"bigots" poems
I woke up, panic attack in full swing. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to win. This wasn't supposed to happen!
Morning call to my best friend, we're sobbing into each other's phones. We fear. We fear because we're not cis or heterosexual. We fear for our brothers, sisters, and siblings lacking a title. I fear for what will become of the country I live in.
I promise I wouldn't stand for my country's flag any more as long as he is our "president". I can't respect someone who is accused of ****** a 13 year old girl. He is no man, he was a joke for the Internet to feed off of, until it became too serious and real. Until the day youths of the LGBTQ+ community woke up terrified for their lives because his Vice President would favor having a dead child rather than a gay child, until the day Muslim women questioned if they should wear their hijab anymore because they feared retaliation for their religion from xenophobes, until the day the the chance of hate crimes seemed like a more likely answer for bigots because someone isn't white, until the day laughs of mockery turned into tears of fright.
This monstrosity may only be with us for four years, but a hell of a lot can happen in four years. I don't trust this person to run our country, I don't feel safe. I feel exposed and abandoned by the rights I was promised. I wish to join hands with everyone else who is in my position, and let this sink in until the day in January comes, where he gets his wish, and is finally in control.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
I come from New Orleans where the swingers hook up with the singers, and the boxes have a person inside who speak to you through a thick horizontal slot in the door. You come from Minnesota where the most aggressive sentence is “Hi, how are you” and you’ve attended church every Sunday of your life, even though you don’t really believe in god.
We came to the West to skate with the surfer junkies. But then the harbors got bombed and we moved out East to see the hipsters and the artists beggin on the streets. We went to the South with the racists and bigots were dying for a good show. We moved up North to escape from the 70s, and with the 80s on the rise we figured we’d best stay away.
The 70s were rockin’ with **** and LSD in parks and concerts, and on benches on the streets. The smoke in the air was everywhere, from the slums in Wisconsin to the cities of Dallas. Even the poor were lost in the haze.
When the 80s arrived with Rock ‘n’ Roll and techno beats from windowsills upstairs. The music was groovin’ and the ladies were fine. We saw billboards of our names in neon orange lights. The *** was replaced by coke, and the LSD with ****** singing and swinging with delight in our eyes.
When the AIDS broke out we were sick in our beds listening to Pink Floyd and Elton John, and still we were singing. The 70s got us high while the 80s made us die
We lived through wars in Vietnam, and Korea; we fought back the communists with red ink on our hands. We broke down the door into China and got them to arrive in the present and join the world. Although their chairman sits on a chair of lies he leads them with an angry fist in the air pumping “three cheers for Mao”. “Three cheers for Mao”.
When the Soviets launched themselves to the moon we responded with our money and flashed our shiny new machinery in their faces. We marked our territory and claimed triumphantly that “We’re the best”. And we launched our war nukes and pinned them into intimidation. Then the Cubans sought revenge for the death of the Pigs on their Bay. With rifles in hand we stormed the beach and unearthed Castro and his regime.
With our beds soaked in blood, and our dreams covered with fog, hand in hand we lay. We recalled the dances in the backs of old Cafes where the passwords were as simple as three quick knocks and two slow ones. We remembered the guns that pierced the heavenly chorus for the negros in the south. And we thought about the music of the 70s and the death in the 80s and I thought about you for a minute more.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
☮ ☮ ☮
**Society needs more Social Justice.
Humanity needs peaceworkers.**
Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice.
We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders – through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE. IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE !
WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE !
LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE!
WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE
FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE & EMPOWERMENT !
**POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻
STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻
CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻
SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻
PEACE BRINGS WAR☻
WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻**
(SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.
If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.
I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.
Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?
Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
5.3k
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
If you’re not white
And your state is red,
Don’t be surprised
If you end up dead.
As maybe some one
Will beat on your head
And demand to know
What goes on in your bed.
If you are any race
But Holy Caucasian
Like African or Inuit,
Mexican or Asian
That includes Islam
And all such nations
The bigots will hate
On every occasion.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
In World War Two we
Fought against fascism
And now we entertain
An unholy American schism
In which Americans plan
With gleeful fanaticism
To make every effort
To maintain totalitarianism.
For over two centuries
We have sung of equality
And the inalienable rights
Of American humanity.
We continue to fight now
But it has become a calamity
Because now we are fighting
Within each of our families.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give
A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all
He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim
He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown
A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer
There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back
To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent
If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?
Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore
If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
In Venus' starlight
I see my own dear fright
I see your reflection
Seeping into the night
In Venus' starlight
Hush, the moon opens its ear
The stars are shy, yet they shine
They'd rather you don't come near
In Venus' starlight
We're breathing all just the same
The stars align their scars
And call you by your last name
Bigots, believers, bovinity
Strike asunder your centrality
Denouncers, dreamers, gazerby
There's so much more than a wispy sky
The starmen await your ears
In Venus' starlight
Look away to lunar dreams
Mineral profit in rocks
An efficient plague, it seems
In Venus' starlight
Forget about notions of greed
Explore on behalf of your race
If escape is of no need
In Venus' starlight
The sand takes a dramatic pose
The trees, deceitful, the cattle are poisoned
The spaceboys are speaking in prose
What you don't believe, is always out there
Until you have felt its absence like air
You've not seen it all, you won't see it then
It’s all you've got, so look, fool, look!
You’ve read it in a book
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Who gives a ****
If I live or die?
I have become the one forgotten
And I have fallen into some peculiar space
Now no one remembers the girl who once stood
In my place
She is changed, she has become something unexpected and unforgiving.
Is there a reason to believe in myself anymore?
I have been deemed, by many,
Unlovable.
Perhaps the worst damnation of all
Has come from my inner self.
But how does the rest of the world see me?
My views have been clouded over the years
By some unwarranted opinions
Of hypocrites and bigots
Bullies and ex-boyfriends
Daddy.
Calling me names to this day
Even after some bouts of depression
Cutting
Eating disorders
Even a suicide attempt.
Although these are all in the past
I still fail to hold myself in high regard.
Did they make me hate myself?
No, but they had a weighted hand in its development.
So who could love a creature like me?
A person, or rather, a shell of one,
Plagued by habit
Submerged in guilt
Crippled by a question that has never ceased.
Does being forced into a protective armor,
Being ridiculed
Being unloved
Make someone truly
Unlovable?
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
I was raised by a pack of fools
Who proclaim Caucasians are the best.
And are glad to fight, at the drop of a hint
To put the whole matter to the test.
They have an entire joke routine
And descriptive names they repeat
In minimizing and insisting that
Their right to decent treatment isn’t real.
There are references to some animals
And unfunny comments about color.
The statements about characteristics
Of body and features always go together
With a special set of gross anecdotes
To cover any kind of non-Christian belief.
And the refusal to consider equality
As a decent attitude stands in bright relief.
Beneath all this horror, not very deep,
Lies a sickening river of hate and fear
That fails to improve as education is
Rejected year after disgusting year.
Pointing out the error of their ways
Might earn you a punch in the eye
But the bigot hangs on to their rage
And never gives fellowship a try.
The American Bigot claims to be
A staunch Christian all the way through
Which forces them to hate and cheat
And lie as much as Jesus would do.
Of course, we know that Jesus was
A preacher of love and acceptance
But it seems that bigots never quite
Made that Jesus’ acquaintance.
So, here we can see we need to add
Some terms to this kind of individual
Whose relationship to peace and love
Is at best slight, scant and residual.
We also need to append to their titles
Of masters of anger fear and prejudice
The unhealthy pallor of indecency,
Dishonesty, inhumanity and cowardice.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.
Who else got the fire in imparting?
or …
did theirs even start a single spark since then?
Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.
And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?
Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.
And you
You seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.
Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!
And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.
Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?
Get Ripley’s here!
Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!
©Glenn L. Sentes
February 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
What's the difference between
Bigots and the POTUS?
(space provided)
___________________
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
We’re just peasants can’t you see?
This is our society
They love to keep us dumb and fat
So they can exploit all we have
I’m sick of bigots and their lies
I’ll jump off now and hope to fly
To a place that will show me
All of its sincerity
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
I see the question before a test
"Mark your ethnicity"
and I think
Who the hell gives you
the right to care about
my skin color?
As if I am proud of my ancestors
putting the Native peoples on reservations
and hissing at innocent school children.
What have we become, America?
We condemn those that
"hop the border"
yet we don't recognize that
we are the aliens.
Bigots that don't step back
and marvel at our
beautiful mosaic of diversity.
Love where you come from,
but NEVER mistake
victory for degradation.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
*Each time bigots shine
Crass losers winning at cards
Donald Trump shows hand*
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter.
It guarantees our freedom as
Citizens of this fine nation.
Nowhere does it say nudists should
Be treated with degradation
And blocked from freedom to be
Who they really are at heart.
Denying natural freedoms is
Where fascism gets its start.
If you have been trained in a way
That genitalia is abomination
You’re the one who is indecent
And needs some repatriation.
It’s not like someone naked is
Automatically getting it on.
That’s just inside your mind, so
Only you can make it be gone.
A lot of what you are thinking
And the very thing you are fear
Is not real, it’s irrational
This is what you need to hear;
Some may not find you ****
When they see you naked
But those are not nudists.
They’re unclothed bigots that fake it.
May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
You can talk about Jesus
And be instantly heard.
You can call him your Savior
And not mean a word.
You can shout your hosannas
To the people on your street
And few will suspect you
As having pure clay feet.
Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.
When you talk about Jesus
Please be true to the words.
Read what he has said
And not what you heard.
If you read the Holy Bible
And find reason to hate
You’ve been led astray
And it’s not too late.
Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.
So far we’ve noticed
The words that bigots use
Are not from Christians,
But are textual abuse
In that they are from before
Man learned to write
So why are bigots so sure
They got everything right?
Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
I see the sad color of racism not every other day
But every second of the hour, all minutes of the day
I see the serious mental and physical damages
That this cancer has done throughout the ages
And is still doing to our beloved human beings
The others treat our People like they are leftover beans
On a petty pet's plate. Our people deserve respect
Fairness, justice, equality, acknowledgement
Compassion, credit and better treatment
Our sisters are tired of being left out on the deck
Our siblings are often harassed senselessly, persecuted
Falsely accused and relentlessly prosecuted
At one time, they were hunted and hounded by the system
At other time, hindered and haunted by an organized medium
Created to attack, destroy, burn, ravage and annihilate
To embarrass, marginalize, ridicule, punish and discriminate
I see the color of racism, when the police for no apparent reasons
Stopped, frisked and handcuffed our homeless, our elderlies
Or our law abiding citizens, like it was open seasons
To hunt for mule deer or bears, who behave like enemies
Of the civilized society. I see the sick color of racism
When our people are not hired not for being unqualified
But because of their skin color; they're quickly disqualified
Dismissed, fired or terminated. I see the monster of cynicism
All golly minutes of the day. The arrogance is unparalleled
Beyond belief. The racists forgot that God only created one race
One human race, one human race, one **** human race.
Their false pride, their fake supremacy, their ignorance is unleveled
And their audacity is incomparable. I see the colors of racism
Not that I want to search for them, not that I want to find them
Most of the time, I simply cannot elude, evade or escape them
It is not easy to ignore the litanies of bad or negative mannerisms
The bigots easily function like virulent or venomous vipers
That **** out the emotions, and that destroy all positive characters
Our lives, Black lives, like other lives, are sacramental and important
And our contributions to the world are significant
I see the ugly and surly color of racism not every other day
But every second of the hour, every minute of the **** day.
