"prosecuted" poems
We're in hell
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy
Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields
That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
Mad
Angry and disturbed
Perturbed by your absurd words
Their rhythm ring sing songs on & on
Wrongly depicting me as the beast who depletes we
Condemned and prosecuted for convoluted convictions
Incarcerated despite fair trial meanwhile
Defendant roams free, though guilty
So I suffer when her rough mood cannot bebuffered
And somehow the blame is on me, what a shame it would be
If I had a fair trial, and you were beguiled by my vengeance
But Corinthians bestowed on me that love hold no grudge
So I won't budge,
This time.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
"shop closed"
**the sign never sat
perfectly on any hook
or nook
or cranny
you are an echo bounced
perfectly in every hook
and nook
and crook**
"considered sold once broken"
**consider it done
once dealt with the devil
his ornamental fairies
consider them whole before
they were bought**
"trespassers will be prosecuted"
**bedsheets spun out of cobwebs
sandcastles spun in of air
floorboards swallow you in
you dreamt of
anchoring yourself
to the ground**
"wine house"
**lustre of turbulent pirouttes
trapped within the walls
of wine glasses and
wine-stained dresses
in cadavers' masquerade**
"emergency only"
**they pushed you in the operating theatre
and cleaned their hands with soap
opera
amputate these phantom limbs
pain has been the only anaesthesia**
"in loving memory of"
he is the protagonist
he is the antagonist
and all stories end
(with)
the former
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
When I was younger I was taught in school never to talk to strangers no matter how polite they look.
But they never taught me what to do when someone who isn’t a stranger kidnaps my heart and leaves me as an empty carcass.
Someone who I trusted the most…
And isn’t trust a funny word?
Especially to a child that is so easily manipulated.
So quick to jump when a man needs help with a finding a lost puppy.
Or when they say your name in just the right way.
But once they are found dead in a wasteland is when they realize how foolish the word trust really is.
And if someone who kidnaps and kills is prosecuted why aren’t you?
Why aren’t you taking your seat on death row?
Oh right, Because I’m still breathing.
And causing someone to be dead on the inside isn’t a crime.
I was just one of your trophies and engraved on my back was a black and blue target for your flesh tone arrows
It was all just a game.
A game that isn’t fair when you stole what was the most important to me.
I let you hold on to my trust like a little girl would and you clenched your fist, letting me crumble.
What makes you think it’s acceptable to come back and ask for a second chance?
Another round?
The little girl didn’t have a second chance to decline her offer.
The vile man didn’t have a second chance to leave the playground.
And I didn’t have a second chance to keep my self locked up tight or refuse you to touch me in that way even though you said it was “okay” because “loved me”
And with a love like that you didn’t need to ask right?
All I know is if I there was a way I could go back to that night where you asked me to dinner I would say “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 3:08 AM 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
I sit by the window
In absent mindedness
Speaker of the so-called
grey crested emotions.
No more wine?
No more dead birds?
as happy as the outer space
as poor as my manhood.
I sit by the window
and
I touch you in the night
Like the hero of your dream
Prosecuted and paralyzed
by the hallowed love
I touch you cold,
tell me,
how close is this to a lipless grin? .
- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
***
We both performed the same Deeds
Committed the same Crime
Thus our Sins were also same
I was caught Red-Handed
You managed to Escape
My Bad-Luck Your Good-Luck
Only I was Prosecuted
I was made Accused
At last, I was convicted
Now I am facing the Punishment
You are free to enjoy the Life
Also free to commit a new Crime
I know my act was illegal
I know your act was also illegal
You also know, your act was illegal
***
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
STOP!
CROSS ON GREEN ONLY!
ONE WAY!
WARNING DO NOT ENTER PRIVATE PROPERTY!
NO TRESPASSING!
NO LOITERING!
VAGRANTS WILL BE PROSECUTED!
DEAD END!
Oooh my, can't stand this any more sooo...
...Felt a strange urge
in my legs
jumped into my car
wanted F R E E D O M,
craved F R E E D O M,
freedom away from
this imprisoning sign-city
Felt the true call of nature
Felt my natural urge to e x p a n d
needed my
ROAMING grounds
once more
Fled for o p e n country s p a c e s
where FREEDOM reigns
like, like refreshing droplets of spring water
BOLTED out of my car
where mother earth
cushioned my feet,
caressed me,
hugged me,
And go so far as to say,
even crawled into my jeans
and heard harmonious
chirping birds
Felt this strange twinge
in my calves
Ran like a deer
Ran into e x p a n d I n g o p e n s p a c e s
flight
Felt my legs take
practically off ground
Felt twigs, grass and weeds
gently stroke my ankles and calves
Felt country refreshing cool air
breeze my whole body;
and whizz
up my nostrils
BUT SUDDENLY!!
I trip over something,
it's a rusty large sign reading,
"KEEP OUT INTRUDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
PRIVATE PROPERTY"
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Have you felt like your life was incomplete like a fraction.
Because from the human eye you see nothing but dissatisfaction.
What's was your initial reaction?
Did you take action or act in an orderly fashion.
Just because you feel a mess doesnt mean you should walk in feebleness.
Dont be stressed, Its only but a test
To see where lies your faithfulness.
From the moment you Opened your heart to The father and Confessed
And commited your self, Surrendering to his will by simply saying Yes.
He Said, "My daughter Rise, shine, and with the armor of God get dressed.
For I have taken your brokenness to exchange it for your wholeness.
Now Take the straight and narrow path of Righteousness.
On this journey you will going through many things that you will have to examine and assess
but I poured upon you my strong spirit of Tenaciousness.
On the days you might feel the sensation of loneliness,
just seek me and you shall find me and you shall be blessed.
As you take this voyage The world will seem so dark and cold.
That even Depression, doubt, and fear will try to put you in A stronghold."
So Now I say to you, "My sister Don't you dare fold!
you have to proclaim the word of God courageously bold.
Let Jesus take the wheel and have complete control."
Just as Peter said to Eneas I speak this message to your inner man called the soul,
"Arise For Jesus Christ maketh thee Whole."
God is using you as a vessel
Because To him you very special
The kind of special a Woman feels when wearing her wedding gown.
You are the elegant jewels that shine intensely upon The Kings Golden Crown.
You are not inclusive.
But Rather Exclusive
just as a guitar that's acoustic
The sound of its music can be very therapeutic.
like a seed that has been planted in the soil deeply rooted.
Dont let devil in your life to pollute it.
Just like Jesus We have to be prosecuted
Because we took on the his spirit for ours substituted.
Remember we are spiritual beings in the the body of fleshy men.
As long as you Let Jesus be your LPN
you will be complete in him
Says the book of Colossians chapter 2 verse ten.
You got to have faith believer and walk the talk.
Just as Jesus said to a lame man I say yoi to you too, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.
In reference to The book of John chapter 5 verse 6.
You are never too broken To be fix as along as you Got God in the mix!
Make It A goal for The most High to purify your heart mind body and soul
So that in him you will be a brand new creature made whole.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
The Street Cleaner
He is not a lucky man, but he is happy but one day he won on a lottery ticket,
not a not a big sum of money but enough to by wheelbarrow got permission
from the local council to keep the town's streets clean. Happy, telling himself
he was self- employed and could sleep till nine in the morn if he wanted to.
A busy bee a busy bee he was till he collided with Mercedes was taken to court
and his wheelbarrow was confiscated to pay for the damage. He had a bike and
got a local garage to put a two- wheel contraption to fasten to his bike, the town
got rid of its trash again until an officious policeman asked him if he had a licence
for this he didn't and it was confiscated. Now he had a jute sack slung on his proud
shoulders and a walking stick with a nail attached, a weapon a police officer said
he was carrying a weapon in public and he was prosecuted. He didn't show up
to the hearing and when the law came around, he hung from a rafter sometimes
even serious optimists give up and with no cleaner the town sank into misery,
plagued by vermin the population fled, a town given into paper napkins pizza boxes
and burger wrappers and the poor who had nowhere to go. And if this reflects
the life of a typical inner city of our English speaking world it is purely incidental.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
History's greatest psychic,
Micheal de Nostrademus prophesied.
He wrote and wrote.
Words on calamity
of terrifying magnanimity.
War leader after another,
battles and assassinations after the previous one.
Morality in all decisions was part of his plans.
Blood, death, waste and famine are quite familiar in our age
but in the end our century will be peaceful.
"Peace prosecuted by death
shall be achieved.
In one night,
green that have
been long dead
will grow green again.
After the war,
there would be a re-newed rain
and a Golden Age,
and a peace that would last
a 1000 Years.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
I saw a sad
Show today
On a Broadway stage
Such a horrifying play:
A Poetess is prosecuted
For her famous poem,
which took all of us
by a storm—
A poem,
vividly composed,
in a simple form.
She’s forced to feel guilty
and remove the painting from display
Because people’s egos got caught on fire
that their pens got nothing to say
But, when is it a crime
for a poem to remain on Front Page
Trending continuously
in every descending age?
If she painted magic
and that gave her fame
It’s your imagination
but her ingenuity isn’t to blame
If you got no sunshine
or your heart has no symphony to play—
don’t censure her vertical muse
or the ones, who didn’t
show up on Broadway—
yet, search the power ink within,
to place your paintings on display
Jobiranyc (10/6/2018)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
I feel the comfortable writhing
deep in my ***** again
I'm not sorry
This is your fault
You touched me first
Somewhere in the back of my mind
You're feeling me out
Little Miss,
Telepathic
Trespassers
will be prosecuted.
...I'll put my hands
around your neck
so softly
And choke out
the words caught
in your throat
To the tip of my tongue
all the right things flow
To the flesh of your lips
and all in between
resonating your body
with stories
stranger
than
fiction
little deaths end
where they begin
can
you
feel
friction
feeling
you
up?
Just how you like
To be
shaken
and
stirred
tossed
and
over-turned
This is me unleashing
some twisted fantasy
to my little therapist
enabling me
To self-medicate with star-stuff
To "Show me what you're made of"
To "Baby, bend over and take it."
Show me the fourth wall
Let's break it.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Isn't it strange
That men women and child
Are being prosecuted
Because of their beliefs
Because of their color
Because of their gender
Because of their class.
Isn't it strange that
Now-a-days it is cool to be stupid
But stupid to be smart
It is cool to bully
The weak
And praise the unworthy.
Isn't it strange
That we disrespect
Those who raised us
Because we see it happening
On TV.
Isn't it strange
That we would spend
Thousands of dollars
For the latest item on the market
But can't afford to help
the less fortunate.
Isn't it strange
That my voice will become
Unheard
Rejected
Scorned
Because what I say is true
and I stand for what I believe in.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
Sky has fallen on your head, Earth erupting has upended you into two, is it time for change yet?
Everyone knows the extinction's coming, racing towards US from our future,
Seen on the horizon, still, no talk of evolution, adapting to reality,
Not the worldly world of criminal insanity? Non-republican caucasian
Newborns to men who are heterosexual are still neutered as newborns,
Mutilated as toddlers, kids, mass-raped, and every crime done against them
As kids and teens, yet the Roman Catholic Empire doesn't even acknowledge
Their inquisition against them, let alone slow it down, stop it. How is
It that Pope Benedict (Arnold, the Rat...), the last inquisitor, hasn't
Been prosecuted in the ICC? Just so you know, if "...we(e),..." don't
Uninstall RumputiN/vlad-the-impaler from the Blackhouse by 1-21-21, the
United **** of assassins is the new notsee Germany and since it's citizens
Haven't stopped it's Gov't, it must be destroyed at all costs, for life,
Humanity, the Earth, to even exist. Is impeachment peachy keen now?
Do you feel like keeping it in the ground, abolishing fossil fuel use yet?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC
My astute sadness falls in to obscurity
As my beleaguered heart drowns in madness
Yet, I enthusiastically embrace this majority
Grinning at my tortured exuberant canvas
A crooked smile, my face spreading wide
Gashes upon my past, brought to life
The twisted anarchy is my pride
Following a path on the edge of a knife
The out-flowing insanity, my soul enveloped
My obtuse feelings rushing in to disarray
The bitter darkness my spirit developed
My past life, willing to betray
I welcome and revel in my malevolence
Being called the Dark Prince
I am a mad ruler, benevolent
Giving me a wild pleasure, seen as nonsense
None can see in to my thoughts
Anarchic wanderings floating around
I burn all that I have bought
Burn it all to the ground
Burn it all. The people who walk in comfort with their morally loose ideals. Darkness needs to be dragged out from within, as we all need to be saved from societies twisted obligations. They need to fall in to primitive anarchy to truly see themselves.
I do not have another equal, none
Even my dark rival disappoints me
His presence gives me some fun
Yet I shall fall from grace
His justice is a personal vendetta
Derived from beliefs he created
Based on an iron law
Prosecuted by the judge, himself
He always hides in black, he thinks he is a dark soul. Always brooding, confronting my very mind. He is the only friend I have, the only interesting aspect of my life. And even though I wish him dead, i wouldn't know what to do afterwards.
So I crown myself in white and green
Red splashed across my lips
As I look in the mirror, clean
I ask...
Why so serious
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
When I was 5 I started to put sharpie or pen on my nails to make them black.
And I even recall on one instance where I put mascara in my hair to give myself black streaks.
I now want black stiletto nails, and I know that many others have them, or even just paint their fingernails black.
And it makes me think, black is such a beautiful colour and yet we put down and make fun of the people of that colour.
They can't change it, and they shouldn't have to feel that they must.
Being another colour than white shouldn't be a day to day burden or task.
It should make you feel beautiful and blessed.
But not everyone sees it that way.
It's a shame really, you see so many superb black men and women that stand out in this day and age and community.
And it has been that way for centuries.
Giving us all music to move to and lose ourselves in, books to read (perhaps more than once), movies to watch and adore, and many other things.
And yet people don't realize, they're just HUMAN.
Not having a choice of what pigmentation their skin is.
Being beaten unmercifully, and some being prosecuted not from their actions but because people have come to terms that all of that colour perform the same cruel acts.
Stereotypes;
It's not fair and I refuse to live in a society that is so mean and brutal.
Be nice to people regardless of their skin, the look or feel of it.
Be helpful to those in need regardless if others wouldn't because they have different views than you.
I'm not saying this little collection of words will change the world.
But I'm letting it be known that I myself will not be spiteful towards others that have not been to me.
Just because their skin may shout out because it is darker than others, it doesn't make them less of a person.
You don't want people to be put in boxes and yet you categories them, making them feel small and wrong.
We have come such a long way, not just for this subject but for others.
But I want my voice to be heard and my opinion to be stated.
And for others to not be so crass and quick to judge.
People are people, and deserve to be treated like it.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
stained glass with sunlight streaming,
a single rivulet, a single tear,
slips silently down the bridge of a nose
to fall silently to the tip of another.
eyes meet while hands continue to cradle
the face of the accused, the prosecuted, the expatriate of vagrants:
three words, blooming like delicate flowers from deep emerald vines that grow freely and climb the trunks of trees with more nimbleness than the lost boys themselves,
three words, gliding like the lone droplet from the lips of the holder,
descending to the ears of the held,
and they rang out as much as a whisper could, among dancing dust and gentle breath,
"you
are
forgiven."
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
*when I turned eighteen
sadness filled my cups,
for carefree was now gone,
laying side by side
with all my companion figurines,
off to rest in a boy's toy chest
in a backyard cemetery hid,
certainty assured
all that I was, so far,
all that I will be,
uncalming coming forevermore,
unwilling borne upon
the newly time redesigned,
heavy load shoulders of adult responsibility
when I turned thirty,
sadder now by the means and meaning of accumulation,
having thrice now measured the length of a stick of life,
denominated as a decade,
wiser now that the children underfoot,
certainty assured,
would have to pay
bills of lading for cargoes,
not of their own choosing,
indeed, selected unwisely,
by men like me, and men before,
all too old or too gone,
to be prosecuted now for the
short sightedness of reckless timidity
when I turned fifty,
the shoulders slightly stooped and gently curved,
my gait and pace slowed by weight,
pockets laden with undesired memories,
unfinished arguments,
dreams that morphed and morted into
failed schemes that with the
certainty assured,
the tallied ache of known losses
will always weigh greater
than the
unknown of opportune
now with seventy,
so near, onrushing to the sounds
of old men and their noisy excuses
of babbling, ironical,
eerie similar to the parental smiling hushing
of a newborn's squeaking,
a youthful brook,
happily to an open sea arushing,
hurrying in the fullness of innocence to
it's demise
the line of sight to the horizon,
far shorter now than ere before,
with greater certainty assured,
that near my god than thee,
my sadness daren't hope to dissipate, nor lift
as once it did,
an early morn mist rising off the river,
freshly sun burnished, then miracle banished,
sacrificing itself as a hopeful oracle of a new born day
recurring haunted words
like rest, best and tried,
the only legacy remaining to gift,
but one thing yet measures a comforts,
a red cross blanket round the shoulders thrown that with
certainty assured,
the marvy joy of life all in,
be our given right to err and learn wisdom at our own pace
so here I freely confess
with wry, sly smile that we
proved ourselves to be
victims of our unintended tendencies,
successful in being*
all too human
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
the skulk was mostly *****
hens were haunted by either gender
the farmer's wife also feared them
though small and they ran from most two-legged beasts
the farmer shot the foxes for sport--guarding chickens not his concern with a thousand acres in corn
the farmer's son had trapped a red Reynard
it perished in captivity, starving itself
the night of the caged fox's demise, the rooster crowed tirelessly
for good reason, since the leash gobbled a dozen hens under a waning gibbous moon
the creatures prosecuted a moral symmetry it seemed
while the farmer was febrile with the grippe, the son fast asleep, and the wife dared not make a peep
witnessing a crimson carnage she likened to war
in its aftermath, a naked sun rose on waves of white feathers and scarlet trails of blood
perhaps 'tis not good to trap a wild thing, the farmer's wife mused
then she made her way to the coops, fetching enough eggs for breakfast
all the while the skulk watched from the thick brush
watched and waited, without will as we know it
but with a red reckoning ready, should they again be victims
of man's folly and sin
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Holy pages ripped from a sacred spine,
****** out your blood and spilled your wine.
Mopped it up with sanctified script,
Leaving divine lexis left to encrypt.
Hypocritical followers with justified wrongs,
Unjustified sinners to worship reverence songs,
An attempt to make it through without harm,
A set of prolongs left to disarm.
What about the advocates who push unworthy guilt,
Yet redefine corruption in the place their faith built?
What about those who are prosecuted for living their lives,
Put on trial for wine spilt, and other wine-like deprives?
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 1:06 PM UTC
Remember how **** of Utin did the 'Faux Pandemic'
political theater, saying and doing the opposite of what
he knew to be true, in order to **** as many handicapped,
elderly, autistic, developmentally disabled, long-term
hospital and nursing home attendees, diffabled, etc.,
as he could, a eugenics pogrom to steal their SS, 'cause
the repubs couldn't get that done politically for decades?;
oh yeah, it's still going on. 'Oh well, here we go again',
now he's heading up this lame conspiracy, they're all
terrorists, and should be prosecuted as such, will you?
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 2:38 AM UTC
I see the sad and awful color of racism not every other day
But every 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
Others treat our people like they are leftover beans
On a pet's plate. Our people deserve respect
Fairness, justice, acknowledgement
Compassion 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 by the system
At other time, haunted by an organized medium
Created to destroy, ravage and annihilate
To ridicule, punish and discriminate
I see the color of racism, when the police for no apparent reasons
Stopped, frisked and handcuffed our homeless, 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
Every 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.
Their false pride, their ignorance is unleveled
And their audacity, 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 evade or escape them
It is not easy to ignore the litanies of bad or negative mannerisms
The bigots easily function like lethal venomous vipers
That **** out the emotions, and that destroy all positive characters
I see the ugly color of racism not every other day
But every minutes of the day.
One human race, one human race.
Copyright © February 24, 2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC
A miscommunication of the words that I'm preaching
Little boys and little girls finding comfort in words with a deeper meaning
Extra extra extra read all about
My friends claim I'm not the same girl who they once knew
And I must admit its the truth
Every since I decided to become bigger then my own idol
Its been a downward spiral
Words thrown at at me left and right
People put me down with words rooted in hate
All because ive turned into a seeker of the truth
And because i refuse to downgrade myself to be societies fool
I sink to my knees for no one but my own God
And im stronger then the swords used to attack me.
if you can't handle the truth feel free to leave
I'm Just another girl trying not to conform
Trying to make it without losing my sense of self
No one asked for this life
but everyone seems to play the governments fool
to bad for you
I'm prosecuted for my beliefs
I have people who prefer to spit in my face
it's not my fault you can't handle the truth
Don't get me wrong
I'm not saying I'm better then you
I'm just saying
I know things you will never know
because I'm no fool
I fight
I cry
call on God when things aren't right
I listen
I see
I know what's really going on
a world divided is a world that's conquered
I'm only trying to give society a wake up call
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC