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showyoulove Jul 2017
The knowledge of God is like a mustard seed: tiny at first, yet it grows so tall
It takes time and love, faith and joy above all.
Spiritual growth is a journey; dangerous yet rewarding.
Each time we step, we grow a bit. Someday, on eagles’ wings, we’ll be soaring.
But we can’t do it alone. We need the one up above
And no matter what we do, he is looking down in love.
Walking with us in the good times and carrying us in the bad,
I look to the Lord as my brother, friend, and dad.
If we have the smallest bit of faith and find good water, soil, and light
We can take root and one day be a shelter for many in flight
With tenderness and care with patience and with peace
For one so small there is so much potential for growth and increase
See what God can do with so little and make it so grand
It’s astounding to image for you and me what God has planned

We live in a world where bad things and evil walk among the good and just
Sometimes the weeds and thorns choke out the good wheat
Other times, they grow together, wrap and intertwine and to pull out the **** is to **** the wheat
Jesus, you speak in parables to try and make the message more relateable, more easily grasped.
You also warn and remind us to repent and to be careful that we are not caught up in the temptations and wiles of this earthly life. Help us Lord to be open to your voice, to hear your word, and inter the message in our hearts and in our lives. May our eyes, ears, heart and mind be open and receptive soil to see, hear, love, and understand your love and truth. You are the Way to the Father, the Spirit of Truth and Light, and the giver of Eternal Life. Grant, we beseech you, faith and understanding the size of a mustard seed that we may grow in wisdom and stature before God and man and be a refuge for all those in need. We ask this and all things in your Most Holy Name, Jesus. AMEN
Josh Jul 2017
See them rising now, oh England
Heroes of our causes, past and now
Rising, as one, to defend
This beloved democracy of ours
See Britons of all colour, creed, and race
United under one banner, if not one face
To fight the injustice and tyranny
Both perpetuated by, and visited upon, you, and me
Are we not a nation of all values?
United, as a kingdom, in that we are free
Not all the same, how boring it would be
And where in freedom and democracy, is it stated we accept bigotry?
No racism, or slander, shall we have, not in our fair Britain, are you mad?
We are built of all peoples, from all places
A varied hand, to win the long game, is surely better than all early aces
We claimed we wanted freedom, separation
Proclaimed it "the people's liberation"
Yet how can we be trusted? I ask, when we cannot complete one simple task
To love all others no matter their skin
Nor creed, or where their story did begin
Think sadly of the many who are dead
Because we cannot get it into our head
That people, no matter their race, or religion, are certainly, not, better off dead
Young, impetuous souls, raised, often, with the prejudice of old
Do commit a new atrocity, because they cling to age old tyranny
We cannot accept those, other, than ourselves
We cannot learn, are we stone?
Oh no, but stubborn *****, to the bone
But stubbornness is no excuse for hate, if you cannot go with progress, and tolerance
Simply, move out of the way
For ****'s sake, we can barely cope
When someone wears the wrong style of coat
Without offering jibes or mockery
Oh what pitiful wretches, are we?
We, who disdain our own species and kin
All for what? Their language? Their love? The colour of their skin?
I cannot bear the thought, of such regression
To times of such barbarism and repression
Look now, oh, England, to our ranks of rising warriors, see how they are all different?
They are all, unique, to be sure
Yet are united, in a common cause
To rid the country that we love so dear
Of all the bigotry and tyranny and fear
That makes living, so hard, for so many
I ask, racists, bigots, what's the point?
Is there truly any?
Allow a rational person to answer, on your stead, and likely hit the nail on the head
The answer is no, there is not any
But cruelty and evil, I weep for man
For we are supposed to be enlightened, and so much more
Yet we seem not such, for even the worms, or the birds that prey upon them, do not hate, and **** for their uniqueness
So are we truly worthy to say we are, the greatest race on earth?
When we cannot put decency first
Over hatred of those different
Our own base evilness is an affront
To the DNA that grew to be, or so it thought a more evolved form, Is it truly we?
For it seems to me, that we are only truly advanced, in physiology
Our minds seem too small to comprehend, that in our universe, almost without end, there may be, many, vastly, different from we
Look again, oh England, to our heroes rising up, black, white, Latino, Greek, they are no different to you, or me
All came to seek, or were born, free
Their lives taken by human cruelty
I say, nay, I call, I do implore you to open up your door, see the world around you now, and help, not hinder, do you ask how?
Simply, be decent, lend a hand, accept, not, casual bigotry, take a stand
Be a shield, for those who need you
At the core I'm asking you to be human, give a ****
If you see harassment, don't walk by, help your fellow human, justice outcry
If you think rationally, you will see
I do surely ask no more than can be
Expected of any of humanity, fight so that all others may be free
I ask, specifically, the opponents of such, camaraderie, racists, bigots, whomever you may be, why do you protest equality?
Do you think, the colour of your skin, gives you some pedigree? Or immunity to sin?
Do you feel you are more deserving of the world than those who are different? Do you suppose you are superior? You ****** fools
Can you not use humanity's most basic tools?
Love, compassion, these things are given to share, not hoard, you unkind few, fear, for no good reason, those different than you
So, I suppose I'm asking you to say, why you feel the need to be this way, but don't tell me
Admit it to yourself, in stark daylight
And see if it holds the same weight and conviction as it does in dark midnight
When shadows hide your own deep prejudice, your weakness, tell me, what is this?
But a call to wake up and accept the truth, that you are the playground bully of your youth
You bully and hurt someone for who they are, how can we say, humanity has come so far?
If you are as much a racist as someone from centuries back
You cannot accept that we, are moving on
Sad, little, inconsequential, close minded man
Or woman, sadly racism does span, and spread, even to those who were, and are still themselves oppressed, racism is not born, it is deeply, an
and hatefully, bred
To hate our kin, although we all bleed red
Lo, since our fateful vote, I have seen too many, too many, jump aboard the boat
And lay the blame for all our country's woes, upon our, oft, ill chosen foes
We lay the bitter fruit of our own follies, at the feet of those, we already mistreat
And expect, that they will sup on bitter unjust fruit, and thank us as they choke on the juice
The fruit of our evil labours against, progress, and those people we expect to, now why do I say we when I mean you?
These people that you, expect to, sup, and be thankful for what you give, will not, nor should they, for they desire to not just exist, but live
We'll I've likely earned the hatred of racists, truly, I wish, I could say, this upsets me
But I care not, for I know, when, lo, England's heroes rise up, they shall go, and sweep forth, with such a might, and justice, such as all racists, shall be left down in the dust
I do believe that I am done, I bid farewell to everyone
And I hope you do remember, treat as you would be treated, one another, for at our core,  We are sister and brother.
A poem written because I can't stand racism and prejudice.
S C Netha Jul 2017
          


