Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Donna Bella Apr 2015
Blood splatters
White devil
Black angel
Killed by the devil
Debatable sentence
Death sentence or a couple of years?
Killed a brother
But it's debatable
If our brother got a death sentence and 8 shots in the back
It's only right if you get a death sentence
Can the government protect our brothers and our sisters?
AmeriKKKa government can not protect us because it was not made for us
But we can change that
We have to keep on fighting
We have to keep on protesting
We have to keep on studying
We have to get in the office
We have to get these law degrees
We have to become governors
We have to win
Because we've been losing
We've gotten so far
But not that far
I wrote this poem April 8, I was waiting to decide if I was going to pose it but this is the right time. I'm praying for Baltimore tonight
Frecky Rosa Mar 2015
6"4 Vs 6"4.
Arms Vs Hands.

Stole cigarettes.
Being Black was his crime.

Justice was colorblind.
The color of a White bruise appeared
redder than the blood of a Black body.

Dear Humans, what color did you see?
Brittany Wynn Nov 2014
We enter the church and immediately
have to push through two dozen sobbing Italian women
dabbing dry eyes; their tissues only show
black and multi-colored smears. Amid the echoing
“Oh my Goawd”s, they lean down and kiss my sister’s cheeks,
but even in my best black cap sleeves, I am the taboo
to my cousin Janet, a woman as barren as the stone lot
in between her husband’s restaurant and Deihl’s Autoshop.

We find an empty pew, and watch as the men
stride down the aisle, contestants
in a cultural Miss America pageant where the wrong answer
gets you whacked. Their heavy brows
sink in condolence as they hand over stacks of bills,
every hundred becoming a pity penny
for all the moments Janet lost in her luxury-life
made shiny by diamonds and cars and fur coats
which can’t be cashed in for a second chance at a family.

The men have paid for the food, the china, the band
in the corner meant to fill the space of sadness—
a reminder that we live a lavish life.
My sister shifts in her seat and as a man walks
by she touches his jacket, and gasps.
He’s a god.
(edited)
Sally A Bayan Jan 2015
This morning was cold and a foggy one.
It reminded me of a past colder morning,
When the holiday hustle and bustle had just ended.
I was here....at Windwood Park,
My arms squeezed across my chest.
While briskly I walked, a strong wind blew
And by me, a flock of black birds flew...

I passed along house gardens, with Christmas trees,
With angels and stars on their tops still lighted.
Further on was a row of evergreens,
Upright, unaffected by the cold December winds,
High above the Magnolias and Hollies.
Beside the orange-purplish Birds of Paradise
Stood two smaller, obliquely grown pine trees;
Leaning, but undaunted by the sway of the winds,
No angels, or stars to show....instead, I watched as
The Crows approached, and on the tree tops, they alighted...
And then came another group of three,
And then several more followed suit,
And settled
On the nearby trees,
Blurring the tree line...until
The treetops were darkly shaded....

High above, they perch...on the grass, they search,
On the streets, they cross, pick up food, doing
What birds of the same feathers do---to survive...
A group of beaked, footed, dark crescent creatures
On top of those trees, so green with life,
Against a sky pleasantly clear and blue...
The contrasts, the events I witnessed, lingered with the cold...
A small patch of darkness...emerging,
Widening, prevailing, gaining power,
Can eventually conquer a whole world.

The White Egrets, Herons, the Finch,
The Bluebirds, Junkos and the Parrots
Usually grace Windwood Park with their presence...
Only the Blue Jay was brave enough that cold morning,
While a large number of Crows scattered,
And bravely, skillfully scavenged,
Through the wet, verdant grass,
Through the tall cans of thrash...

This morning, the cold brought back these events...and
I thought of the violence and starvation existing in places worldwide,
The prevailing restlessness, the senseless killings...the children....
No more concern for human lives...and
I thought of Nigeria...
And Pakistan,
And Paris, France,
And those that happened before them,
And those that are about to happen...

Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


...we never know what we may witness when we step out of our
   comfort zones...
*Just a flash of a thought....I have nothing against these persistent birds.
  I watch the urban Crows everyday, as they fearlessly do their scavenging, with or without  people around. They even come to our doorway. They are not afraid...*
Meenu Syriac Sep 2014
Dying thoughts of a mind lost in pace,
Stars on a dark night, silent whispers in play,
Embers of a life, all that is left of the chaos, deranged.
Heartless words of a world consumed with hate,
Shadows singing a serenade,
Did the fire burn your soul away?

Hiding behind the lie of life's enduring "honor",
Pride and dignity, a mask of ignorance, a veil for the society ,
Listen to the song, the children, they sing.
Protect your honor, but have you lost all sense of humanity?
Sacrifice morality, much prized possession lies in wait,
What about brotherhood, has the greed, yet, consumed your honesty?

Listen to the song, the children, they sing,
Hear it fade with the sound of the world outside,
Hear it no more, lost to the noise of our souls enslaved.
©Meenu Syriac

— The End —