"households" poems
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
Sisters,
We are in trouble
Overwhelmed by reality
We choose to sleep
Being awake is painful true
But what else would you choose?
Disconnected with the truth
Disillusioned with "inclusion"
But when we as women chose to stand
With other women
Away from our brethren
We undermined our people
Their problems weren't ours
Respect in our households and communities was never the problem
But now we're truly included
In the reign of terror
By the hegemony
that we were never actually excluded from
So now while we've branched off
Into this group and that
Engulfed in the rainbows, weaves,
****** objectification, drugs and popular culture
We are sleep crawling
To our extinction
It is better to live through pain
I n order to achieve gain
Than to nap through life
Never understanding your greatness
It is time to rise and return home
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
143
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round—
Wherefore when boughs are free—
Households in every tree—
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high—
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires—
Perhaps of twig so fine—
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires—
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house—
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
5.4k
you were there on his last night
and was there on the night
we stumbled upon
an unfamiliar house
the creatures were making
a peculiar sound
it was the strange place we inhabited
for as long as we could be brave
you were with me when i lost a limb
you saw grief and tropical storms
right through my eyes
you heard words come out
of my mouth, they were all
in past tense and shaky
the best four years a teenager could have
i have spent them with you
i gave you my trust, my blood
and our promises
you met the 3am version of myself
which i believed that is ours
only to keep
i could not fathom the grief
of losing a limb
nor the grief
of seeing our strange house
collapse right in front of me
but the concrete was made of trust
you contended that you were here
to extend succor, immediate aid
to a grieving soul, to your friend
you came in crowds extending
sympathy as how i've seen it
little did i know that succor
meant pulling the trigger
when the tectonic plates
and the seismic waves
bends the buildings
and crumbles to the ground
when the tropical storm
named after me
pull the tress from its roots
floods the households
and all the different routes
or when your 3am uncertainties
scare you, and you would howl
and howl and howl
but who will you run to?
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
There is no certainty in cancer.
No simple cure. Easy way out.
Just time.
gnawing away the brain.
Leaving only regrets and memories.
No matter how young, happy, rich or healthy one may seem...
There is no certainty in cancer.
It is a faint word drifting in the air.
Infiltrating households. hospitals. Families.
But never us...
We are too strong.
Too busy.
We have too much life to live...
'its leukaemia’
The words soaks into me
Suffocating me in my own skin,
What has my life become?
A sunken abyss of darkness.
An empty vessel of meaningless time.
Now Its just me.
The room.
And my soundless mind.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 2:12 AM UTC
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family’s in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—
Their behaviour’s not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse—cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that’s smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat!
But when the day’s hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat’s work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she’s formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—
And she’s even created a Beetles’ Tattoo.
So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers—
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.
4.2k
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
May Day
Fertility way
Beltane honours life
A peak of Spring
Earth energies are most effective
Let it begin
All busting with potent fertility
The wheel of the year,
potential becomes conception
Nature is fair
Fire festival glare
Ireland celebrations
Feast of Beltane
Latter times,
Mary's day,
it was called in the rhymes,
they say
Bonfires marking,
the coming of Summer
Granting luck to people's livestock,
without mock
The first day in May Irish holiday
Beltane rituals,
counting young men and women,
picking blossoms in the woods,
lighting fires as the evening stood
Matches for marriages all good,
right there and then,
or Summer Autumn would be when
Medieval modern Europe holiday
Return of Spring observance
Probably originating anyway,
in ancient agricultural roots
Rituals and perseverance,
The Greeks and Romans,
held such festivals
People and their cattle,
would walk around bonfires,
and between rattle
Sometimes leaping over,
embers and flames
All households,
fires doused and re-lit
from the Beltane bonfire
Accompanied by a feast,
with some food and drink,
offered at least
May Day also called Worker's Day,
or International Worker's Day
Commemorating the historic,
struggles and gains made,
by workers,
and the labour movement,
reins without jerkers
In the United States and Canada lakes,
a similar observance known,
as Labor Day partakes on the first,
Monday of September not May
Beltane also sometimes,
goes by the Name May Day
This holiday strongly,
associated with Pagans,
they say,
for fertility come what May
The origins are in ancient play,
across the world this May Day
© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney
May 1, 2022
May 1, 2022 at 5:45 AM UTC
“Cold snowflakes upon my arm
the winter shine peeking through a crack in the blinds
a breeze of ice engulfing the room through a window left ajar
a land covered in a shiny white blanket.”
