The south was dark and dangerous in. 1954
The Klan called in the darkness
as fear hung from the night like spiders webs.

In the woodland by kitty Gains farm
alongside the perfume of corn and wheat
and the staccato chirping of hot august cicadas
stood the hemlock tree scared and black at its base
where its bark would never refresh its color
the hanging tree became the burning tree.

Molly Evans and her husband Abel arrived first.
The ten year old Chevy truck
pulled into the clearing
she held a basket
covered by a clean laundered tea towel.

Abel spread the old wool blanket
as she served his dinner fried chicken and corn.
With two cups of homemade lemonade.
The sun was low and the sky had a fire in it
as if by duty the mosquitos started to bite.

Abel slapped his arm
leaving a crushed insect and a patch of blood.
Damned hitch he shouted
as Molly chastised him
language she churns God is listening.

Soon the field was full of vehicles a caddy a ford woody
trucks cars as big as football fields
nothing newer than 8 years old.
Men were drinking beer
ladies chatted of knitting and quilting
and harvest dancing socials.

It was then that jubels old beat up truck arrived.
In the back a big black man
his hands tied behind his back
kneeling in the truck bed.
one eye closed and bruised
his face beaten bloody.

The crowd fell to silence
yet an excitement filled the air it was palatable.
You could taste the bloodlust
as good as the fried chicken.

the big black man had arms with muscles
. Like a football
he could carry huge sacks of produce all day never tiring.
But no more they would show
what happens to uppity blacks
that lust after white women.

He was accused by Lilly Taylor
of trying to rape her.
it was untrue he spurned her advances
he was married to Lisa his wife
and never ever did anything to her.
It was well known Lilly's husband
Seth drank moonshine until he could not walk
never mind fill his husbandry duties at home.

But lily was white and he was black in 1954
They watched as the truck parked
under the tall stout branches of the hemlock.
The rope hung down
and was measured his toes would tantalizingly
touch the ground as he choked on the noose.
it would keep him alive for minutes

rapist don't get mercy here
they would know what to expect in this county.
The man who put the noose
Over his head was Marty Shue
the local bar owner
and his two assistants
were the the barber and the feed company owner.

Even the pillow cases they wore over their heads
with eye holes burned in them
could not hide their identities.
The barber poured a can of gasoline
over the black man
he begged don't burn my oh god no.

He had given up the hope of life
he was just  terrified of being burnt.
The begging went unheard
as the truck moved away slowly
the man fell from its bed
and dangled in the air
his toes dancing on the floor
gasping and choking for five minute.

then using his lighter
the feed company owner
Lit the black man.
He screeched an unholy sound
as the flames burnt him to death.

Across the hill in the shanty town
where the blacks lived.
the old lady looked at the lighted sky
in the trees

in her eyes a small boy
could see the flaming man
hanging burning dying.

Its your daddy son
he's at peace now let him be.
But the flames burned a memory
in his eyes.
and his mouth was dry tasting of death
and a new taste
that he had never felt before revenge.

The boy was 24
a big man now
his arms strong muscular he stood 6ft 5
And 220 pounds

next to him in the old car
sat another black man slight and almost pretty
he has gay written all over him.
His relationship with Virgil was unknown.
just they were close
they were friends.

They arrived at Marty's bar
in the late afternoon
it was still a filthy relic of the postwar south.
The no niggers served sign
still hung faded and in defiance
to the new laws.

The light colored slight man
rattled the sticking door of the bar.
The three men were watching a wrestling match
on a beat up tv
Drinking beer.

He said to Marty I would like a beer please
You don't Get one in here boy
there's a black bar down the road a ways.
But I want one here he saId softly

Marty short of his usual millimeter of patience
picked up his huge louisville slugger bat
and said when I say go boy you fucking well go.
Hear me.

The feed store owner had a gun
hidden in his coat
the barber a long hunting knife in his belt.
The bat raised above his head
as Marty lurched forward

he tried to stop when he saw the glock
in the black man's hand.
it basted his kneecaps to pieces.
as Marty screeched as he hit the floor.

The feed company owner took the chance
to pull out his weapon a 45
he had had since a boy.
It never reached waist high
as the bullets blow his manhood away
and he cradled writhing on the floor

the barber tried to run for the door
but bullets blasted his feet
as the foot bones crumbled

Virgill came in he had a can of gasoline
drenching the men with it
they screamed don't burn us
why you doin this to us we are good men.

Do you remember August 28 1954
They went quiet
The nigger you hung and burned

Yes I am sorry Marty wept
I was young and stupid.

It was my daddy
said Virgil softly I see him every day.
He talked of the thin membrane that.
Separated the living and the dead

of the places where it was so thin
you could hear the demands of the dead
for forgiveness and love
and the loudest of all for justice.

