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Raquie Jun 1
A man driving a semi truck down a closed highway towards thousands of kneeling peaceful protestors was not an accident.

My wife and I were there. I was absolutely overwhelmed by the love and solidarity I felt from the community as we chanted for justice—an elderly Black man with a walking cane telling me about how he’s still in the struggle for his grand babies; families honking and throwing up fists from their cars; teens dancing and singing; folks handing out water bottles and food. We marched from US Bank Stadium to the middle of highway 35W and knelt for a moment of silence for George Floyd.

As we were still on the ground, many of us kneeling and sitting, I glanced behind me to abruptly see panicking and screaming. We jumped up and dispersed with the crowd. All I could think of was finding my wife and protecting her. We clung to each other and ran as far off of the highway as we could. Within minutes, dozens of police vehicles showed up and, as we stood in shock at the edge of the highway, one vehicle needlessly sprayed us with mace. Choking and sneezing, we hopped a nearby fence to get even farther away.

As we walked down town to get to our car, already frazzled, folks kept warning us not to go down certain streets because they saw armed white supremacists waiting.

Thankfully, good friends came and gave us a ride to our car. We’re home and safe now.

I say all this to let folks know our message of justice and peace is being strategically infiltrated by white supremacists and police officers. This isn’t anything new. This has always happened throughout history. Plenty of others will confirm this has happened and is continuing to happen.

My body is tense and my system is on fire. I feel angry—yet resilient and determined. Because I know there are more people taking care of each other and working to end systems of oppression than there are people trying to incite violence and fear. And I believe that we will win.

-Joseph Micheal Davis

#BlackLivesMatter #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd
Joseph is a local playwright, actor, and poet in the Twin Cities. Today white supremacists set up the peaceful protesters to die. This will be documented by the people. So here yall go, here go the truth.
Michelle May 31
she cries in shattered glass,
in the open spaces where the dye was cast.
a world so white, so drenched in paint,
the ones now deaf once were saints.
and when the black came out to say
a counterfeit bill a jog a day-
light crime so bold so crazy
it made the streets hazy with smoke.
equality sounds a lot like a hoax
the war brushed away with nothing but Twitter
tear gas and bullets are so much fitter, bitter
is the taste of deafness upon a lost society.
abandoned, forgotten, stomped on and out
no wonder some have forgotten their law abiding piety.
white paint becomes pink
when mixed with blood.
pink is a color for little girls,
and fits perfectly with the sound of our world.
George. Ahmaud. Breonna. We love you. Rest in peace.
Earl Chase May 30
Billowing smoke fills the sky —
Evidence of our Presence,
Our tragic War Cry,
Our fight for Convalescence.

Fire is a language —
Brighter than words;
Brings more damage
& equally absurd.

Violence is a tongue —
The scream of the Unwanted —
Echoing from sore lungs;
Yet, we are not daunted.

No fear, break the gird —
Refuse to be unheard —
Fire is our Word,
Violence is our Word.
Sienna May 28
America, the land of the free
But not for you
And not for me.
America, where you can dream
In a cell all alone
Because they took the key.
America, the best country
Established with pain
From brown bodies.
America, where you can be
Anything you want
Except a minority.
America, accepting of all
Except the feathered chiefs
Who once stood tall.
America, where you get a call
To hear your black brother
Was seen as nothing at all.
America, where there’s free speech
To protest the Asians
Who are blamed for the heat.
America, where there’s guns and bombs
To get revenge on the “terrorists”
Who were sobbing to Allah.
America, a true mixing ***
And what a place
For children to be shot.
The Calm May 27
I have died a million times
Master's whip
Has left my back a million lines
Each body left broken
Connections lost
Cut a million vines
Each body left breathless
"I can't breathe" the words screamed a billion times
I die every time another black man is unjustfully executed. His stories, his family, his legacy. We're all connected.
Laura Sep 2018
We sit next to each other
In the mezzanine
Of the crowded theater
Our matching purple outfits
Far too dressy for the occasion
But who cares
We look **** good

You put your hand out
Palm up
And look at me
As I smile
My coy, giddy smile
And place my hand on top
Interlacing my fingers with yours

The lights dim
And the show starts
But you never let go of my hand
Even when it gets weird and clammy
You never pull away
Even when I snort into your shoulder
And wipe away my laughing tears
You still hold onto me
You gently stroke my arm
Your warm thumb
Against my smooth bicep
And I can't help but smile

I look over
And catch you staring
Which makes me blush
And get coy again
The mezzanine
The balcony
The floor
It all disappears
When I feel your touch
Your light touch
Just glide over my skin
I float to another dimension
When you lean over
And kiss my cheek
Only coming back
To the mezzanine
When I open my eyes
Tonight.

