will not get to far.

They mistreated this planet
they maligned this place
and now this planet earth
is looking them in the face.
5th July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
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