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You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face,
You're no mime.
But every March,
Millions
Dress in green,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get drunk, some must disgracefully:
Because that's what the Irish do, think they.
Is it tasteful to wear a yarmulke for Yom Kippur,
A burka on Eid al-Adha,
And join the parade down Fifth Avenue?
Not.
Sliante
Don't know why the world thinks the Irish are drunkards. I go to Ireland every year, and the only drunks I see are North Americans, whites and blacks, ****, straights and all others not mentioned.  Even the phrase "Paddy Wagon" is an ethnic slur.
Elijah Bowen Apr 1
hate sings a love song,
blithe, pretty, little tune
in honor of its heritage.
hate sings sweetly, a song
of marches and hangings,
of ghettos and slavery
it hums admiration for its people.
it sings of this land.
the majestic peaks and playful meadows.
it sings, with love, of blood-drenched cotton and  
trenches adorned with crooked bodies.
it sings of its forefathers-  
the conquistadors and pioneers.
saintly butchers and child rapists.
hate paints it’s history holier than the Sistine Chapel,  
singing blindly like a hymn.

hate sings a love song,  
possessive and vicious.  
it scrawls the lyrics on
subway walls and sycamore trees.
it sings in symbols and metaphors,
accompanied by the beat of temple gunshots and kicks to the ribcage.
hate sings through the pulpit and the pew,
clipping it’s verses from a holy book,
it sways to the rhythm of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs”

hate breathes down my neck and yours,
knocking door to door,  
bearing music with a message,  
it weeds out the undesirables one by one.
for the greater good,
hate tortures children therapeutically,
and executes those presumed guilty.
it erases generations
in concrete rooms  
and in the bellies of ships.  
it explodes homes,
smashes panes of glass,
and burns every convenient symbolism.
hate roves and rages and spits and howls,
singing the song of a beautiful future.
Jonathan Moya Mar 28
Being black in Japan
means you have more white spaces
on the day-night trains.

The darkness of U.S.
allows yellow jaundice to
shine its rising sun.

Empty seats allow
black thoughts to make room for small
breezes of knowledge.

That Ainu minstrels
shouldn’t be doing Doo-***
on Nippon TV.

That the jet blackness
of Naomi Osaka
not be a shade light.

That the Shogun kept
no black slaves be an excuse
for all other ones.

That racist white face
teaching black black face hatred
is not a shoeshine.

That racism is a
presumption and is not a
a very good gene.
Once said
A wee whisper
A mere seedling
Broadcast into
A harvest of hate
A bullhorn of bull
Once weeded out
But not eradicate
Muffled
But not silenced

The harvest is back
Verdant fields of lie’s
Grow wild among us
Words of hate printed out
Pressing on the impressionable
Tearing down tolerance
Breaking down brotherhood
Building up walls of isolation  
Closing doors to sanctuary
We MUST head off hate
Tear down those walls
of ignorance
Blow open the doors to wisdom
Smear the words of war
And SCREAM...
NEVER EVER AGAIN!!!
There's no defence for Bigotry,
And Artistry seeks no defence -
That is the difference right there:

If you see the Art and shrug,
Or you believe the Hate and nod,
Though the same words are being said,

Then you haven't got it by now
And the chance is you never will -
And this poem is a waste of time.

Its my poem and I'm calling it,
It's your call and you live with it -
Are you Hate, or Light in the Dark?
Francie Lynch Jan 25
I was born.
I was born male.
I was born white male.
I was born white, male Caucasian.
I was born white, male Caucasian in a Republic.
I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic.
I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic,
     in a large, loving family.

I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic,
     in a large loving family, and I'll never work as a talking head.
Why, tell me, do all the others have all the luck.
Yenson Jan 20
History of  the before teaches nothing
Civilization is mere normalization adorned
they are the self-appointed Olympians demigods
the pigment-less errants who ran down albino way
to learn from the rebellious Angel his innovative styles

Anointed souls who stayed in the Kingdom of Truth
blessed and sheltered under the light of the True Living King
imbued piously with messages of love unity and salvation for all
are mere weakened fools seeking peace denying heady excitement
for there's power, lust, riches, fame fortune and control to be found

Hence they divided and assigned varying colours
In rebellious mischief call the devoted black in my honour
ordains the leader of Rebels intoxicated in banishment and sin
my fellow ****** followers adorned yourselves as white doves
you will learn great evil, wickedness, bloodlust and utter destruction

We are the masters, the Controllers, there is no God
go forth and populate, ravage and plunder take as you please
subjugate and deceive, lie and **** and drink their blood in victory
fallen from Grace let's go befall woe, pestilence, miseries destruction
In God's made Kingdom we and our children will rule with no mercy

The spawns who know more than God take control
all four corners of the earth sowing fear discontent and discords
hatred, injustices, bloodshed, sorrow, pain abominations galore
thieves and cut-throats merchants in white masks they shower terror
History of the before teaches nothing, the demigods rules
congratulations, let's keep it up. Let's keep on messing things up, we are the civilised Race and we know all there is to know. It's cool to be wicked and cruel, it's cool to cause pain and suffering whenever and wherever we are. Anarchy rule OK...
When people judge you harshly
Never judge them back
For the degree and measurement they have used to judge you by
Shall be the degree and measurement
Which shall be used when their judgement time arrives
Therefore don't worry about what people think or say
Why tire yourself about something you have no control over
Their words are likened to leaves blowing in the wind
Such people shall be trapped by their own words
And they have determined their own fate
The more stones such people throw
The more stones they shall reap
A harvest of stones
You reap what you throw
Written by Sean Achilleos 08 January 2019©
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
Sean Achilleos' Music is available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube, Jango Radio, Nicovideo (Japan), IQIYI (China) and YOUKU (China)

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is obtainable from the following platforms:
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Amoy Feb 2018
Midnight!
Midnight!
Midnight!

The burning sensation of those word were hard to digest
Sorrow, Tear, How **** can I be
Black is Beauty I say…to whom they say

Midnight! Midnight!.. you are as dark as Midnight
I'm haunted by those words, As they stuck to me like fresh sap from a tree..
I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I can’t get free, those words will forever trail me..

They trailed me; they jarred me, Blackie Tutu! Blackie Tutu!
How can kids be so cruel using skin color as a tool
I held my own and stayed cool for I knew has long I was in this school my fate was doom.

Pickey-Pickey head! was the melody of the song
I listened allowing the word to sink into my soul
The beat made me sick and I knew this one would also stick
I Looked up to the sky wondering why
No! No! No! Woman don’t cry
Be an African and hold your pride…

Hands by my side, I held my head up high
I found the fight within me, Stone faced Killer bee
I faced the music and it set me free
On the attack I had them flee…using word to conquer thee
I carried on knowing freedom wasn’t free and then
Like bolt of lightning it occurred me  
To defeat them I had to BELIEVE in ME
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