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storm siren Nov 2016
I have friends who have gotten hot coffee thrown at their backs
for only half of their heritage.

and I have friends who have been told to hang themselves
with things they only wear on special occasions.

and I have friends who know nothing of these fears and these events,
because their privilege is as dominant as their
race
sexuality
gender
and they're as seemingly neurotypical
as it comes.

but still,
they empathize.
they understand.
and I'm certain if they were asked,
they would fight alongside
us too.

there is hope within this darkness,
there is warmth within this storm,
we will fight until the end of days,
and then we will fight further on.
please just stay strong.

it would be easy to give in,
it would be easy to give up,
it would be easy to let this be the end,
to sigh and wrap our time up.

but this is just the beginning,
and we know nothing of the end.
so stand against us as our enemies,
or rise with us as our friends.
Having an election was a terrible idea. What happened to electing cool grandpa instead?
addy henderson Sep 2016
We are the States of Hypocrisy
We are the States of Democracy

Well Outsmart
Well pull the people a part
Well rot their hearts
Because they are a piece of art

They are tacked
They are tracked

But what if they met their pride
the art of the most abstract?
Our only way to counteract
Is to divide
and extract
Lady Bird Sep 2016
prepared
yet scared
beyond no doubt
complete together
and whole
combined as one
souls united
embracing
wisdom and pride
emotions soon
to intertwine
Olga Valerevna Sep 2016
What if our projections are of aid to someone else
what if what we say delivers someone to the well
would you spread your words as though they didn't mean a thing
Or would you make an effort to believe the opposite
grown tired of the oceans we have poured and swallowed up
The fishes we are swimming with have duly had enough
And now that we are drowning, altogether almost gone
where are all the pillars we have ever stood upon
while everything dishonest walks behind your every step
the footprints you could see once mock uncertainty in death
and when it's running faster as your breath's becoming short
you may not find yourself again the way you did before
one nation.
Jamie Adams Aug 2016
There was once a place called the UK
That voted to leave and not stay
The government lied
One great nation died
They'd thrown their whole future away

First we look at the campaign
Terrible both leave and remain
Great lies on both sides
The country divides
My goodness are we going insane?

So let us ask the population
Oh we all hate immigration
The economy's bad
We're feeling quite sad
So we'll rip a great whole in this nation

How can we make a decision
When there's clearly a deep incision
Why change all our ways
When after a couple of days
There's such a great whopping division?

We can all vote, young and old
A value we should all uphold
But it's not democratic
When the campaign's erratic
And lies are all that we're told

One thing that I find quite sinister
This new unelected Prime Minister
Equality's great
And I don't want to hate
But why is she the one to administer?

I must make it clear what I mean
Don't think what I'm saying's obscene
But you cry for democracy
Oh the hypocrisy!
Clearly you're not all that keen

And maybe we'll all be alright
It won't all change overnight
But I'm European
And if you're disagreein'
Then I swear I won't give up the fight
Limericks are almost inherently funny. There's something about the rhythm that makes them feel jolly. With that in mind, I decided to write an extended limerick about a topic which, for me, is not funny.
Dr Strange Jul 2016
We use to be a strong team
Unbreakable or so it seemed
I remember all the laughs we once shared
All the wars we fought as a family
We were inseparable
Now it's seems we vanished from the face of the earth
I don't know what happened to us
Don't know how are once entwined lives because so distant
But I just wanted to send this message to all of you
Just to say I haven't forgotten about y'all
And that I miss you guys
Hellopoetry107
May we rise once again
SøułSurvivør Jul 2016
based on the song by Bruce Cockburn

Maybe the poet is old,
But they won't do as they're told
Maybe the poet is young
But her words you should not shun,
Maybe the poet is free
Are you blind and do not see?
Maybe the poet's a Slave
But those white flags won't be waved!
Maybe the poet is saved
Maybe the poet's a knave
But he'll shout unto the grave!

Black or white,  or coffee brown
His words will stay... they'll stick around
Tan or beige, russet red
You will recall what's been said
It will play all through your head
She will *speak until she's she's dead!


Maybe the poet is rich
And is sitting by a beach
Maybe the poet is poor
But her words you'll hear for sure
Maybe ill with no cure
Though she's dead she will endure
Homeless woman, wealthy man
They won't do as you have planned
They won't play on with the band
They'll be strong and take a stand

They'll holler til you understand!

They won't have a TV show
Won't be on your radio
But the word of mouth will go
Be it fast or be it slow

They may be killed, they may be shot
They will speak TRUTH!
THEY CAN'T BE BOUGHT!
Ignominy may be their lot

But they will produce some thought!

Maybe the voice of The Spirit
In which case you'd better hear it!
You may not touch it. Can't get near it.

Please don't expect applause
Don't find rejection odd...

For it is the Words of God.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/16/2016
"Maybe the Poet" by Bruce Cockburn
https://youtu.be/WcUiOADXfsI
Edward Coles Jun 2016
We are a global society
When we want oranges in the fruit bowl,
When we want out of our rut
Just long enough
To brown in a patch of Spanish sun.
We are a global society
When the Japanese car breaks down
And we are in need of a cheap fix
To keep food on the table,
Some Latvian mechanic
Who helps us find our way home.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When the zeroes run low
And there are spaces,
Foreign faces,
To which we can point
And blame.

We are a global society
With our sweat-shop chic,
American coffee chains
Selling Colombian ground beans,
Frappuccinos in plastic cups-
Made in China
And served by a Romanian barista
In Italian heels.
We are a global society
When the demand is high
And the payment is low.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When hands reach out for help
And our pockets are too shallow,
Our time, too brief
To commit to a unity
We feel is dragging us down.

We are a global society
When the football is on,
When the lager is Belgian
And the supermodel, Greek.
When we cradle that bag of Cheetos
After smoking too much ****.
We are a global society
When oppression is overt,
Caricatured in bulletin posters,
Threatening to land
Upon our own front door.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When poverty seems contagious,
When we have to clean up
Someone else’s mess,
Still we scar the Middle East
Only half-interested in an exit.

We are a global society
When we get sick,
When we borrow another doctor
For our ailing NHS.
When cities of white people burn,
We are a global society,
When Africa is divided,
We are nowhere to be seen.
Prime mover of the commonwealth
Yet we fall beneath the breadline
And living easy is so rare.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
Under the false flag
Of a golden age
We were conned to believe in.
Our nation, our island nation,
Lost amongst a sea of misinformation.
C
Gaius Normanyo Jun 2016
My parents left our homeland for me
More than five thousand, five hundred miles
To travel to a land ripe with opportunity

But at times the ripest fruit tended to spoil
However, they always counted God's blessings and moved on
My parents have endlessly toiled

With their younger son on the way
And four years of American experience
They strived at greater lengths each and every day

It is difficult to set aside one's own will
To tend to a family
To pay an immigration agency's bills

Yet they have done it, tried and true
Citizenship, I pray
Is coming soon

One day, I will properly honor them
Meanwhile,
This country will learn to accept others, but only with Him as its precious gem
6/12/16
I decided to revisit an previous poem of mine, “Sacrifice", after remembering William Blake's approach to former works in his collection “Songs of Innocence and of Experience"... Definitely not as polished.
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