I am getting
really ******,
as I hear
those who
spreads fear
and ignorance
make claims
like this is
worse than
being in
prison.

Seriously,
you’ve
got to be
kidding me,
this is worse
then being
locked in
a tiny cell,
a slice of hell
where you are
just a number,
just cheap labor
to save corporations
from having to pay
one sore lonely body
minimum wage.
Where there
is less humanity
and the guards
can get away with
treating people worse
then garbage.

Then someone
has the nerve to say
that they are slaves,
because they have to
wear a mask;
What world
are they living in
that they feel likecont.
it makes sense
to hold such
a sick pretense.
Come back
and complain
when they take
your loved ones away,
when your back is
shredded raw
from whips
and this is
supported by the law.
Please remind me
how this
inconvenience is
relative to slavery.

You got some *****,
like when cops
treat the innocent
like they are
thugs that need to be
imprisoned,
then turn around
and whine
that they don’t
get a fair shot,
after another cop
shot another
black man,
tear gassed
peaceful people,
and their other
brothers in blue
just ran through
a crowed of protesters
with their police car.

Look the city is burning.
Can you see it?
This will not be
super flashy
or rise up like a phoenix.

Sleepless eyes
are set in red
aching dry
from crying
for the dead;

While shaking fist
chant and resist
the oppressiveness
that lit this ****
to begin with.

Violence
erupts,
but it was expected,
from seeing the shame
of those who claim
they should be respected
whilst acting like thugs.

It is an irony
that they don’t seem to see
begging for relief
from a similar anxiety
which they imposed
on those
who are just asking for
the grace of human decency.

The city settles
the chaos will resume shortly
and I watch brave warriors
struggle to catch
their tear gassed breathes.

We are unsung but
natural born
free formed like
Marley does dreads
all in your head
like we be the toast
of humanity
out from calamity
a designed order
from chaos
the dark
matter
that matters
the sentient beings
with celestial wings
bringing galaxies
as cosmic bound
earthlings
we define we

They live a life of dissipation,
Take up space in every nation;
Denounce Science deliberations,
Hide the truth through litigation;
They emit no illumination,
Preach an altered fact narration.
They support, by oration,
The Elephant's abdication,
And neglect of obligation.

     They won't wear masks.
     Or wash their hands;
     Won't give six feet
     In their wasteland.

     They cry foul,
     They cry hoax,
     But they won't cry
     When you die, Folks.

They beat the candy blues
into her thoughts,
as she sought
and bought
the sugary sweet,
multicolored gum drops
which were used
to subdue
her hunger pains,
but did nothing to
nourish healthy views
of living.

They trained her
to comply
to an almighty on high
father figure,
white bearded guy.

Whilst televangelist
propagated
hateful ****
pompously
requesting those
who were suffering
in poverty
to send them
the money they needed
to maintain their greed.

They were teaching her
that the measure
you need to reach
to say you succeeded,
is a measuring stick
that tends to extend
beyond previous
measurement.

But she bought
the glittering jewels,
sought to capture
her fantasy alpha male fool,
and achieve
the American dream
in which she believed.

A noble nation
would not distract
from the facts
that hurt.

Fairness,
and justice
would not be words
bandied about
without
a single thought of
those who
suffer out of view
from you.

Our dark history
would not be
whitewashed
for general
complacency.
You would be
forced to face
previous tragedies.

Melanin
in a stranger’s skin
would not
make them
kin or not kin.
We would not judge them
or sit and pretend
to be color blind
when seeing color
is not the problem
we are trying to solve.

It would not absolve
the behaviors
of civil war slavers
elevating hating
to a monumental
status.

A noble nation
would see the struggles
each person is facing
and desire
to help all achieve
the “American dream”
of which they so
highly speak.

I stutter.
I shudder.
I rage;
When I am calmly
trying to explain,
instead of having a
debate
on race and hate.

I cry,
cause I can
hear the pain
when people
try and describe
the horrors
from which they came,
while knowing
no matter if
they are showing
true scars of abuse
the world will still view
them as an other.

It is obvious to me
when I study history.
I can clearly see
said sorry tragedy
of human suffering.

No specifics to share
cause this is just a poem
to say that I care,
and despair
of seeing
indifference
or people not believing
what others are experiencing
after four hundred plus years of proof.

When your answer to
me telling you
what’s going on,
is “but what about
the deep state,
Bill Gates,
five G,
that’s antifa,”
or “that just
fake news”

What is the use
of telling you
the truth
in verse
when you
haven’t heard
a single word
whispered,
yelled,
cried,
or transcribed
about the
horrors committed
in people’s lives.

To weaken him,
He sent the archangel Virus;
To muffle him,
He sent the St. Michael storms.

I was raised
in the place
you set ablaze
with your venomous hate,

sat astute
in my Sunday suit
to salute
a god who rebukes
real wisdom,

forced to worship
a sic sorcerer,
that enforcer
for the acts of
crueler dictators,

but I’d prefer
to speak plain,
to abstain
from the mundane
which chained
my childhood
to no good
creeps and cheats.

I’d like to set sail
and prevail
against those
who would jail
innocents
in favor of
corporate interests;

To beat thieves
who seek to
take these dreams
and make fortunes
in ashes and destruction.

I know some promises
can’t be kept,
and I can’t expect
to make the world better,
but I’d like to be
a man who tried.

To be loved is great,
but to be love
is to elevate
others
before yourself.

It is to write
a world of compassion,
to press kind imprints
of humane intents
on the hearts of
women and men
whom you meet.

It is what I long to be
not a president or a king
but a leader of empathy,

an avatar of love
and peace.

After the plowshares
have been turned
into swords,
and we have been
conquered by
make believe lords,

I will bend a knee,
take a boot to my neck
let you see me
be put in check,

just to prove that we
are brethren,
and we can stand
together again.

I will write
a sharp and
contrasting light
to provide
hope in this
damning night.

Sending sweet
splinters of my
being
for anyone to see,
I will sing
“I love thee”
and be grateful
for this chance
to live.

It's well-known,
The younger you are,
The better your memory.
You refute.
I agree to your exceptions.
You agree they have less to remember.
We laugh, but know it to be true.
Our memory is full.
I unintentionally delete memories.
I don't get to decide how to make room.
The younger you are the more space you have.
The more empty cells, you quip.
Little vacuums, I add.
Wanting to be filled.

I make an exception.
Some cells are memory dedicated;
Protected from the sub-conscious decision-making process that is responsible for deletions...

I saw To Sir With Love
Over five decades ago (perhaps you know it).
I can't tell you which delinquent said,
Blimey, red blood!
When Thackery cut his hand.
I didn't care when I was thirteen
What the difference was between
Empowering teachers,
And overpowering teachers;
No!
But I recall the colour of racism
In the drama
On Thackery's face.