"lynching" poems
We are the kids – beautiful blank canvasses ready to receive the joy of life.
We are the kids – hope & love consuming our souls, grasping at the shiny & new.
We are the kids who played in the fields and danced in the sun.
We are the kids with innocence in our hearts and a cheekiness in our soul.
We are the kids who believed in a benevolent God and the generous teachings of Jesus.
We are the kids whose imagination was an infinite resource - bounteous, diverse and effervescent.
We are the kids who reveled in the fancy, the nonsensical, the romantic and the wild.
We are the kids that couldn’t wait to grow up,
We are the kids who believed in our future.
We are the kids who never saw it coming.
We are the kids who lost our innocence as soon we walked through the big school gates for the 1st time.
We are the kids who were told to “think of your future” and to suppress creativity.
We are the kids who were forced to grow up very quickly.
We are the kids who didn’t know we were “different” but there were plenty out there who did.
We are the kids who had to pretend to be what “they” wanted us to be just to survive.
We are the kids who came home with scars every day – both physical and emotional
We are the kids who endured the obscene words of Neanderthal hate every single day.
We are the kids who were screamed at by our parents to fight back even when we really didn’t have the capability to do so.
We are the kids who were told crying was a sign of weakness.
We are the kids whose so-called classmates stayed silent when they did their worst.
We are the kids where the school gates were no barrier to their lynching.
We are the kids who turned quickly from being wide-eyed & hopeful to being terrified & desolate.
We are the kids who dreaded every single weekday from first term to last.
We are the kids who fruitlessly prayed to a God who had deserted them.
We are the kids taught by teachers who were found wanting.
We are the kids who suffocated in sheer hate.
We are the kids who took our own lives or at least tried to.
We are the kids who self-harmed.
We are the kids who sometimes never came home.
We are the kids who survived but never really left the school yard behind
We are the kids.
Your kids.
June 11, 2018.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
You loop the rope around my wrists,
so delicately
I almost forget this is supposed to thrill me.
Your eyes glow barbaric
but mine can't unlock
from the braided cord
just barely rubbing my skin.
I never liked ropes in these kinds of situations,
I never felt they were right kind of tempting.
You see when you become part of the other you have to embrace it,
Like a flaw,
Only this one comes with a body count.
The rough texture of the rope feels like hay,
Like beard stubble
pressed against your cheek
in a high school classroom,
Like broken strands of your now fried hair lying at the bottom of your shower drain.
My wrists have a noose around them,
But this is a suicide not a lynching.
When his wife crawls into her bed
at the end of the night,
she won't smell my perfume,
We never go to his room.
I don't want to know
what a marriage bed looks like.
But you have to understand,
This is my choice.
I don't want him to love me,
Nor do I think he ever will.
He loves what I do to him,
What I'll let him do to me,
And that's as much of a connection
as the both of us need.
It always ends with me being called
his *****
by a woman who doesn't know
he's turned on by that word,
But I never break them up.
Either she doesn't leave,
And if she does,
We all 3 know this wasn't my doing.
The rope snapped
And its my skin that is left raw.
Their tension will only make me bleed.
Love will hurt you.
Women like me are a catalyst,
Not a damnation
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
Probe me antagonists,
For I am no longer afraid-
Of your shunning or your lynching,
Or stoning, or blade.
You all stare with luscious eyes,
Jealous, cruel-fiends.
Malicious and vindictive,
Hating by all means.
Under the sheets-
Gasping beyond belief,
You kick me,
I can not breath.
No longer am I easy,
No longer tease to please.
Sick with rage and frustration,
Consumed like a disease.
I know when you lie to me,
The only question is why?
Who said you could judge?
Who made you GOD when they died?
Stare at me, look into my eyes!
Oh how I trusted you and you made me cry!
Let down, alone
I crumble by his side.
Running from reality, he holds me at night.
When silent sobs seep from inside.
I wanna scream, but instead I hide.
And sedate myself from your hellish wealth,
And your perfect life,
And your easy ride.
I'm alone and I'm fine.
I do not need you to pry.
Or to pity me as I die.
Twisted and dismayed;
I am ****** but definitely unafraid.
Foolish and used,
Ill live to see another day.
And the pain you caused will finally fade.
And the love we knew will be replaced.
I'm moving on and out of place.
I don't need you, or your approving face.
And all of its grace.