They're in my bed and in my head
they hold me when I'm scared
not to comfort or make me feel better
but to let me know they are always with me
Wherever I go, wherever I hide
they're always by my side.

The monsters are so slimy and slick
they hide themselves in my textbooks
disguising themselves as history
and facts and stats when in fact they've distorted
the truth and are using it to trap me
in a live of servitude and poverty
while they spend the fruits of my labour
on voyages to faraway lands filled with splendor.
The monsters are not under my bed
they live in the wings of the patriotic bird.

The monsters live amongst the paperwork
that litters the cupboards in their fort
while their gates keep lost souls out.
They look down on real people
with real dreams and ambitions
and they judge us for our ability
to admit that our current location
has no infrastructure to make a provision
for futures as bright as ours.
The monsters are not under my bed
they inside the insensitive embassies
and call themselves immigration policies.

The monsters were never under my bed
they looked down upon my black face
and decided that poverty was my fate
then they left work and got on a jet
for a vacation in the beautiful land of Sheiks
and expected me to roll over and play dead
but instead like a champion I held up my head
and continued to claim my share
of the wealth they stole from my land
and made them wish they lived under my bed.
while I carried their heads on a stake.
raingirlpoet May 2017
My name is irrelevant, my age I won’t share
but something’s been weighing on me
and I need you to care

See, my voice is small and often goes unheard
a minority, I am
don’t tell me it’s absurd

When you question my identity,
bring my shortcomings to light
when you tell me it’s nothing
and ask why must I fight?

I shake in my boots like a tree losing leaves
grow my hands into fists
my momma said kindness
so I fight like this

I fight for myself
I fight out of fear
I fight with my knowledge
when I sense ignorance lurks near

I fight for the hopeful
because hope still exists
I fight for the young
we will resist

You do not know of the nights we spend trembling,
waiting for good news to appear
but alas, come morn, good news or none
we whisper to the shadows
“yes, we are still here”

Yes
I am
still here

-z.z
resistance and all that jazz. the media is corrupt but that's not new.
Robin Goodfellow Mar 2017
I don’t know when it started.

I don’t know when it ended.



It began when they started shooting.

It began when they started rioting.



We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.

We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.



Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.

Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds.



Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.

They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.



Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.

Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.



Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.

Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.



Then they started shooting again.

Then they started shooting again.



We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.

We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.



Give into our righteous sins.

Embrace primitive instincts from within.



Turn ourselves into demons.

And pretend we weren’t heathens.



We can’t afford to listen.

Or watch fallen tears glisten.



Sing to our loved ones a song of pain.

Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain.



Hope for the days when we can love each other again.

But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.
A poem about police brutalities and racism/excessive patriotism/isolationism between ethnic and racial tensions. This poem is how I feel about it.
Analise Quinn Jul 2016
My Country Tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty-
Or so we sing.

Land where my fathers died-
But my forefathers died in a battle
Trying to keep their slaves;
My fathers killed your fathers
For trying to run away;
My fathers **** your fathers
Cause it's late at  night, and
He's reaching for his gun-no, wait,
His ID?

Land of the pilgrim's pride-
But so often we leave out of history
How if it weren't for a Native American,
The pilgrims would've died.

From every mountainside-
Like Stone Mountain in Georgia,
Where Rebel Generals are memorialized,
Where the **** was revived-
God, help me, I can't hear freedom's ring;
I can only hear white-washed history.

From every mountainside-
But these days, the mountain is in my chest,
And liberty's ring sounds a lot different,
And a lot of folks don't like it.

Let freedom ring-
And I want to fight for freedom for all-
#BlackLivesMatter-
I want to help-
HANDS UP, DON'T SHOOT!
But-
I
Can't
Breathe.

Let freedom ring!-
But peaceful protests turn into
Bloodbaths as those who have sworn
To serve and protect are sniped down.

Let freedom ring!-
I try to educate myself
On the side of history not taught-
I've always felt that Nat Turner was the bad guy,
But these days I'm questioning it.
I read "The Meaning of Fourth of July for the *****"
by Frederick Douglass
And I read "Bury Me in a Free Land"
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
and I read "Sympathy"
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
and I read "Letters from Birmingham Jail",
"The Mountaintop Speech", and
"I Have a Dream"  
by Dr. King.

When I was younger,
I'd research Dr. King & his colleagues
For fun.
I'd  wonder, "If I lived in the Civil Rights era,
What would I have done?"

But when I turned seventeen,
I realized, "I live in a Civil Rights era;
What am I going to do?
The blood always runs red
Skin color makes no difference;
Why do you feel no regret
When your bullet sets the sentence?

I can't feel their grief,
I can't taste the fear,
But watching this repeat-
No ******* relief-
I can hear this endless ringing
Deep in my ears.

How can you not?
At least 136 souls dispersed
Among the dark beyond;
Their light turned off
Forever.

But even after, you turn both eyes blind
Unless you're looking for reasons
For how it was their fault they died.
Now is the season for revolution-
Not homicide.
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Race-baiting covers for agit-prop agents
splitting white hairs in their dark distress;
with name-calling, bullying, lunch money payments
and shifting the blame for their people’s mess.

Reparations are due for your boring screed
that you scrawled at the helm of the Black Star Liner.
You owe it to those who were forced to read
your obtuse agitations (you Afro-whiner).

Poisonous shout-outs to fallen comrades:
holy Saint Michael in reaper’s hood—
endless blathering racial tirades
poor comrade—your dreams are misunderstood.

You’re obsessed with injustice. That’s nothing new.
You’re a David anointed to overthrow Saul—
(as long as he’s white and less rabid than you,
oh prophet and scribe of the activist call…)

Stay mad at the system. Revile all your foes
with raving, with preaching, with bitter bad words.
Insult all your enemies; list all your woes
as you document stink on your turds.
a poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016

www.connecthook.wordpress.com
Do good.
Fight for what you believe in.
Don’t back down,
don’t turn around,
don’t hit the ground,
stick it out.
Question everything you think you know.
Find a cause.
Do your part to fix our flaws.

Humanity is the new trend,
the social structure was in a bend.
We don’t mean to offend
the rich, white men
telling us to make America great again.
What do you mean “again”?
It wasn’t even great back then.
What did you have then that we don’t have now?
Rampant racism and sexism?
The Brady Bunch?

Sure, we’re not perfect.
Our phones have grown into our hands,
and although we could say hello
from miles away,
we can’t see the people
right in front of us.

Boys grow anxious
when the person they hope for
doesn’t like their picture,
and girls would rather
indirect someone on Twitter
than call them out
face-to-face.
And we know throwing insults is always easier
from behind a screen.
What’s holding us back
when we can’t see the face of the person
whose day we just ruined?

We don't work, we just get bored.
We crave entertainment and fun.
It's all we ever need.
Not production,
or education,
Or the satisfaction of a job well done.
9 to 5 means nothing to us.

But even if we’re not necessarily a generation of workers,
we’re a generation of fighters.
For whatever you feel,
whatever you believe,
choose your path.
Follow what is right.
Lead with your heart
and never lose sight.

Whether it be of
the toxic gasses,
the lower classes,
or the shootings in holy masses,
never give up on your goal.
You are a part of this world for a reason.
Change it for the better.

Feel good.
Dance like nobody's there.
Sing like you don't care.
Because you deserve a good time.
Life is short,
so love with
all your being.

We’ll embrace you.
It doesn’t matter
what you like,
where you’re from,
who you are,
or what you’ve done.
It’s all good in the hood.
Acceptance is the name of the game for us.
We’re not quite there yet,
but on the path towards love,
we'd call it step one.

Don’t live to please anyone,
fill expectations,
or be someone you’re not.
Do what you enjoy most,
whether it be
smoking dried leaves,
drinking the ghost of fruit and vegetable’s past,
or earning queens in a game of chess.

We are the generation that reveals
the drastic change in society’s ideals.
We're here to seal
our new deal
that what's most important
is the way you feel.

We're prone to anxiety
because of an education that has become
more about grades than learning
and body standards that are rising
higher than heaven.
Got low levels of serotonin?
You’re not alone in this.

Don't let anyone tell you
that your feelings aren't valid
because there are children starving in Africa
or because life was harder "back in the day".

Everyone fights their own fight,
and not one person has the right
to tell you yours is false.
Keep in mind everyone else,
but remember to
love yourself.
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