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Shlomo Jan 2019
Part I

When in doubt blame the black man.
Doubly so if it rhymes with that man,
the crack man. The cap man, the rack man. We got you on a lock man.
Shoot em, **** em, **** em up, all the way up!
Till he's nothing but black, man.

*** what could be worse than being black?
A half-man.
Ubiquitous; everywhere, but fits in with no man.
Woman? The last said there's something off about that man.

Part II

All I did was swipe right, and now it feels like a wrong turn.
"Maybe it's just not your turn yet."
Or maybe I'm trying too hard, with nothing but bad bets.
Feelings of desperation, manipulation is **** near perpetual.
**** it. I'm just tryna get another quotable, man.
https://shlomotion.co/poems/black-and-right/
Shlomo Oct 2018
Emerging economies.

What they’re emerging from I don’t know.

My guess, the depths of hell.

From the frying pan, right into the fire, or worse; a well.

A deep hole stronger than gravity, the force.

To be forever under the thumb of remorse.



A modern era of endless acts, policies and bla bla bla.

Shut up with all your platitudes.

I see what’s really going on. Aha!

You speak of sustainable development.

Nice to know that you’ve led by example.

Carried the mantle for all these years.



Centuries of ruthlessness, now veiled in sheep’s clothing.

But you won’t shut up. Because you don’t speak.

You never have. You just do.

Each day that goes by, you carry on anew.

Behind all the talk of hope, equality and more progress,

it seems the wolves are lurking.



Cooking up the next tool to subdue countless.

This time, not behind closed doors. But in plain sight.

It’s scary to imagine such spite.

Each year that goes by it becomes clearer that you never cared.

You sold guns, drugs and all kinds of war.

And each time, you kept coming back for more.



You’ve built up antibodies that ensure your survival.

But sometimes I wonder if you’re alive at all.

But what do I know?

Maybe you’re more alive than ever.

Doing what you do best but always more clever.

That not even the most stable of geniuses can evade your pressure.



A strong enough foundation that each break makes you stronger,

So strong that not even the Gremlin can take you under.  

Against this dreary background, foregrounded is nothing short of magical.

Beyond hope, prayers or a thoughtless radical.

Or maybe this is all just fake outrage.

An attempt to evade the boredom of this endless monotony and baggage.



Or maybe, the term is out of date.

Like every other, that makes me increasingly more irate.

In which case, this poem is at least ten years late.

Or maybe there are too many maybes’.

And I’m perfectly suited for this time of vague uneasiness and indifference.

In which case, my imagination probably needs more sociology and less a lesson in rhymes.
Piano backed narration @ https://anchor.fm/shlomotion/episodes/Emerging-Economies-e1s1a6

— The End —