Your drama and chilling pace-
Graphic and slow, savor the chase.
God what a waste.
People just love to hate.
'Round and 'round,
Stuck in their rut of a mental state.
Dyeing, hell-bent on leaving a trace,
On hurting and watching me break.
Karma neither is predictable,
Nor is it fast.
One day you'll bear the burden
And the pain of an outcast.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:35 PM UTC
I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric
And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence
As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays
But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
A woman in heaven caused the fall of man,
Even though the apple was plucked by her man.
A woman in Troy caused a ****** old war,
Brave men fought for the honour of possessing her.
A woman in Judea gave birth to a baby boy,
Whose tongue caused upheavals that's felt to this day.
A woman in a bikini is a poster for her own liberation,
While in a burka she is a symbol of her own oppression.
She must be the cause of her own sexploitations,
For her assets fulfil the ogling market's expectations.
When she's ***** it must be her fault in some way,
For as she passes by, her brethren look the other way.
A young woman is responsible for her own lynching,
If she dishonours her brethren for her lover's calling.
As a child she is the cause of her own infanticide,
For she is the bearer of ill-omens and misfortune.
Has anyone ever asked her if she wants to be a poster,
Or a commodity, or a bearer of their burden and slander?
Beware how you treat her, for she is above all a mother,
Whose hands may cradle the next saint, thief or ******
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,
Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.
"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".
The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.
Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.
He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against ***** snowbank.
Dog **** mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Kicking
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.
When he lives
He is not a monster.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
They tell me to stick to my roots
because roots lead up to shoots.
They tell me to stick to my origin
unaware of how it acts as a prison,
My roots are Draupadi's hair that was twisted and lugged,
my roots are Panchali's saree that was tugged.
My roots are Sita's wrist Ravana wrested,
my roots are where Ahalya's chastity rested.
My roots are parasites that eat up its own herb and ****
my roots are rat snakes that eat up its own tissue and meat.
My roots are flames of fire that created and watered the plant of Sati,
my roots are pools of blood and long ropes that drowned and hanged LaxmiBai and Moolmati.
My roots are the dish misogyny flavoured with patriarchy,
my roots are naked streams of Ganga washing off their lynching and anarchy.
My roots are all the poison Shiva drank during the churning of the sea,
my roots are Dhritrashtra's aspirations and ambiguity.
My roots are its own herbivore,
my roots are the lava that burns its own floor.
And my roots are my flesh and bone,
so I am stitched to my roots altogether, all alone.
So as I cut my own roots, my roots chop me,
hence I stick to my roots while my roots remain free.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
Dark flows down to the street's pools
The blotting paper of sky in grey
has imprints of cyclamen roses
Right there on the street they are lynching
with a welding torch the rests
of this night I have spent with a walk
to assure myself that I live still
Maybe this is the morning
that will give an amnesty
to all the time barred loves
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
I've learned to love my black face
to stand in adversity and embrace
all the god-perfected beauty that he has placed
on this resilient black face
resilient
able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching and being compressed
resilient
the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties the very definition of black and its beauty
the definition of 300 hundred years of slavery and then modern complicity to be black proud and beautiful openly
to live in a world where European features are aspired to and to be black is frowned upon so if you have any black then you’re shunned
But we all know the stars couldn’t shine without the black space allowing them
Any giving moment our black greatness could swallow them
And funny thing is the same black face you call a disgrace only to turn around and try to obtain the very thing you shunned
so why is it that my curly hair is detrimental to society and my full lips cause controversy and my ****** curves taking as trends and stolen from me
told that white is what is to be and white model thin is in
while you praise poseurs for their artificial curves and fake tanned skin
yet through all the racial sin that dates back to 1910 when the KKK became known for lynching black men still then
we are able to stand in a crowd of hate and discrimination
the years of toil being perceived as an abomination and still love our skin
still rock our curly hair and color our full lips
still embrace our curvy hips
and embrace our “ghetto names”
and our ghetto trends
proud of it
proud of my face
yes I'm proud of my skin
because to be black is to be beautifully resilient
By poetic90's
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Struggling to catch my breath
as the corporate noose tightens
with every mundane task flung my way
Slowly losing my contentment
with this poor disguise of slavery
Suffering alone in silence
with a fake smile plastered on my face
I swear I've been here before...
living the same year on repeat
This can't be it
there has to be more to this boring game
“Money can't buy life”
realisation burns like a slap in the face
I'm smarter than this
I won't get caught in this web of numbness
that comes from only existing
Opening my eyes with a blade
it hurts... the truth always does
Opening my eyes to life
...that feels good though
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
I tried to look without blinking,
I stared uninterruptedly for a long time
It got blurry for a while and it I almost couldn’t visualize for a splitsecond until I blinked and there it was staring right back at me
So I started drinking,
Wine, spirits and a lil’ liquor,
And with every sip and every glass I still felt my heart sinking from the weight of my troubled thoughts..
Day in, day out I was always caught by myself thinking,
Pondering and wishing everything away..
It was persistently adamant,
With it there was no going away, no shaking it off, no shrinking, no flinching..
Its sound piercing like tyres screeching,
Its sight gory like stealing in a lagos hood when its punishment inevitably would be lynching
It reminded me of an evangelist preaching,
Its effect was adverse 'cause classes I never attended about it whenever they were teaching..
I got my self into this mess so I guess its time to stop ********
Brace myself up for some ditching and dissing
I had it, I messed up and now its missing
In its place this monster I have created, I nursed it, I raised it
Now I gotta accept it, live with it and deal with it
Its not just a part of me, its now whom I have become..
It taunts me, it haunts me and constantly reminds me that;
I am a bad habit, I am an addict, I am eccentric, I am a misfit, and I am not going anywhere cause I am unique and I am you..
-r3d-
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 6:38 AM UTC
She looked at me and said
I think you could be someone
Who I would want to cry at my funeral
Because you would have loved me forever
By then
Even in my nightmares
You have no clothes
And I wake cold-sweat
And my ***** is confused
It would be cliché for me to tell you about
The doves
Beating beneath my heart-heavy breastplate
Only most days I feel like a sad piñata
And I want you to beat the heaven out of me
I know what Satan saw
In his decent
And it was worth the trouble
It wasn’t you
(Conceited)
He didn’t see you
Just the passion
The things I want to do to you
Like a lynching
After being dragged for miles from a horse
By the throat
And called a suicide
Only because I didn’t try to stop them from taking me
I want to love you like I should have known better
I want to catch your breath like a harmonica
With my hand over your mouth
A bent note all heave
Slip between my fingers
Let’s be wrong together
Like a nun in a church
Playing I Want Your *** on me
As if I were a ****** pipe *****
Tuned to the key of hallelujah
With a distortion pedal set to laughter
She shook like a love letter
Dropped from a balcony
I didn’t offer my jacket
Just my arms
So much rusty bear traps
Their damp hinges closing is a lonely song
I want to leave here feeling like a shotgun shell
Thrown to the floor hot
And used for killing something
Like the time between now
And your next misfire
Even if we’re just friends by then
She says
I would want you to be there crying
I couldn’t imagine you
anywhere else
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess
Getting close enough to taste the moans of vodka’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled
Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,
When procreation was preached as an STD
Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species
Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,
From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone
But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs
I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told
This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
walking down my street
lynching trees surrounded
by the playing children
"my daddy got that one hung!"
cries one child
"yeah, but i mutilated his genitalia!"
shouts the other
oh so bright and gay
is our neighborhood!
dedicated adults!
happy children!
walking the SECURE HOMELAND street
sweet the smell of decayed flesh
all our dreams!
american dreams
so well fulfilled!
who will turn werewolf tonight
with me?
who....into a vampire!?
thru the lynching trees!
laugh and play children
laugh and play
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 5:49 PM UTC
His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven.
His father, by the cruelest way of pain,
Had bidden him to his ***** once again;
The awful sin remained still unforgiven.
All night a bright and solitary star
(Perchance the one that ever guided him,
Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim)
Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char.
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view
The ghastly body swaying in the sun
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.
2.4k
Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.
Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.
She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.
What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.
Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.
She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.
Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.
It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:52 PM UTC
Where did the circus go?
Not like the Del Mar fair
Or the Barnum and Bailey skinny cow version
I want someplace nasty
A bit sticky
Someplace that picks up and leaves
before you have time to go get your watch back
All that’s left is a lot
Full of trash and ride screws
Because the rush to leave was more important
than safety
It’s a place most days now
I wish I could run away to
Slap on fake **** and be the bearded lady
Or warts and green paint and be frog man
Be something along the lines of
Homemade make believe
Be happy believing that
This other place doesn’t have things
Like rent
And car payments
And work that ***** you harder than your own girlfriend will
And don’t tell me cirque de solei is hiring
That’s not a circus
That’s people in costumes dancing and flying around on stages
They had to go to school to do that
You don’t need school to join the circus
You just need the desire to leave
Before anyone notices you’re gone
Maybe leave behind a sticky mess
And take with you something valuable
Like a watch
Or money from the purse on the counter
Or someone’s heart
Maybe I could be tattoo man
Or the ***** Mouthed Poet
And freestyle psalms that ache behind a glass window
That you have to pay a quarter to see through
And another quarter to listen
Or I could be a wax statue of Jesus
The one that if you stare at long enough
You see him breathing
Enough to restore faith in the make believe
That keeps us going
Let me be your side show
Let me be your fortune teller
Let me be the dark room in that back
Only the men are allowed into
Women and children this way
Let me be the ***** talk of town
And leave before the lynching
Let me leave in the night like a piper
With the promise
That I will give you the life you’ve always wanted
If you leave behind all you’ve ever been
Remember him?
He joined the circus?
Where’d the circus go?
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
I am
In a word
transfixed to a moment
the epitome of evolution
the pinnacle of creation
I laugh triumphantly
As my knife pierces the medium rare steak
So civilized
I am
that rare breeze
that has traveled the distance
of so many sorrows
a physical force
borne of the contradiction
between warmth and the abyss
I am
very respected
I adjust the tie
the trapezoidal patterns hide so coolly
the noose around my neck
a lynching of estimation
in a two part drama
I am
leaning against the wall
the flesh pressed against the graffiti
my being transposed against someone else's thoughts
its all a happenstance
an accidental meeting without a gaze
but for that commonality
we have nothing in common
I am
a synapse
I pass on the sensations
of pain and pleasure
without discrimination
my free will
in all its glory
succumbs to a chemical reaction
yet I must be more
or maybe just maybe
the knife I hold can pierce more than flesh
I am
floating on a stationary platform
I choose my destiny
I rearrange the order of confusion
a train screeches to a halt
a sea of ties and heels
self assured smiles
of the precise menu
may I have the check please
I am
a random canopy of emotion
I flutter in the breeze
the clearest expression of being
of breathing
of wanting
of feeling
a rare glimpse
a subtle smile
a delicate touch of flesh against flesh
its all too fleeting
transparency and no more
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Hate was the darkness
tied in thick frayed ropes
smothered in kerosene
swung over the biggest branch
and wrapped around my throat
while strangers pulled and tightened it.
It was the match lit that **** fire.
Their rage burned my skin
while choking me out
like a sadistic wrestler.
It was branding
and dismemberment.
All those children remember it.
It was little trinkets of remembrance,
bits of flesh, and teeth
Any part they could take of me
before and after
I hung lifelessly
from the most convenient tree.
But if you think this is just
some case of dark skinned history
Then check the news
and you will see
they are still lynching me.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
I'm in the mush, in the creamed corn
I used to float like a log
They cut me down, but I'm still trapped
More than ever before
There's a **** in the side of her red dress
Hem is an awful mess
With happy feet they move
But skeletons don't dance here
Cause a man from another place
Is stirring the soup
These pentacles have tentacles
That water a rotting root
But fire's not all bad
If your twin flame walks with you
And he's waiting
And she's waiting
On the other side
Immobile and free
I'm on a never-ending quest
For the impossible, I guess
Still I wait for the alloy to break
The dye to fade
Before I reach for the white paint
I'm in the mush, in the creamed corn
I used to float like a log
They cut me down, but I'm still trapped
More than ever before
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
Revival of a revolutionary spirit
What I represent?
The Motherland of wisdom
BLACK genesis
Check the pyramids
My heredity IS
God-man manifest in the physical,
And astral and mental
Been mastered every plane of existence
Whole civilizations who understood the Science of Living
Tens of thousands of years before any 'westernized thinking'
An enlightened people
Way before colonialism
How you gon bring democracy (now capitalism in disguise),
To Afrika where it was invented?
And dress ya pawns as 'appointed' leaders
Devil oppressors
Erased our culture, history, and identity
Spiritual genocide by 'Willie Lynching'
Karmically tied to these modern times
I gotz to watch my temper
Lost ONE,
Who found refuge in the Buddha to be most skillful
But what happened to my people?
I just wona know
My whole life,
I was ashamed of being BLACK and didn't know it
Guess it was sub-compartmental
But through practice with experience
Of accumulated virtue
I shed dem old ethers
And broke me down
Psychological brick by brick and rebuilt me
Na I'm ready for war
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 5:00 PM UTC
Secretly believing someone is watching
And will benevolently arrive, relieve the pain
When planets collide, lots of stuff goes awry
Every breath you take implicates you deeper
The constant cry of babies being born
Expect monsters worse than you can conceive
There is a dark alley deep in hell
Where strangers go
She was swallowing a horse who
Stomped its hooves
Kicked her in stomach pregnant with you
As soon as you enter
Someone points a finger
Hollers, “Horse child, ****** child!”
Hen-pecked men and angry haughty women
Shame is the only love i know
A murdering mob descends upon
Somebody lynching Christmas tree ornaments
Why isn’t there God?
It’s disturbing to think
We’re all acting out of chump sensibilities
Explain to me again about sociology and greater good
How long can a smell last?
A week? A month? Thousands of years?
What if higher powers exist
Unbeknownst to themselves?
Death fashionably attired without face
The importance in showing teeth
“Caw, caw!” old crow calls, anticipating winter’s squalls
I fire up cigarette, blow smoke in the faces
Of those who said no to my dreams
I’m glad i didn’t know then what i know now
The cost of joy
Tomorrow is magnificent new beginning
If only everything hadn’t happened
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
The willingness to speak objective truths!
Born out of the prejudice in experience.
He is no god, but a man who speaks to you.
The people, who are proud to be Americans.
He is our ruler, in Trump we trust.
The abused, the lied to and put in harms way.
The dead homosexuals and Christians.
The ministry of truth, the CNN.
The white lynching at the protests.
And the weak Clintonites are abandoning ship!
Had she won, we would stay and endure.
They run, we stayed under Obama.
The dead are finally leaving.
Lets see if Trudeau can treat them better.
He is hard spoken, harsh and a man of the people.
Build the wall! More like fix the wall.
Deport the illegals, they are not Americans.
Stop the muslims who are killing my people.
This is not out of hate, but love. My love for truth and happiness.
Maybe now we can have a country that values both.
Not a lying ***** who silences **** victims.
Oh, give me strength!
Strength! To save our childrens schools!
Strength! To save our children from hate!
Love! to bring love, not resentment for humanity!
O, give me truth. The truth that humanity is not horrible.
That my whiteness is not a feature to describe me.
That my heterosexuality is not a privilege.
That I find my own life, not the lives of the pacific.
Give us, to trust our country to a man who has raised successful children.
Let him be our role model, not that which seeks to lecture me on sexism.
God political poems are trash. Just like your hatred. Let it go, only admonish the actions.
It's current year.
**** Obama for campaigning for his replacement.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
First came the German Shepherd dogs
Next came the water hose
Bodies lynched, then set ablaze
Flesh singed, then meshed with clothes
Innocent black lives lost, on a blood stained Poplar tree
Even now, I hear the Slave Overseer's words
Echo inside me - echoing epigenetically
****** run, ****** die, ****** free"
I am he whose antecedents
Suffered and survived the Middle Passage's arduous trip
I am the progeny who sprang forth from their chained *****
As human chattel, my antecedents suffered the sting of the whip
Their humanity, dignity and pride
Was debased and denied
Deracinated, their bodies were beaten black and blue
But it was the bruises inside, they tried, but could not hide
Innocent black lives lost, victims of the lynching rope
Even now, I hear the Slave Overseer's words
Echo inside me - echoing epigenetically
****** run, ****** die, ****** hope"
I say again, I am he whose antecedents
Suffered and survived the Middle Passage's arduous trip
I am the progeny who sprang forth from their shackled *****
As human chattel, my antecedents suffered the cabotage of a slave ship
In 1964, they were granted civil rights, but denied civility
A denial rooted in the flowering bloom of racial hate
And the verdant lushness of white supremacy's wicked fertility
So many innocent black lives lost
Because of "Negative Eugenic's" lies and untruths
Even now, I hear the Slave Overseer's words
Echo inside me - echoing epigenetically
****** run, ****** die, ****** choose"
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC