There's a town north of the Jacket's place.
In the heart of central western PA.
Where the horses run free.
And there ain't a trace of the big city.

Some people say they're old-fashioned.
The ones living in that nation.
But who calls that home won't complain.
They're happy in Colt's country.

Barbecued ribs best in the county made by aunt Don.
Falling in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Watching the big play with the gang.
{hoping that the boys win the game}

Staying forever young.
Believing in the word of God.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.

Picnic on Sunday down at Danielle's farm.
Kyle and Matthew show up showing their big arms.
They're leading the team to another victory season.
And when you ask them about it they thank god and one more reason.

That they've been brought up in this nation.
Of the white and blue.
Staying true to Colt's nation.

Touchdown thrown by number 43 Tom.
Watching my hero wide receiver Ron.
Hoping our season goes out with a big bang.
{the boys winning the championship game}

Staying forever young.
Believing in the faith passed along.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.

Now I've been gone for so long.
Years have passed and the memories still living on.
I won't forget sitting in the bleachers.
Cheering on them men, who made the halls of my high school.

Now Tom went on to the military.
It was his dream even if it meant risking his life.
Kyle started teaching at the local school.
And Matthew now plays in the pro bowl.

As for Ron, well he went to Penn State.
Never played again, gave it all up for me.

The chills you get where you hear the school's song.
Still in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Walking in the funeral procession with the gang.
{hoping that Tom knows we'll always remember his name}

Staying forever young.
Believing in this town.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it remembering.
And making memories in Colt's country.
They say truth and justice
are the American way

Yet some times, those 2 goddesses
aren't given their due respect

As truth by her high attribute
of honesty and integrity
has become highly offensive

And justice is rarely ever seen
after holding those scales
weighing the good and  bad
Katelynn Mar 7
the smell of fresh beans
fills by dreams
beckons me forth to my culture, to my people
acceptance is key, but I'm rejected by the world
simply because I don't fit the stereotype
rejected by my people because I don't speak their language

engraved in my heart are the traditions and beliefs of my people
but my body betrays me
I am Mexican
I am American
but the world makes me choose one
because I don't look the way I'm supposed to
In March 2001, Melania granted green card
   asper elite EB-1 program
intended for renowned academic researchers,
   multinational business executives
   (linkedin with Uncle SAM)

or those in other fields, such as
   Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors,
   who demonstrated
   “sustained national and international acclaim”, when (FAKE trophy wife)...
   besieged with WHAM!

The Don whips to defense of
   (legal residency status),
   sans his third wife
imbroglio finds the president flat footed
   regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife,
where details concerning former
   in vogue Slovak model now cushy life

challenging her right to live in The United States,
   the most Democratic nation
plus concomitant abrogation
   afforded robber Baroness admission

   dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION,
where sentiment underscored verbatim
   "Some people come in,
   and they bring their whole family with them,
   who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!”

The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet,
hence quoted with poetic license,
   a prime example how two
   (or more faced) president didst react to un seat
fairness, which November twitter

   allowing parents with bearhug he did greet
   legal residency of her parents,
   Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite
   who received figurative green light
   despite riding piggyback
   Nsync with military beat

ting back pesky atop flimsy green card,
   the freedom appetite got whet
scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set
tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet

files, particularly equality
   for those skeined alive in the DACA net
ready to boot innocent offspring
   of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!
Emily Miller Mar 1
This is a love letter
To the African-American community.
Black, if you wish,
Or simply “neighbor”.
To the African-American community-
My people would not be here if it were not for you.
Here as in alive,
Not as in the states,
Because we came to the states to be alive,
Something that would not have been possible back home,
But you helped us stay that way,
When our trades were not accepted
By soft-palmed,
People of the US.
When we came here to escape death and oppression,
We were welcomed not by the blonde-haired, blue-eyed people we saw in the advertisements from the war,
We did not step off of the boat and into the arms of the benevolent angels we had heard of,
We came to America and found you.
African-American community,
At the time,
You hardly had a home to give,
And yet you offered it to us when we had none.
Your culture was ravaged by war and slavery,
And yet you encouraged us to preserve our’s.
African-American community,
My people came here with no English and no education,
And to the residents here,
The two are synonymous.
My family,
Though skilled in trades handed down by generations of people in our tribe,
Father to son,
And mother to daughter,
Our traditions were passed down,
But when we arrived in the new world,
We were like babes in arm,
Hardly knowing how to walk.
African-American community,
This is a thank you,
For taking my people by the hand and pressing their fingers into the soil,
Teaching us how to coax life out of it.
Teaching us how to translate our language of terracing in the mountains
To sowing in the fields,
When none would take us for work,
Season after season
Of my family hushing the mother language off the tongues of our children
So that they would sound less foreign,
More American,
Black community,
You taught my family how to prepare for a blistering Texas heat,
When they were built to withstand an Eastern chill.
Black community,
You showed my people what it was like
To build a life from the ground,
The strange,
American ground,
You took my people and led them out of the darkness of oppression and corruption
And into the light of the real American dream,
The one where people who have been beaten into the earth can rise up like a Phoenix.
Black community,
You showed us what to do with the dirt and the sandy loam
Until we built upon it churches,
Harvested from it sustenance,
And within it,
Buried our dead.
Black community,
This is a love letter,
Because love is the only reason I can think of
As to why you had mercy on my battered, broken people,
Accepting our calloused hands in thanks,
As we had nothing else to offer.
This is a thank you,
From the small, inconsequential non-natives,
Round and sturdy,
And the savage language with unfamiliar roots,
From my people,
With un-American eyes,
Coal-black and slanted,
Thank you,
On behalf of my ancestors for the actions of your’s,
Thank you.
Your people were not the ones that struck the beads and herbs from our hair,
Snatched the language from our lips,
And took the ribbons tied to our shoulders and wrapped them ‘round our throats,
Choking the accent out of our mouths,
That was not you.
Within God’s walls,
Moj Boze,
Ti Bok,
The ones built on the ground you brought us to,
We are told not to condemn the descendants of those who hurt us,
But to praise that of those who did not.
So here I am,
Writing you a love letter
Because all I have to offer
Is my thanks.
My people,
Though Americanized
And void of the language and traditions that they were told to abandon,
Stand strong today,
And I,
A woman,
Just as stout and ungraceful as the tribe that bore me,
I am educated.
I not only learn English,
But I master it.
I earn my money and I keep it,
No man takes it from me,
Or refuses to sell me land because I am unmarried,
No government can remove me
And thrust me into a camp
Or a foreign country where I will not be a bother,
And although my people have been stripped of their name and placed under the color-coded category of person
On the spectrum that everyone seems to abide by,
Stood by us.
Thank you.
we heard
there’s a rumor of war,
and there’s nowhere to

we killed
those Floridian kids
to make room for
our guns;

we shrugged
when we noticed the graves
overflow with our

we can
get used to anything—
like a school slick with

we will
destruct according to
the Devil’s bargain we’ve
Guns are not greater than kids' lives.
don't be my green light.
don't be the daisy to my gatsby.
don't be my dream,
my unattainable dream.
K F Feb 17
Brown jacket, chase it up the rocks.
Afraid to slip on the moss and fly without wings down the side.
Or is it lichen?
There's the sea, or bay or ocean.
It's salty, that's certain from the taste of the air.
Back down the hill through wet trees.
Everything is wet.
It's misting ice.
And radiating grey.
Chase the jacket, don't get lost.
Chase the
Wet haird and feeling wild, thoughts are finally scattered
and it feels like we're alive.
Leena Feb 2
Different by color
But the same inside
Always kept separated

Making my rebellion
To those who say they own me
Because I am not property

Everyday is a fight
Working for no money
Night and day

Family torn apart
Whipping for trying to run
One day I will be free

Invisible and forgotten
By those who are above us
Nothing but a waste of their money when we're free

Those who treat us as equal
Are the ones who freed us from this terrible life
Are our saviors forever

Some of us will never find our family
We will adopt the children torn from their families
We are free without knowing our rights
So are we truly free
I wrote this when we were learning about African American history
Mike D Jan 31
The American Dream
Ain’t what it seems
People getting too extreme
A mind to find
A soul to clean
Return this nightmare to a dream

Volcanic magma pressed and squeezed
An active shooter seventeen
Makes no sense just want to scream
An endless loop
Repeating scene

Splitting in half a tangerine
There’s nothing but a pit between
Yes and no
Rich and lean
Black and white
Arid or steam

Making assumptions sight unseen
Like orders from a King or Queen
Think everything is so pristine
Knowledge they lack
Insight that’s keen

Our royals without pedigree
Or role call marked as absentee
No ballot offers guarantee
Told fortunes once they're history

An overbearing sweat machine
All hope is lost; We can not win
Those without morals can't achieve
Defining values
Make decrees

Power’s addiction we must ween
Attacking virus ruptures spleen
The hopes of rabbit’s velveteen
With view obstructed
Sight unseen

We reach the mountain’s apogee
And swan dive head first faithfully
From depths the screams of a banshee
Clueless of ties knotted bungee

Of welcome sight the bumblebee
Or perfect spin on a Frisbee
Shackles removed from detainee
Inspired thoughts are young and free

A finish marred brought to a sheen
Raised heads above the evergreens
Protect thin skin using sunscreen
Mud washed away
Re-birthed and clean

Dark shadows able to be seen
Permitted filters
Not of screens
A counterpoint
That isn't mean
Working together as a team
Written: January 29, 2018

All rights reserved.
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