Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
she                  could
she
          would have
she spoke the language
(how did she learn it?)
my mom eats a soda c r a c k e r
and looks at me bewildered:
"Huancavelica,"
she says to me
(oh they speak it there)
she could have
she would have taught you
how to speak it
she died of cancer my poor tia
tu abuelo he speaks a little
he learned it from her
and his mother, mi abuela
she told me a story when i was little
she said dogs used to speak
but they were gossips
one day god came down
fed him a piece of bread
it stuck in his throat
so he could never speak again
as punishment you see?
(then mi abuelo had his piece of bread)
why do you mean?
(the stroke it silenced him)
just for some time
(yes but he cannot share with me
the words he knows
he is far away and meek as an infant
he probably does not remember
but then again el language
it has been lost for many years)
Jack Bronson Apr 2020
The east side
The drug pushers
Pimps
And hoes
The ***** alleys ways
Grass growing up through every single nook
Crevice
And crack of the imagination

The east side
How I love you
Only there I can see a homeless black ******
Gingerly crossing the street
Only there do I see men walking
Holding their beers
Wrapped up in brown paper bags
Where the Latina girls wear large hoop earrings
Dark make-up and hair
The black girls with their red lipstick

The east side
Smelling of dirt and ****
The internal engine of the city
The cracked houses
The homeless riding electric wheelchairs in the middle of the street
The tagged walls
The abandoned houses
The sign throwing
The shootings
The stabbings
The killings

The east side
Don’t ever change
I need you
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
Does our Hello-Poetry website
enable poets
from all around the world
to read each other’s poetry
and develop cross-cultural understanding
thereby facilitating global peace?
Arisa Mar 2019
I don't mind when white people wear

cat ears.
seifuku.
kimono.
kanji slapped on shirts.
(even if they don't know what it means)

Culture can be an aesthetic.
Just as long as they appreciate it,
We're friends.
I don't care about people wearing Japan as long as they respect the culture and control their enthusiasm.
Elena Jan 2019
I think love is what we need in the world.
We needed it so badly we created it. Then we fought over it. And we corrupted it. It even became a disease. Until we found it had a medicinal effect. It could heal.

Love seeps into the ground where we bury it. The decay leaves traces of it. So is love also in death? Love is powerful indeed.

If love can find its way in life and death, it must not be mortal like us. Perhaps we can call it Divine. It must be what we see when we look up to the sky.

That’s why we describe it in so many ways. It flows like the blood in our veins. And when we no longer have the strength in our heart, it becomes the soul of our own.
It is not wrong to be white
and to have dreadlocks
Though,
you may look like a pleb
but you offend me not
Nor would it offend
a black rastafarian man
of a temperate manner

I don't know any women
with white skin and
straight hair that get offended
by afro-caribbean women
wearing a straight weave
You're all just too soft now,
you're all just pet peaves

Stop getting offended
on behalf of other people
that don't even take offence
Excuse me,
whilst I build a fence
around myself hombre
Not to keep me here
but to keep you at bay

Cultural appropriation
doesn't exist
Cultural misappropriation
doesn't exist
You're all just
champagne socialists
You should get over it

Yes, you mate
The one that thinks
he's above
everyone
and must decide what is
politically correct
and whose life matters

In the end all this is
is a series of cultural
exchanges and we're
all wading through ****

Face it.
A bit of salty food for thought.
A city abroad. A long way from home. New country to new home.
And the universe gave birth to the one body a second time.
These pavements have never been walked upon by the little feet of Vietnam.
Pavements walked by many; yet the feeling is so refreshing.
A Street she will never walk down, decisions she will never make.
As irrelevant as it may seem, no matter how pointless our existence may be.
A human can wonder, and wander.
A human. That is all I am, and that is all I will be.
Nothing we do makes a difference in the great scheme of things.
As we are a speck in the history of a universe that is billions of years old
this poem was extracted from a short story I had written from an English assessment I submitted for a creative task. The task was to write a minimum of 1700 words about an experience of cultural difference and power structure. There are two more parts and I will be posting them straight after this is posted please read them also. These poems are of the character 'Minnie Ngyuen's' own work. Minnie would like to share with you her experiences
Next page