Winter has come. Cue the thick padded coats and the parkas of every color of the rainbow! Behold the sleds and skis and the beautiful Siberian huskies who pull them. Await the closing of schools and the temperature drops, keeping people in and making children everywhere euphoric as ever. The time has come for skating upon rivers of ice, and joyous dinners in warm wooly sweaters as families gather around to indulge in the tastiest of food. Fireplaces shall again be lit in all households of old, and stockings hung up early in preparation for Christmas. Happy smiles all around, engaging in snowball fights and the building of snowmen.
Ah but winter is as winter does. As numbers reach the negatives, heaters are turned up to the warmest possible, insulating the beings in a home and using electricity. What about those without a home? Those who are confined to the streets of the city, waiting for the cold to eat their bodies up and leave them in a state of rigidity? They are left to waste. Left to succumb to the bitterness of winter, with no sustenance whatsoever or any form of water to soothe their burning throats. The cold will conceal them in a cover of white death, a prison of snow. And in the early mornings of every winter-filled day, a machine is sent out to collect the bodies of those who have been imprisoned by the winter. The one operating the machine weeps silent tears for these ice prisoners before bringing their poor souls elsewhere.
Winter is two-faced, and she is both beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night.
(lunarlullubies)
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
that once you give something, it's yours to rip from them
that the love you have must come at the expense of the people around you
that every conflict must be met with loud noises and anger
that being alone is a dangerous thing
that being alone is the only safe place
that to feel comfortable with someone, you have to assert your dominance
that you can never feel comfortable
that to ask a question means there's something wrong with you
that my opinions mean nothing and I am never right
that if I'm upset, it's not their fault but mine
that no matter what the situation is, my feelings are invalid
that happiness or sadness has more to do with sleep than choice
that 'genetics' give people an excuse to be ********
that if someone's going through a hard time, they're allowed to **** up their children, but apparently the children's hard time doesn't matter
that a child is less of a person because they are a child
that only your own schedule is important and other people are not to be thought of
that nothing is really private
that I never want to be a parent
and you know what's ****** up about all this? that my friends are going home to verbally and emotionally abusive households, that at least four of my closest friends have panic attacks on a regular basis because of their parents, and the whole world can only just laugh and shake their head and say 'ah teenagers am I right?' I'm sick of adults normalizing pain for an entire age group when they are the ones that cause it. I'm sick of my parents being the only negative thing in my life, and in other people's lives. I'm sick of being on lock and key for no reason and being afraid to say anything because they might jump down my throat. I'm sick of seeing my best friend cry and I'm sick of looking at her father. I'm sick of watching my parents kiss each other and then curse at me for walking the dog ten seconds later than they wanted. I'm sick of getting pages of text messages from people who feel so broken and alone that they have no one else to turn to. I'm sick of it.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Packing and unpacking
Everything you own and know,
Just to survive juggling three households in a week.
You come home to your own room,
Fall asleep on your own bed
Then wake up feeling like a stranger in a motel.
Wake up to get up to pack some more,
For another trip to who knows where.
All you know is that it's a balancing act;
This yoyo motion keeps you running somehow,
This is your life now.
What a struggle it is to keep sanity intact,
You bend over backwards to keep it all together.
As you look at your luggage
With ******* on a twist
And a pounding headache,
You think to yourself...what a glorious mess!
Where's permanence when you need it ******
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 11:46 AM UTC
*for Patrick,
if he can still hear me*
Rise, every neighbor!
Hear the cacophony of dragon fire
BANG, BANG
and the pitter patter rain fall of disease
T T T T
pouring over your households this evening.
Catch that butterfly, there, boy!
And know that in your future you will be begging
to look as hideous as a moth
banging your skull against the roof of my trunk
as I drive away with your body.