I saw a woman walking with earbuds in--one earbud was in--while conversing over the phone with someone. Beauty overwhelmed her mortal body. A piece of her hair had loosely fallen from the right side of her scalp, and her blonde, beach waves blew in the wind.

Behind her was a man in a coral v-neck. He had blonde hair and the body build of a high school ****. Handsome. As the woman ahead of him leisurely strolled the streets of Minneapolis in her athletic shorts, which were outlined by gray stripes and dipped up in the middle of the side of her thighs, the wind seemingly spun the ****'s face 180 degrees. His eyes were awestruck and full of alive hope, wonder, and desire. Lust. What a picture.
yung roshi Jan 2017
Light breaks through
After so many days spent with you
Cigarette burns on the sheets
Empty bottles and old needles accompanied with grief
Expelled a gust of air from my lungs
Feet fall to the floor and i felt high strung
But my heart is quite low
I can't stay here with you I need to go
Not another night
I need a smoke
A plan
A helping hand
Away from this
From you
I need a taste of my old life that I missed
Because this world has got me feeling blue
Jo Tomso Sep 2016
Beginning in 1963,
My Favorite Martian on vintage TVs
Instamatic 50s, capturing instant faces.
Elizabeth Taylor, and James D Hardy
JFK, and Magic Bullet Theory.
Go Away Little Girl,
Our Day Will Come,
Easier Said Than Done.
Surf City.

Remember that day in
St. Joseph, Missouri?
Sitting on the front porch
A boy with his guitar?
Music igniting his fire.
Lincoln Nebraska, to Minneapolis,
Where his story truly begins.

University and Limited Warranty,
Fatherhood, a family man.
Sun Shot Halo
Signal to Noise
Olivine.
Rising with caffeine.
Crispix and Bobby’s World
Little red television set
New Hope kitchenette.
Bedtime routines
Beverley Hillbillies Theme
And of course, The Hobbit!

This is the life he chose,
Chasing those music notes
Daydreaming for daylight.
This is the life he chose
Brew Pubs and Rock N Roll
Well you know, it’s just how it goes.

His hands are calloused,
Weathered, and grown.
Saving vibrations and inspirations
An hour glass inside his bones.
Steady on the Timeline
Moving Things in the right direction
From Coast to Coast.
Columbia coat and winters freeze
One last drag on a Malboro.
Surly-Furious triggering the spark
Sing it loud and let the world hear,
Like a match lighting up the dark.

Coming down to earth now,
There is a little girl
Who he inspired to be all that she could be.
Remember King Olaf?
Thumb controlled airplane rides?
Bedtime PB&J;’s, Don’t forget the crust!
Boy Bands and car rides across the map
Backyard jams and the punk scene
Kids of the black hole, those patched pants!
Mosaic window panes illuminating her soul
Like the Phoenix of Legends
She Said She Could Save the World.

Silhouettes of who she ought to be  
All Along Screaming Save Me.
So many names and faces,
For a moment the chains fell away
Fighting for control,
But he would never let go.
She’s coming back from the hits
Escaping the jail cell that once held,
Her confidence.
Passion ignites from within her bones
Waldorf mind set
Willingness to be selfless.
Social Worker,
Photographer,
Warrior;
His Daughter.

Saturday morning bike rides
Father and Daughter.
The best moments in life
Kept inside picture frames.
Northeast artist scene,
The Matchbox, 331, Dusty’s, and the Slacker
Only in Old Minneapolis.

Throwing stones into the fire,
She knew she had won because
She inherited his heart;
So step out of the blue,
I want you to know
I Love You.

This is the life we chose
Chasing those music notes
Daydreaming for daylight.
This is the life we chose
Brew Pubs and Rock N Roll
Well, you know, it’s just how it goes.

© Jo Tomso
2015 Christmas gift I wrote for my father. It describes parts of his childhood, certain words are titles to songs from his rock band, and my life growing up with him as my Dad.
TréAllen Warner Jan 2016
i walked through hollow valleys hardly filled with the death
a hooded bony structure dropped his villainous breath
i just grabbed the leaf, it was killing the stress
chained by my streets, i was feeling the mesh
death was spreading quick, kept the illness in check
hope it didn't reach me or even spill on my trek
maybe i was knew the homies walking and that they cripping
whispers slipping by, i was flipping and tripping
afraid i was next with the murderous vibes
it would fade in the depths, invade on my quest
knew i would be taken on the day of a threat
homies heavy grudging they be spraying the tec
so i can't be asleep; it's cousin wishes to slither
******, to the death, is a sinister sister
the reaper whispers in an ear, then i'm finished with triggers
rage up in the streets can finish a *****
A story of hearing about a lot of death in North Minneapolis as a North Minneapolis child.
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