I hear my daddy in my sleep
in my dreams in my soul.
The gas can was empty.

As he grew a cigarette on Marty
his body ablaze in the whoosh of the fire
then the other two .
The place was engulfed in screams and flames.

They drove slowly
within all speed limits
passing the state lines one by one.

They never found out
who murdered three men in Marty's bar.
They had no underworld connections
and all three were fine upstanding
members of the local church
and well respected
members of the community.
it was a mystery.

The end

History cannot be rewritten
It is what it is

I've never hated one as much, as I thought I hated you.
For all that wicked shit you did, and hell you put me through.
I snuck into your room one night, and tried to take your life,
but then I lost my way and then I fucking dropped the knife.

I don't know how I'm feeling now, I don't know what I think.
I want to watch you die here, but instead I'll have a drink.
When my head is filled with fog, maybe I'll try it then?
Or will I lose my nerve, and just fuck it up again?

I saw you when you woke up and you looked and smiled at me.
But I still fucking hate you and I want to watch you bleed.

But worst of all, I hate myself because I love you too.
Even after all that hell you fucking put me through.

starchild Jan 10

aisle upon aisle
looking just for a few groceries
then it hits me
graham crackers
your favorite.
i grab a box,
leave all of my other items
in my cart,
and check out.
i drove to the lake
and fed every last cracker
to those annoying birds
you always hated.

The way, she did to me
Is the way I did to her
The way, where hearts broke
The way,
I will never return to

The way where
Sun used to long last
The days spent in the past
Still, when thy feeling arises
My day neither sets, nor rises

Poets frankly speaks about an injury he inflicted to his beloved to take revenge.


Breathe deep
Seethe, weep
Hear plea
Fear me

Cry all day
Try null way
Hope and pray
Still, you'll lay

Never  escape
Black is my cape
Attempts futile
I will still kill

Think in just a blink
Now you're in the brink
I'm coming to you
Your nightmares come true

See you shaking, breaking
Hear you pleading, begging
Dying as I'm taking
Strip you of everything

You're right, in sight is the bitch
Think you can just hitch and ditch
Slowly stepping towards you
Let me give you a clue--- BOO!

Now I'm here, clear for you to see
Bend all you want on both your knee
A mischievous smile on my face
Triumphant wail in this closed case.

I sometimes Think to the air

As if... a Goddess were there

Cut my strings

Clip my wings

Carve my heart

To throw into the Wind

To set Her path of Revenge

Mrs Robota Jan 4

I watched crimson dance on top of sapphires
Surrounded by moths
I begged forgiveness within their bars
Sent out a prayer for a savior
In return I received a mocking smile
As they took you away from me
In your death I was birthed
I bargained the flames of the raven
To burn the moths
I watched sapphires dance on top of crimson

I’m not who I claim to be
Few can see the chains I drag about
Still, they follow my lead
I’m wired into a new era of empowerment
Where I play the queen accordingly
Taking back control of the world
Reaching for what I want
That which rightfully belongs to me

I don’t know how to fix the mess they made
I can’t reset the past
I can only move forward along a twisted path
Abandoning all the answers
To watch them choke on the feathers they wanted desperately
One day you will understand
And maybe you will accept my apology
But I won’t rest till I get back what they took
I’m searching for that which rightfully belongs to me

No it wasn't not love
No our story was not like a love story
Cause you destroyed me completely
And now I'm working hard for my turn
To do the same with you.

CeilingStar Dec 2017

The Black Queen rules
Great and terrible
She manipulates fear and loathing
She injects it into her people like morphine
Seeping into the cracks of broken hearts, damaged souls, weakened minds

She is ruthless like the sword of a merciless knight
She is the clenched fist that grips the stiff iron blade
The mocking gleam as it cleaves innocent
She is the panic of control, the dark of the night, the love of hate

She is the man who watches his family die
The mercenary who was made to do it
The King that ordered the bakers family to die on account of his wife choking
Misleading and taunting and tempting

She is what brings down kingdoms, worlds, people
She is the mold that rots the roots of a  family tree
Her poison runs thicker than blood

The Black Queen does not forgive
She will never release you from her guiles
She is most of all, a trickster
And like a trickster she hides her true colours under a black veil
So that when you are taking your last breath
You will know
To have vengeance is blood
And blood is red
Not black

Sanny Dec 2017

I've been shot by a hundred bullets.
I've been kicked to the ground.
Left to bleed out.

But I've been in training.

I can hear your bullets from miles away.
Kick me and I'll kick harder.
Try to knock me down and I'll knock you out.

There's nothing left to bleed.

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