You beg me
give me reason!
and I try, but it's so difficult
I don't want to live!
and what am I supposed to do to help
when you don't want the help I give?
And we plead to gaze at stars over the Causeway
going seventy in the sunroof as off in Norco
the refineries let go a blaze jealous of the sun.
The moon doesn't shine as brightly as I remember.
Maybe I was too young to understand light pollution
or maybe it's the gnawing away of the ozone
as my skin tightens and ages over my teeth.
Do you understand how permanent
death
is?
Let me show you, this:
the vision you are trying to make me live through;
I will not let you force me into folding
your hands over your chest
while the embalming fluid grows stiff
beneath your cold hands.
I will not cry for you, if you bleed out your sorrows on a tile floor
or over a dark carpet
or crushed against the wall in your blue Mustang.
I will not cry for you,
but for the life you left behind,
the life you took, the life you stole
from me.
ME.
I have faced death with weakening knees;
I have knelt before the toilet whispering
please someone anyone
when it was too early in the morning for anyone to hear.
I have emptied the medicine cabinet of its promising contents
to find that nothing but
nothing
waited for me on the other side of ignorance.
Pain;
and it rains lightly on Tuesday evenings.
Somewhere behind the doorjamb is a flute
being played by a breeze
through the window you left open.
The note you will never write is tickled by the wind
and a thousand sunsets later--
I do not forget you.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said:
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”
1.6k
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Most kids blame themselves for
the divorce of their parents
I blame myself for
my parents not getting divorce
They weren't meant to be
They wanted me to not go through
the stress of living in two different households
every other weekend
but they weren't meant to be
Opposite can attract but sometimes
some things are just too different
I rather have the stress of a divorce than
the constant stress of picking a side
and seeing one disappointed parent
I blame myself
I'm the chain that ties
two ticking time bombs together
One day, I won't be home to be that chain anymore
and when that day comes
I will walk into a home I cannot recognize as home
but as an unforgettable war zone
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Some people strive for the highest grades
Or the newest car
Or the nicest house
Some people have a hunger to be the best
To get the highest grades
To go to the best schools
To be better
But what about those
who strive to not be hungry
Statistically 1 in every 5 kids go to bed hungry
And guess what
They wake up hungry
Not knowing when the hell they'll get food
And here we are hungry for the new iPhone 7
We open the stocked cabinets
In our kitchens
And respond with theres nothing to eat
Tell that to the 15.3 million children
under 18 in the United States
Who live in households
where they are unable to access enough nutritious food
necessary for a health
We strive to be the best
We hunger the newest things this Christmas
But what about those who every day
Strive to not be hungry
-StefC
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
One day God created the Heavens and Earth and Sonewen
From that impoverished Ghetto came great men and women
And from her shores came Zogos that are nationally notorious
Yet from in one blessed home came a child bound to be famous.
From His Throne he saw that his handed works was very good
So In every households He placed a family to populate the hood
And so from sunrise to sunset, their faces glowed with happiness
Yet it was from one blessed home came a poet bound for greatness.
One day the rumours of war began to echo on the playgrounds
It was December and arid heat had just dried up the muddy ponds
As far as the eyes could see, stranded frogs hopped and jumped
Signs the history of the Sonewen ghetto was about to be transformed.
Transformed it did because in her, the elements of war found a safe haven
Exacerbated by war, compounded by poverty still to God she said Amen
Trusting in Him to bless and bring prosperity according to his divine favors
So from this humble child comes a big thank you for answering his prayers .
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
*Each day the world grows less sane, less safe,
Each day the pollution fills this world with dry air,
Each day children are subjected to noise pollution,
Smoking, cars, madness and broken households,
Each day the world grows more careless of these things,
More unwilling to change, less interested in actual solutions,*
This moment all will come to an end with an endless sky
*Every moment less pollution increases her will
Every moment the moon's halo is becoming vivid
Every moment the clouds are smooth as silk
Every moment we take one step closer to saying goodbye
Every moment we are given more air to breath, greener hills
Every moment is another step closer to nature, to life*
After 2000 years, such irony, so much beauty, such amazing truth...
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC