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What happened to the once-Great State of South Carolina?
What happened to the southern Hospitality, for it turned into Hostility?
What happened to the southern Pride that Tied us together?
What happened to the once-welcoming Communities and land of Opportunities?

What happened to the state I Live In, where things were never Given, but they were earned?
What happened to the people Surrounding me, though once proud to be here; are now Astounding me with hatred?
What happened to the beautiful Places and smiling Faces; all I see now is Destruction and Disgrace.

I love my state, yes. I love my people, yes.
But where did the charm Go, all that is around now is shade to Throw.
Where is the southern Charm, and the love where we would give an Arm to help our neighbor?

Here lie the broken Families, the torn palm Trees, in the once-Great State of South Carolina.
Gracie Knoll Dec 2016
To all the Christmases behind me
I remember how you used to be
Sitting around the Christmas tree
Listening to stories of wise men three

Of all the Christmases gone by
I remember crystal skys
And sparkling grape juice in the ice
The pungent smells of Christmas wine

For all the Christmases I've seen
I recall the Christmas dream
Of gifts and sweets beneath the tree
And stuffed stockings waiting for me

And all the Christmases I've reached
I feel the sand beneath my feet
All those games down at the beach
And tossing bread out to the sheep

And all the Christmases end
By decorating ginger bread
And laying down our heavy heads
On feather pillows on our beds
Astral Oct 2016
Thank you, for this life

My arms are weary for reaching to a heaven

That is as close to the earth as the graves and dead pigeons

Close to the coyotes that roam a white trash kingdom

Mothers smoking Camel cigarettes, with the fathers drunk in insecure manhood

Close to the TV static hissing like a snake, hoping that it will bite me to a quick death

Thank you for this fruitful land, of abandoned cars and stickers on bumpers of an idol called Christ

When he returns lets hope he sees this heaven, is better than the one he’s got

Thank you for the calls of the crows, as they sit in pines above homes filled with bruises and emotional crescendos

This land that has this heaven, where the teenage suicide is okay

For they were different, loving the same ***

Every home as stable as the glistening ice on the sun’s smile, crooked with teeth so black

With the hate of one’s own abyss, blaming to the black and brown

What a heaven on earth, with the magnolia’s as supple as the honey of puffy sorrow tears

Thank you for this place, this heaven on earth
A poem, for the worse angels of my home state
For 21 days I saw changes wrought
by the freedom of 22 years  
Secrets of razor wire straight and taut
Speak of those who continue to fear

I saw nature’s beauty in land and face
As black heel continues to rise
Via school, ambition they prep for the race
Even as secretly despised

What’s changed in Soweto? I did not live
But photos and newsreels survive
Pictures of shanties bulldozed to give
Whites room to extend their hives

Now malls; monuments to white retail
Built on Mandiba’s words
Polished chrome and marble hail
“Happy” workers in a black-faced world

Monuments ringed with vendors tribal
Carved goods for sale and cheap
The rands they make do not rival
What multi-nationals’ continue to reap

Happiness is shallow until sundown
When the curtain of decorum lifts
Showing reality’s new shanty-town
Where space and plumbing are gifts

I wonder if He would be okay
Seeing his people so used
As pawns for labor with little say
As black is seldom excused
  
The young know the time is now
As old hatred’s in shallow graves
To be unearthed by book and plow
Keeping dreams from stunting and fade
It may not seem as such, but I had a terrific if not educational time in South Africa. The Kruger animal photo opts, the Swaziland kindergarten where half of the five and six-year-olds are orphaned due to the aides epidemic. The glassmaking co-op where exquisite glass figurines are all hand blown from recycled glass. I witnessed the resilience of a proud people even as I was saddened at the extreme draught nature has visited upon man and beast alike.
the morning is infused with possibilities,
before the humid heat of the South weighs
me down.

I long for the mountain streams of Appalachia,
and standing under a water fall on a hot day.

I live in the city, but I carry the mountains with me
in my heart.

The mountains are home of my heart, where I can always return to
over and over.

A home of my heart to welcome a new day,
time and time again.
Leigh Marie Aug 2016
Traveling taught me that I can find God in places other than your arms
Religion is on continents you haven't touched and I've seen love in eyes that don't belong to you
There is plenty of world left to explore
so I know that I will be alright
Àŧùl Aug 2016
Just why, baby...
But why, oh baby why?
Ditched me, just         because
      I could not               find any time
                                  Free from my
                        Efforts to get a
         Decent life
For both
Of us to
Spend
Our
Life
Dear
Love?
A Haiku of a different kind.

Concrete Poetry

Kaiku simply means "why?" in the Tapori dialect of urban South India.

My HP Poem #1110
©Atul Kaushal
Maw Maw Sez Jul 2016
Humid summer nights
makes it hard for me to sleep
I need a new fan
Maw Maw Sez Jul 2016
Big back porch
a good old rocking chair
crickets and pond frogs
a big glass of sweet tea
the fire pit roaring
children with marshmallows
on newly carved sticks
people laughing
old guys telling stories
fire flies
and shooting stars
welcome to the
southern summer night
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