Copyright © February 24,2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:07 AM UTC
My sweet Austin Texas ecstasy, my beloved Guadalupe you
gem of the desert. Your family’s a basket-a-bigots but
******* they drink for miles and how near they are to my
heart. This heat’s a drug I swear it. Let's swim in that hole
in the bedrock between two rivers. That'd be nice: me and
you and mobs of Westlake High sophomores with their
blue-raspberry bikinis, a hundred Teen Vogue magazine
covers lined up on the grass like a set of bad church pews.
Imagine that whitewash of a crowd, you and me so alone in
that big static it's better than private. Let’s punch brick, peel
back our knuckles and watch’em clot in the sun. **** gauze,
we’re goin’ to a punk show. I’m puttin’ on short sleeves,
goin’ on parade, gunna flaunt my cigarette burns like a Cadillac:
I want those dorks at the Mohawk to look and love me like
they love gore. I’m gettin’ my black-eye ribbon tonight.
We’re in the Chaos in Tejas show, darlin’, put on Crazy Spirit
and bring your 2x4: skinheads ain’t jumpin’ themselves.
Let's get medicated, hunny, let's get saved. I love watching
Austin bleed out into the sand every dusk. Love the musicians
sailing out grimy and frothing over what night brings:
what a big sky, Texas, you're almost better in the day all
parched ground and azure azure. I love the glass on the high
buildings here, they’re like mirrors. This is God’s powder room.
This is where God sees himself drugged up and beaming in a
beautiful powder room. This is where God goes to remember
youth. I love how youth hasn’t gotten you yet. That unassailable
capacity for charity, that surging belief in belief shouting out
through your temples, I can’t stand how you make me sick of
making myself sick. You slapped the ******** outta me so quick
I’ve never seen grace move that fast. I thought you'd knock the
grapefruit polish right off your nails you hit me so good.
What a sight you are, kid, so proper and fit, Christ, you could
be therapy: so brunette-in-the-Fall, so full-lipped,
unabashed and Aristotelian, frayed like anything but ****
well stitched, impeccable at the seams.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
"Hey, is that your boyfriend?"
"No."
"Who are you texting, I bet it's your boyfriend."
"No."
"So, do you have a boyfriend?"
"No"
"Hey, take this guy's number. He's really hot, you should totally text him."
"NO"
"No"
"No"
"No" I don't have boyfriend. Beacause I have a girlfriend. I love a girl, and yet I change all the she's to he's so no one will ever see the real me. I change my lock screen and delete my texts, so no one can see the love I profess for the girl that I love it's time I confess.....but I can't.
I can't tell anyone the way I feel, i should tell everyone because my lies they steal,
All of our happiness and the love we provide, all because I keep my love for you inside.
Fact: To some people I only need to find the right man.
Fact: No man, could ever love me the way that you can.
I'm locked in this world, feeling like a liar, while people surround me I watch their actions transpire.
You know it's funny, in my own family, it's okay for a girl to be a ***** because it's only the gays we really deplore.
I've loved one woman all my life, but compared to my sister who's reached double digets, I'm the one who'll always be blamed by the bigots.
Maybe one day, it'll will be different.
And our lives will feel anew.
For now, to all the girls who love girls,
It's okay to be you.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
Late nights spent in the depths of the Gita,
Self realization nipping at my boot heals.
Reading the lines of a gone, but not forgotten,
Gay poet, shedding a tear to his epitaph.
Death always sinks its teeth in deep,
Deep into the bowels of the subconscious,
Twisting and writhing through long
Dead emotions, finally expiring its final breath
Through the sinus cavity and out the eyes.
Breakfast is no longer held in the morning,
But far beyond dawn’s reach in the late afternoon,
Much needed sleep is pushed off until
The last minute.
God bless procrastination.
God bless my body, soul, consciousness,
And mind.
God bless those ravaged by war and hate.
Trailing after sunset for that one great fix,
No escape for the ones within its grasp.
Naked we lay in bed,
Until the noon sun kisses our cheeks.
Naked we lay in our hearts, bodies,
Souls, and spirits.
Naked is the man who looks himself in the mirror,
Only to find a corpse in the hollowed eyes that
Sleep deprivation has left him.
Overheated and lost in ill-repaired pipes
At midnight,
Loneliness creeps in like a spy to my senses.
The great manifesto has seeped its way into my brain
And retired in the retinas of self-loathing.
Unforgiving poisons course through the veins.
Strobe lights dim the senses,
People in slow movements of black and white.
Paying our debt,
Debt that is owed to our maker
From the dawn of time to the ravaged streets
Of a morally degraded and ignorant,
Politically correct World.
Dance with me tonight.
Dance in the streets with joy and madness.
Dance with tumorous disease.
Dance with the leper's cry.
Dance with the sodomite’s urge.
Dance with the looming shadows.
Dance with the bigots and the profiteers.
Dance with me, because we are free.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
Reading and researching about fiction and facts.
You try to clear up our racist past.
When a black walked into a eating establishment to eat.
You ponder and wonder about those racists wrath.
What about the skin of a person that makes fools reacts?
Or those that intimidated not stand up to wrong.
When we remain quiet we gives stupidity a home.
Then you ponder and wonder about the bigots.
Maybe, they wasn't afraid of the blacks.
But afraid of their own.
Many racists don't truly have a happy home.
When a Latino illegally or legally comes to America.
Who really believes they taking anyone job?
Many are working hard at jobs that hard working Americans avoid.
We must address our inner self.
For within our hearts lies an answer.
We all see things from a different view.
When judgment day comes.
And you must be held accountable before God.
And He ask you what wrong did you do?
Will you be truthful without offering an excuse?
Yes, you can reform your love for the people you hate.
But God requires us to do before we standing at the gate.
Cause, standing before Him now.
Just might be a little late.
But we are dealing with the human nature of the flesh.
And that alone create most of our trouble.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.
We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.
We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
Bravely Burn Barbaric Books of Belief Belonging to Bad Bigots to Become the Bearer of the Bright-less Broken Banners of Both and Between Bruised and Betrayed Beleaguered Borders to Begin Benevolence Before the Beings Below Be Benumbed and go Berserk for Bloodshed .
Boldly Bestow the Blessing of Brotherhood to the Blind and Brutal Blood Beasts and the Bound Brethren of Brazen Ballads.
For a Bare Bundle of Burnt Books can Barricade a Braced Battalion of Bayonets, Block Beyond Billions of Battle Blades, Buffer a Bunch of Big Booming Bullets, Backfire Boorish Ballistae of Bribery and Bury the Barmy Bastard's Baleful Brusque Breathes that Brings Back the Bedeviled Beacon of Blame.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 8:11 AM UTC
It aches when I smile.
My State's a disaster.
Coal rollers, burnouts and days full of rapturous
laughter and "Red Face"
down in Lusk in the hot days
of Summer--it's boiling;
Winter winds burn up your face.
I first learned to hate
myself in a snowstorm
on Dow Street in Sheridan.
My best friends are the slow warmth
that spreads through the chest,
lifts a cold heart, grabs popcorn and pints
at the Blacktooth on hundreds of nights.
And 500,000 simple souls are a sight.
Still they're just half a million salty
drops in the ocean--
A quick squall of rain on the Bighorns.
They've opened the floodgates for *********
morons, bigots and rednecks
and rich, ******* ranchers thinking
everyone owes them.
And their dollars are deadpan
gallows jokes down in Cheyenne.
But I've seen cheap smiles 4 miles wide
out by Sundance.
And I've got good friends that I still carry with me
like the potent, sweet, earthy afterburn of good whiskey,
or the smell of the lodgepoles in the Spring
up in Story.
And it's still my home
even though it's so empty.
It's still my home
though it sometimes seems ******
That State's in my bones,
I don't think it'll leave me.
So please understand that some nights
when you find me,
you've stumbled across a small splinter
chipped off of Wyoming.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC