"shacks" poems
The rich will always be rich,
Computers, clean body, nice clothes,
Proper homes, not shacks.
Elite schools, branded
Motorcycles, jewelry
The poor will always be poor,
A pen, a marvel
Firewood, abandoned train tracks
YMCA funded classes,
Hand-me downs, nakedness
Grandfather, father,
Son. Same lineage, same burden
To pass down
Generation
To
Generation
To
Generation.
A Never-ending cycle
Cruel game of Russian roulette,
Spin the revolver, watch it
Turn, pick it up, iron to temple
--BANG BANG-- you're dead.
The more the rounds, the
More
Lethal
It
Gets
It is a gap that cannot
Be plugged,
A boulder that cannot be put down,
Like Atlas holding the sky,
If released, the sky and earth
Collide, and we die--
All of us.
Everyone.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
If I could be a cartoon character
Which one would I be
I thought about being Fred Flinstone
But he's too old-fashioned for me
And then there's maybe George Jetson
A man who knew electronics
Nothing like Yosemite Sam
Who needed to be hooked on phonics
And what about Shaggy and Scooby
You gotta love those scooby snacks
I've never really considered a Smurf
And their tiny little mushroom shacks
Or maybe I'd become a super hero
Who comes to save the day
Batman , Green Hornet or Underdog
Who puts the bad guys away
Maybe I'd live in Jellystone Park
Where Yogi is still the king
For "Hello Mr Ranger Sir"
Is just the funniest thing
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
Dry veins branch the dead gulch
cinder cones set on a marble tan scape
fanning sands sketch ephemeral
fossil plates fold under columns of gray
Mountain back steep at the crevasse
sinkhole spots form on parallel nine
sulfur pipe stems from molten ash
withered shrubs and crumbling spines
silt fields cover the foothills
swayback shed near the Whipple tree barn
tumbledown shacks form the patchwork
from goat canyon ranch to big bison farm
Salt lakes fractured in amber
sickle-bush cut at the bowline knot
a half-moon traced by the viper
oxbow streams and valley grot
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC
Who knew that slavery
was just the corner
of an odd shape
and that a few hundred years
of forced labor beatings
would prepare a people
for generations of fatherlessness
clashes with authority
the lashes on their backs
set many free from the morality
of obeying the laws of
"just" society
and with the banks filled
with whip lash deposits
they were well prepared
to go a few hundred years
without the guidance of fathers
them who stayed locked up
cages and chains for shacks and chains
http://kinyopoetry.com/
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
Saw a wretched man
living in shacks__
His beliefs were very
soft just like wax__
Bought his beliefs
with bundle of rupees__
Took it in sunlight and
molded with ease__
Saw a gullible man
standing on street__
Cheated his beliefs
with language sweet__
His beliefs resembled
some old wood__
Sawed and chiseled
it the best I could__
Saw a strong man
holding his beliefs tight__
Forcefully took his
beliefs with a fight__
His beliefs were
like some metal hard__
To bring it in shape I
hammered and charred__
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Chaos humdrum of roaring engines.
The lost siren between concrete slabs
Ricocheting its scream throughout
the hallway streets,
already echoing with horns and yells.
Sleepless and ever burning,
the city lurches on
in agonizing sounds
muffled between high rise pristine glass
and shanty shacks painted with dust.
The frantic commotion of agonized madness,
In zigzag traffic and potholed roads.
The stop and start of hustle and frustration
Rises and falls like a dancing dust storm.
Everything present in a quieter world
is lost in the struggle of city life.
There's no peace or silence here.
Just constant exhaustion in the luminescent roar of human chaos.
26 Dec. 2015
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
In every room
I've lived in,
all the dilapidated shacks
over the years that I've
stayed in, always had a
brown spider that crawled
the walls.
It had a little suitcase.
I thought to myself that it
planned on leaving, moving to
someplace better.
It never did.
It always just set up shop, and
spun a web in the corner and caught
flies, and occasionally a small moth.
On drunken sad moon nights,
I sang dirges to the trapped bugs.
They smiled and laughed, even though
they were dying.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 10:43 AM UTC
There is no floor
Below the water there is sand and dust
My feet disappear below the mist
And below that is a floor of nothing.
Lock and key, relative conductivity
Separation of anxieties
Generally elementary
Universal energy
Scientific inquiry
Empirical discovery
What a bunch of crap.
I bathe in fake white plastic
I swim in silent smiles
Dionysian warfare paintings
Classical textual narrating
Fitness, happiness, soporific movies
Genial tendencies, braced for ingenuity
Waiting for a paroxysm to bring forth neologisms
That test the boundaries of scientific truth
That recapture the errant minds of youth
We could make new buildings or lose a tooth
I hold the latter higher than that
I tilt the ladder there and back
Assiduous and wont, *** for tat
All a game, a joke at that
Your domain, provoked and trapped
Impressionistic spinal taps
On canvases of green and black
All from within cerebral shacks
Wind hammers palm trees on windowpanes
Wind tears down houses, rips apart planes
Wind doesn't move me, yet seems urbane
It's so jejune, it's all the same
I'm tired and lonely, powder remains
Pink like reagents in reactive flames
Quick like catalysts jumping inane
Frontal lobes retired my brain.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
Don't hate upon the elderly soul that see segregation as a good thing.
When they reflect with only good views.
Don't hate upon the suffering soul that proclaims to them that a place they shouldn't go.
World of different views.
Remember, they saw the shacks.
And those various colored only signs.
So in modern times, they will see thing differently.
Sure , those that only saw things as pleasant would still see it that way.
So, when you mention segregation to them.
You pointing out their shame.
Which the others suffered the infliction from.
Notice ways we all try to afford commenting on it.
Like slavery, we all try to run from that past.
Word of two different views.
Those in the South really get upset.
When you point and address their wicked mess.
Those in the North isn't so innocent either.
World of different views.
Which today is still bothering a few.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Live music is a sound machine,
On all four corners,
Gilded streets, nearly five in the morning,
Pavement feet meet ****** shoes
Shuffling down the block.
Pigeon claps & high hats,
Cat heads & piano chops,
Whiskey sours evening gowns,
Lemon drops with Father Brown.
The St. Claude Shuffle down the boulevard,
Where shoes straddle electric wires.
Sirens ring & bullets proof,
And the blues sing out of shotgun shacks.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
The front page news hit home!
Thirteen dead in a gambling pen...
A dead bell hounds those
rain soaked back streets
bullits smash soot blind windows
and the smell of blood makes you sick...
White light of the camera eye
spinning red globes
An attendant shacks his head"How do you rationalize this mess"
"Just bag up the rest"
A child whimpers.
"Hush, Little flower,
it is just death's long shadow
way down in Chinatown."
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
The HUM-BUZZIN' 0f a newspaper flywheel-press
What jarred up BUZZIN' slanders will these stories hold?
On Newspaper traps where tortured minds are stuck and sold!
Where lowered human beings are treated less
On almost every city corner news is sought
Those ugly outhouse lookin' shacks disperse,
Smelly rotten things not found in beauty verse
The sensation of broken wing-ged offical caught
Garbage boy, toss my garbage at my door,
maggot level I will bend,
And claw-fetch the news of bitter end
And saaaavoooor the nasty things in store
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
God is good & God is great
He hates queers that levitate
Momma said that God is dead & I can touch a thousand men
We're not hippies, we're just dumb
We do drugs. We Have fun
(No Brains!)
Obama, I wanna go-bama
I know you know I wanna
go-bama to a sauna
in the Bahamas, bring iguanas
Obama, I think
I think you know-bama
I wanna go, I wanna wear pajamas
in Bahama mama sticky saunas
(No Brains!)
I don't know how to think
The clock goes " tick tick tick tick"
Gotta speak quick, gotta think big
Gotta beat kids with a big stick
God told me I wrote the bible
Jesus had a black disciple
Jesus got behind the wheel
He'll make Obama great again
He'll make it rain and bring the pain
He'll make it make it make it
(No Brains!)
Jesus cured all my diseases
He taught me what cottage cheese is
Analingus teachers taught the preachers how to feed us
eat a fetus
Jesus teaches
(No Abortion!)
but I don't really think that it's that important
but if you really think that its that important
there's pre-abortional baptism
America runs on fascism
American chicks like circumcision not activism
if it lacks vision then
police could release the crack
in the ghetto snacks
in the ghetto shacks
In the fellow stacks, it'll make a better tax return
I'm like,
(No Brains!)
It's metal, baby
Obama, I wanna go-bama I think
I think, you wanna know-bama,
I wanna go-bama I think
I think, you wanna know
It's metal, baby
Don't touch me, I'm beautiful
Touch me touch me, I will sue
Don't touch me, I have a crush
Watch me crush, watch me ****
Armageddon veterans take armadillo medicine
I eat you like venison
Watch me crush, watch me ****
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
do you think
cloaks of normalcy
societal smiles
wash away reality -
that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn
means all is well -
that children next door
from 'respectable' homes
aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish
to the highest bidder -
what tales do you keep
to sleep at night
in perfumed air -
'it's far away
some hapless child
not where I drive
with tinted glass
they're lower class
don't know the Lord
mere runts down town
where father drinks
can't pay their rent
make decent wage
so sell the kid
for sordid nights -
- n - o -
it happens
to tender buds
in wealthy
suites
and poorer shacks
in any
place
and every age
from dot to
grown
they stay unseen
stare at their
sums
are ***** this night
sob off to
sleep
as mother too
walks right on
by
deaf to the screams
he wants his
due
so he will take
her brother
too
'now be a man'
says worm to
prince
he lies to all
most to his
face
and no one sees
and no one
hears
the silent screams
with veil drawn
close
they look askance
and walk on
by
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
Race relations is bad all over the world worse if you live in the GD U.S of A. People here don't give a ****** about other races unless you say something bad about they own race.
1. Blacks got kidnapped by whites from Africa in chains and worked at picking cotton and crops, tending for masters babies while master made more babies ****** black pretty slave women who did not want to have *** with them.
2. Master beat black slaves until they were bleeding or dead until black slaves learned to speak broken english like white southerners.
3. What southerners laugh at how blacks speak but they are the ones who beat black slaves ***** until they learned to mimic how white master spoke broken english.
4. White master tip toed down to slave shacks and ***** and ***** getting black slave women pregnant making bi racial slaves. Light slave pretty ones got to live in the house and let master **** them any time he wanted. Dark slaves babies of master worked with the slaves in the field.
5. Black people can't find their roots thanks to being kidnapped from africa.
6. Some blacks hate darker skin and bleach it like Michael Jackson and Latoya Jackson. Some use lye on hair to make it straight and color it blonde like Boyonce to make herself look more white.
7. Blacks were promised 40 acres and a mule for being stolen from africa but government lied to them and they keep lying to them we have a black president but people still call him a ****** and show him no respect he the president.
Repeating this here part.
Race relations is bad all over the world worse if you live in the GD U.S of A. People here don't give a ****** about other races unless you say something bad about they own race.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
Inspired by the Colton Boushie verdict.
There is no respect when one of us is shot.
There is no respect when our children are taken away.
There is no respect when one of us goes missing or is murdered.
There is no respect when we have no drinking water and live in 3rd world shacks.
There is no respect when the RCMP break down our doors and throw our elders to the floor.
There is no respect when it is okay for a white man to **** us and the media tells everyone we are to blame.
There is no respect.
There is apathy.
There is ignorance.
There is violence.
There is death.
There is silence.
But
There is a voice born everyday.
A community that continues to grow.
There is an elder who continues to teach.
And there is a path we must continue to walk.
There is a fire in our hearts that will never go out.
And those voices born today will teach those born tomorrow that we will never fail.
Because together we will have justice in this life or the next for this path never ends.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
Ancient trees of majesty
why reach your arms in excellency?
Why skim the clouds and pierce the stars,
to stand so bold as warrior Mars?
Why be a thing of children's play,
and watch the scene where lovers lay?
Why touch the hearts of young and old?
Why change your leaves from green to gold?
Why dip your arms in pools below
and float your leaves as falling snow?
Why whistle tunes on winds of high
why whistle tunes as winds go by?
I waited from dawn to dusk you see
for these ancient trees soon whispered to me
We grasp the day
We grasp the night
We grasp the fowl on earnest flight
You give us breath which we repay
we mold your health in loving way
We climb these hills and mountaintops
and spread our green as greenery crops
We house these creatures in wooden shacks
and feel the cut of the woodmen's axe
We watch the peace and wars go by
and suffer pestilence without a cry
We dance and sway on winds of old
to tell our stories far untold..
This is a lyrical poem which can be accommodated by
Enya's "The memory of trees"
Author of poem is--RW Dennen of Hello Poetry
Thank you kindly
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
In some cases,we live like animals
We share water sources with cows and goats
Even accommodation in other instances
The schools our children attend are the worst
They hardly achieve any form of formal education
While theirs attain world-class best
We toil the hardest
But still,earn the least
It is said that East or West,home is best...
But how can I appreciate this,yet in my home,I feel lost?!
From the world,we are outcast
Many refugees in our land are enjoying better conditions
In a land we call home,
Our own,our motherland...!!!
We,the marginalized are treated like trash
Old and rusty beds,and empty medicine shelves in our hospitals
They only remember us in times of election,for to them,our faces look like votes
What's the appearance of a vote...?!!
When they see us,they see different images of votes
In their favour,they see ticked ballots
Shacks and scanty settlements
Haunted slums and ghettos
Homelessness too...
This is where we thrive
With our families,this is where we live
The marginalized
Their claims of our good welfare are baseless
We the marginalized are voiceless
No matter how loud,our voices are still unheard
After all,our words make no sense
Many a time,in our homes,we sleep on empty stomachs
But because of constant and steady good feeding,their exotic dogs are bulging
Many of us think they are cursed
We live to die
Alcohol and drugs are our source of assured liberty
With these,we gain our momentary empowerment
Yes,in life,only death is certain but in our lives,going through the day alive is a big achievement
We live in abandonment
Child-headed homes and families
Single-mothers that are unemployed
And single fathers that are disconnected
And this is who we are...The Marginalized.
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 1:50 PM UTC
From grey plaster dwellin’s they come to us
fer enough sun t’ melt their lollies but
after sun-burnt migrations, some remain
as they can choose our shacks fer their castles
and their spawn breaks the spines on each weaver
and fer their red-faced fuss ‘e is broken.
The ‘ermit crab too takes ‘is leave broken.
The ‘ome ‘e made now closed to all of us
Not passed by ta’ooed ‘ands o' net weavers.
The painted shells still litter these streets but
suited slugs paint gray on our small castles
till only mockin’ shades of age remain.
“Shave off, bastards’ll pick till none o’ yer remain”
screamed mad John as relaters “fixed ‘im” broken
into some plastic ‘ouse from ‘is castle.
‘ow ‘e used t’ tell those old tales to us
'o the deep places and the things there but
they ‘ad ‘im by the gills, poor old weaver.
Spines down, in nets made by ‘is own weavin.
we did it to ourselves, we can’t remain
Wi’ nets o’ money, o’ ***** o’ smokes, but
black flags still fly, bein’ bent never broken.
Cross-bone attractions will be left as us
‘eld by those who took away our castles
Stormin’ beaches to kick down our castles
the sandy ‘oles and ‘ides of those weavers.
Sellin’ our anger like lug, dear to us
cast from the sea of us that will remain
‘ook lipped, ring-eared, ink-stained and not broken
nothin’ t’ be fixed and no-one changed but
In come those nets, I ‘aint been caught yet but
that gray, that London gray sweeps my castle
away where the concrete can’t be broken
t’ reach lug beneath dried surface weavers
as gulls break beaks t’ peck at the remains.
yes, we’ll eat each-other if they take us.
Take enough of us, and leave shell castles
no ‘ands to ‘old jolly Rodgers and sing
‘appily swear, or dance on tables but
**** that.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
Why does this caged bird sing?
Because I'm Black,
In a country that says that doesn't mean a thing.
Because racism has taken many setbacks
And the **Klu Klux **** has applications
and we know where the police get their reps at.
So why can't we take a step back?
My life means less than yours,
But I find myself pursuing better things
So my daughter never wants for more.
Locked in cages,
I'm a Starling
So I yearn to fly.
See my brothers in them four walls
Like that's where they were born to die.
If our privilege was like yours
We would never hear those expensive collect calls.
So we use our knowledge for wrong,
You'd never appreciate that a felon could write this poem.
Trapped in environments that don't care for us,
We try to branch out
They take a few shots
And you no longer hear from us.
So why does the caged bird really sing?
Probably because I know where my opportunities really lie.
In a ball, a mic or some reality show.
I'm not against those options
But I live in reality though.
There's no hope for the rehabilitated,
You have to carve your own road,
And nowhere is that clearly stated.
And to add insult to injury,
I'm Muslim and if you knew
You wouldn't see a friend in me.
So why does the caged bird sing?
If you clearly can't hear us,
Why put on a badge in a neighborhood,
If you fear us?
You prop yourself on a pedestal
And look down.
You brought us here, left us in the field, in shacks
And now we're in the Slums of every town.
You diminished our importance
And showed us anything that wasn't white was wrong,
For all I know you helped me write this poem.
So why does this caged bird sing?
So my words can vibrate my shackle loose,
So my ideals can blow open the door
And my melody can inspire every bird too.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Darkness, Swift, Cloak, Dagger!
from their chambers
to the graves
Gold, Jewels, Money, Things!
take them- dead
do not need
Alarm, Scatter, Escape, Alone!
no one's here
have no home
"Rascal', 'Scoundrel', 'Villain', 'Knave!"
tis not easy
to be so brave
Cold, Bitter, Empty, Silence!
not ideal
drift asleep
Nightmare, Shriek, Heart-Attack, Awake!
not of evil
but of pain
Hunger, Search, Nothing, Desperation!
those who deserve
not for me
"Blackguard', 'Crook', 'Devil', 'Fraud!"
corporate words
all they see
Vigor, Life, ****** Run!
shanty shacks
slummy slums
Jump, Drop, Grin, Vacate!
mis-misplaced riches
invariably shared
Search, Land, Sky, Sea!
live another day
thank thee
Galgooth, Rogue, Sinner, Saint!
agathokakological
we all need
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
She's back,
said Dalya,
the skinny Yank dame
is back, and shares my tent
with her perfume and talk;
her tales of whom she's had
and whom she's slept with
and how much they spent
on her and why and where.
Benny met me by the bar
in the Copenhagen base camp,
beers and smokes
and burgers and fries,
and me telling him
about the dame
and what she says
and does, and o that perfume
enough to drown in,
and he laughed
and said he heard
the Yank dame was after
the Aussie guy who
he shared a tent with
and the Aussie guy
was hot for her.
The base camp speakers
were pumping out Deep Purple,
high guitars
and bellowing vocals,
and Benny said when will
you and I get together again?
and I said
as soon as the dame goes
or leaves or shacks up
with another.
We went into the City
and saw some sights,
the Tivoli Gardens,
the Little Mermaid statue,
and had a few more beers
and smokes
and he kissed me
and it was a hot kiss,
and I wanted him,
but there was no where to go,
so I just carried
the image of him
back to my tent
and where I,
well you know.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
we can paint this whole city gold like a giant oil spill,
blinding and much much heavy on your tongue
and enlist a gleaming marching band whose buttons are falling off,
the tuba player is a gum chewer, there are mint chunks caught inside, barely playable
all she can do is honk
we’ll get limos with cracked windows and yellow fire trucks,
with flat left tires
acrobats in risqué costumes that little boys will point and giggle at
with sick clown faces, sick clown faces white, 7 or 10 layers of powder
and people from the slums of Uganda/Somalia/Niger or something, poor areas won’t be hard to find,
foreign tenants who live in dirtied-down shacks and
we will release from plastic cages, doves that have lost their pure color
that have been injected with toxic who-knows-what to be captured
hookers with big hair from the streets of large cities, they will blow kisses at the children and
wink at grown men
pigeons will **** on the windshields,
and the air will be so thick with pollution and filth that no one will be able to see
the deflating balloons of Mickey Mouse.
it will be The Biggest Parade the-world-has-ever-seen.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC