"thugs" poems
4"2 with the voice of an angel
he couldn't be more than ten
the only thing he ever stole was the hearts of those around him
a week later,
his body drains of blood
a mother's cry echoes around the town
her innocent baby
why'd they **** her innocent baby?
he was only nine.
a mother's cry echoes around the world
her baby is gone
blood drains from his body
one shot to the head
several to the torso
why'd they **** her baby?
he was only coming from school.
a shaken up officer stands to the left
Caucasian and worried
a grieving community to the right
African-American and terrified
straight A's and a bright future at seventeen
a future no-one could foresee
both labeled thugs
at 9 and 17
why?
because of the skin they keep.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
See them standing on the podium of promises
Tickling us to wed them into power
As we stand under the burning sun, sweaty as ever
All ears to their flowered words of which they caress
And powdered our minds with.
They donate maggi, salt, wears and the root of all evil,
To further blind our minds and instinct.
Like goats following a hand with a palm fruit,
We chased them with high hopes to the polls,
Like Esau of old we repay their donation with our votes.
Their desires were met, now in power
At serious battle against their promises,
Our faith getting lean, our hopes bleed in response to their policies.
The opposition jubilant for the failure of the electorates.
Soon, they awoke into reality, spur to abort incumbent reign.
Some took to bombs, guns, cutlasses, few to the streets.
The opposition soldiers are thugs, always hungry to ****
The masses weapons are their mouth, placards,
And solidarity songs, they walk and sing.
They say when elephants fight the grasses suffer
I wonder who are the elephants or the grasses indeed.
A place that suppose to be our home now a battle field
Where everyone fights for self survival
Forgetting the unborn, our toddlers, our heroes past.
It is high time we talked and sack the thugs
But who will moderate
Who will faithfully give audience, who will sincerely talk?
The elite, the elected seems like they are war ready
They have well set up their political troops
A war they won't stand to fight
But escape through thinning air off our sight.
In a molding state
Pigs dare to preach sanity
In a world of questions, ignorance remain the worst cancer
And the apex poverty.
Let not fold our hands and live to die in this doom
If your lips are scared, let your pen speak.
Let not throw in the towel
Until we justfully elapse the reign of the unwanted in one peace.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
This ... Disrespect thing ...
is ... OUT OF CONTROL ... !!!
from work to ... Street Corners ...
to ... most peoples' ... " Homes " ... !!!
My Poetry .... Roams .............................
just like ... " Mobile Phones " ...
to send out ... " This Vibe " ...
Disrespect ... NEEDS TO ... die ... !!!!!
We NEED TO ... " Respect " ...
This Thing ... we call ... " Life " ...
LOVE ... One Another ... !!!
RESPECT ....
is what's ... Right ... !!!
Take things ... in your stride ...
DISMISS ...................................... foolish pride
cos' ... Pride like they say ...
comes before ... A Fall ... !!!
and next thing ...
You've guessed it ...
You're facing ... A WALL ...
A wall ... FILLED WITH ... Bullies ... !!!
just ready to .... BRAWL ... !!!!!
But bullies ... are Dummies ...
whose thought waves are ... "small" ...
Like those who believe ...
in avoiding ... School Halls ... ?!?
That line's ... for those kids ...
with ... SLEEPLESS ... Eyelids ... !!!
ALWAYS ... think of ... THIS
A Bully is .... weak ... !!!
So Don't ... lose your sleep ... !!!
cos' bullies ... DON'T THINK ...
of the ... " Sows " ... that they reap ... ?!?
OKAY ...
Yes I mean ...
They'll reap ... what they sow ... !!!
Well ... ?
Maybe I don't ... ???
But ...
One Thing ... I KNOW ... !!!
IS ... most bullies ... Don't See ...
that the ... Sickness ... they keep ...
is REALLY ... A Sickness ...
that slowly ...... just Creeps ...
A Sickness ...
That'll give em' ...
YES ...
One ... " FINAL " ... Sleep.
and this may be ... " Why "... ?
Our Youth ......
Die on streets ..... !!!
The Cycle's ... Complete ...
from Rappers who talk ...
about ... Killing Emcees ... ?!?
to crimes some ... " Commit " ...
Against ... " Humanity " ...
I'm looking for ... " Peace " ...
in places ... I be ...
But let's get things ... STRAIGHT ...
Don't come ... Pushing Me ... !!!!!
Be ... Nice ...
and ... Believe Me ...
I'll be ... Nice to you ... !!!
I may ... turn my cheek ....
if you give me ... Abuse ... ?
But .... !!!!!
That's cos' I choose ...
NOT TO ... act the ... " Fool " ...
but .... Anything's Possible ...
I've got ... Two Hands Too ... !!!!!
I put that verse in ....
to PROVE ... Peace ...
Can Be ... COOL ... !!!
But everyone's temper ...
has Boundaries Too ... !!!!!
So ... what do you do ... ?
when THUGS ... approach you ... ?!?
Well this ...
I CAN'T ... tell you ...
cos' ... I am NOT ... You ... !!!
I'm simply ... Advising ...
Fighting NEEDS ... " Downsizing " .... !!!!
But .....
This thing ... RESPECT ...
Really NEEDS ...
An ... UPRISING ... !!!!!
cos' Violence ... INFECTS ...
and ... CANNOT ... Protect ...
The world and ...
It's ... People ...
So take time and ... " Check " ...
The thoughts I ... " Collect " ...
and take time ... Before ...
Dishing out ....
" Disrespect " ....
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
Let me tell you about something I saw the other day,
when I was out walking through a field of hay.
The night was quite pretty, the air crisp and clear,
when I suddenly encountered a cat who was drinking a beer!
I walked a little farther and encountered some mice,
sitting around a card table, all playing dice.
The mice looked quite serious, they all dressed like thugs,
I was dumbfounded, and simply stared down from above.
Then I saw something that completely blew my mind,
it was a variety of animals, dancing in a conga line.
For hours and hours and hours they danced,
more animals joined in, even deer came to prance.
This party was larger than any I’d seen,
a couple of badgers were even smoking something green.
“Innocent” deer were snorting lines off of snakes,
and a couple drunk farm dogs were fighting with rakes.
A cat and a mouse were sitting in a barn,
entirely too drunk, they took turn telling yarns.
From across the field, you could hear an owl retch,
while a gaggle of geese slurred “Benny and the Jets.”
Sheep laughed, “Bahaha!” while dancing on tables,
the horses were getting it on in the stables.
This party was crazier than any I’d attended,
a pig even ended up losing an appendage.
As the sun came up, things started winding down,
all the cows went home, and the "Keg King" took off his crown.
I took this as my cue, it was time to depart,
so a couple mice and I hitched a ride on a farmer’s cart.
"Sayonara!" I yelled, "It's been lots of fun!
Everybody get home safe, try not to hurt anyone!"
But enough about me, let's talk about you.
That was my weekend, what did you do?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
♦ ♦ ♦
She was an earnest devotée.
Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay
were globally diverse (read: white).
A liberal bark preceded bite.
Her crystal clearer than her vision;
she provoked bemused derision
as she breathed intolerance
toward all who would not dance her dance.
She swooned for distant pagan tribes,
attuned to their exotic vibes –
rapt in multi-culti piety
strangely deaf to her own society,
judged by her as abomination;
unredeemed. The background station
always stuck on N.P.R.
(the soundtrack of her culture war,
Pacifica News and Democracy Nows,
and other progressive holy cows)
Her motherland a shameful mystery:
guilty first, and void of history –
its origins defiled, corrupted…
while she enjoyed uninterrupted
freedom to pursue her whims:
misguided one-world global hymns.
The sisterhood of hu(man) kind
was foremost in her earnest mind –
even should that same sisterhood
be sealed by her well-meaning blood.
Out on a date with global death
she hoped to unify the earth
in solidarity with causes
led by killers, warlord bosses,
thugs she never knew existed
who, if she’d met she’d have resisted.
Her theory landed far from her praxis
spun, by default, on an evil axis.
Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed
quite certain she was well-informed,
at benefits, non-profit functions
rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons;
warm with righteous spite for Israel,
aiding and abetting Ishmael
with fellow-travelers, like-minded
similarly hateful, blinded,
rattling sabers, scimitars, axes…
(lunacy never wanes, but waxes
hotter with the passing years
as activists confront their fears).
She finally shilled for the Intifada
(stopping short of reciting Shahada),
reaching out to the terrorist
with righteous raised progressive fist…
offering thus her neck to blade:
collateral to be repaid
by murderers who couldn’t care less
about her open-mindedness.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
A ball player and a thief
Will likely be pregnant by age 16.
Lives in the ghetto and is poor,
Often identified as a *****
Runs fast and does drugs,
Hangs around with gangsters and thugs.
Has a gun or a friend with one.
Speaks in slang, must be part of a gang.
Mess with her, she'll pull a Sharkeisha on you.
If you were to picture a person of any race,
That fits the description that just took place.
A baller and **** hmm... what race matches that?
Yeah you're right, that person is probably black.
Is fast, does drugs, and speaks with slang?
Lemme guess, is he also in a gang?
A young mother who is also poor?
Bet she doesn't know who the dad is, what a *****
All these negative stereotypes associated with being black.
Its disheartening, sicking and its really sad.
And whats sadder is that if you are the opposite of all of that,
You are often told that you're not really black.
Does your skin colour change for going to Harvard?
Will it change for speaking like an English scholar?
Because I play hockey and not ball, does that make me white?
So what if I'm the type of person to run away from a fight?
You don't have to be irresponsible and rude to be considered black.
It's your ethnic background that determines that.
And to some people, all we are is the complexion of our face.
Light, dark, somewhere in the middle, to some, the bad of a few defines
our whole race.
Does running away from a cop, and being black give someone grounds to shoot?
Why is it that my skin color is what is most important to you?
Is asking a question when getting arrested for no visible reason really resisting arrest?
Does struggling to break free from restraints to catch my breath, give someone a reason to grab on tighter to strangle me to death?
The actions of a few don't define the actions of a whole group.
And this assumption that all black are thugs, thieves and liars has done clear damage to,
Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin and so many more.
They didn't know it, but just by being black, they put their lives at risk when they stepped out their door.
Don't you think it's gotten too far when we have to prove Black Lives Matter, or when we the saying of a movement is Hands Up, Don't Shoot.
Should people have to be reminded that blacks are real people and that our lives matter too?
We are athletes and musicians.
Lawyers and physicians.
The leader of a nation.
An anchorman of a news station.
We don't all fit into that mold that is preset for us.
You can and should expect great things of us.
Because we don't have to be a **** or a baller to be considered black.
We define what type of black person we are, we determine that.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
I bet you think all ****** don't read.
I bet you think all ****** smoke ****
I bet you think all ****** are the same.
I bet you think all ****** are the blame.
I bet you think ****** don't know nothing about the law.
I bet you think all ****** don't know nothing at all.
I bet you think all ****** are not smart.
I bet you think all ****** don't even care about art.
I bet you think all ****** are from the streets.
I bet you think, oh **** this poem is getting really deep.
I bet you think all ****** carry a heat.
I bet you think all ****** are dead beats.
I bet you think ****** are thugs.
I bet you think all ****** sell drugs.
I bet think all ****** are classless with statuses of madness
I bet you think all ****** are cashless.
I bet you think all ****** are in the penitentiary.
I bet you think all ****** are cemetery.
I bet you think all ****** rap or trap.
I bet you think all ****** sag their pants with two rags and a stockin' cap.
I bet you think all ****** are guilty.
I bet you think all ****** are filthy.
I bet you think all ****** rob.
I bet you think all ****** don't have a job.
I bet you think all ****** don't go to college.
I bet you think all ****** are out here wylin.
I bet you think all ****** are like Christopher Wallace.
I bet you think all ****** will grab and ****** you up for your wallet.
Some say a prophet, nah
I just see it how they call it.
Every line is on hydraulics.
Every time I rhyme, every word becomes solid.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
There will be no red jester,
no wolf, no jaded maid;
there will be me, of seven years,
blonde hair to narrow blades.
No speaking is involved;
we both know why you're here;
you've come to watch me evaporate,
or so both of us fear.
The lights start to get brighter;
the heat is too intense.
My body burns but you stand still;
the field 'round you is dense.
You stand so helpless,
As do I.
We watch the whole world crumble.
Friends of mine,
you don't know yet,
break away to rubble.
All at once, in not five seconds,
we're floating on in night.
The stars around me baffle;
no, this can't be right.
We're immortal, you see,
an affliction unforeseen.
Now I'm doomed to waft forever,
and live in the moon's gleam.
So the question stands, girl:
how long will you stay?
I remember a flitting dream;
it seemed to last a day.
Yes, it was, I do recall,
when I was not yet ten,
that I saw this all happen,
but I understood naught then.
So there it is, we have a day,
for me to impart all,
which of our grand hopes unfold,
and which were much too tall.
Don't be scared, my dear,
I'm sure we will be fine.
So take in all I say;
soak in every line.
We won't speak again,
and since there are few hours,
I'll share my words and hope they work,
in preventing the fire shower.
What seems like a minute,
but really was a day,
you start to blur and fade.
I'm sad you go away.
My fear is thick and soaked in tears,
and so we start to pray.
"Dear Lord, I know,
our world is broken.
It's full of hate and crime.
But, sir, please save the world I live.
It's all I have that's mine.
Find it in your heart, oh Lord,
to show this fille the way,
to stop the thugs and all the guns,
and give us one more day.
Amen."
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
Maniacal thugs
Swap juices with sweet angels
On a moonless night.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
Fatherless broods, whose mothers hoped for change
Fight the law, abort their restoration;
Attack, burn, riot… consider nothing strange
Extorting payout from their host nation.
Fatherhood, dark elephant in the room,
Denigrated, dissed by baby-mamas
In his absence, speaks potently of doom
(Apparently blessed by both Obamas…)
***** donation, filling the wombs with child,
Disorganized communities, off-course
Guarantee police work when thugs run wild.
With marriage faltering in the race: lame horse.
Inhuman nature being what it is
Be careful who you shoot—and hold your ****
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
The sky was under stress
Fire lit up the night
Winds wailed and screeched
Foundations were blasted
Dread, death, doom and demise
A woman crying, "The world nevermore!"
A man thinking "It will be an eternity for daylight."
A baby, so fragile and small, lays in the street.
Danger arises
Hope shattered
Where is the light? And the salvation?
Thugs and gangs roam the cities
Terrorists never seem to stop
People will die 'til the Day.
Lucky seven no longer brings
Death and sickness and disaster come
Will the suffering end
And will the Earth be rebuilt again?
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC
She looks away
once a well
now a shell
a can, a hand
unopened
and the lawyer tells her
she's okay
but she barely hears him
anyway
there's nothing left
to say
her bluster
where did it go?
and leave her there
so all alone
letting them crush her
'we knowed some thugs
they sold some drugs'
now she's never going home
©2011 Lyn
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
“Oh you’re Irish?” he said.
“Did you learn the language much?” he said.
Honestly, what can I tell him? I was raised in the North - a ****** wasteland for such a naïve question.
Vague memories of fumbled classes where our secret history was ditched just to get straight into the basics (Cad é mar atá tú?)
No – seriously - I was not tied to it – it was anonymous to me at that age.
Forgotten like some distant echo of once visiting Coole House as a child.
Sure, we knew it was “important”, “our national language”, “heritage” etc. and we were warned it was quickly slipping into the drain of Western hegemony.
But it was baffling, unsexy and only the blunt-faced humorless IRA thugs amongst us were in any way keen.
Then it was gone, just like the faded memories of “The Children of Lir” from my primary school.
Looking back I wonder, what was the point?
A half-full measure paying lip service to our identity.
Teachers and headmasters terrified of the grand colonial reveal that the lessons might have hinted at (were they trying to stop us being Provos-in-waiting?).
And all of this against the awful shame of a common tongue that had no foe yet was slowly vanquishing from our shores.
It could have all been so different.
Rather than rushing to get something in our empty skulls, they could have given us a sense of joy, pride & belief in our own culture.
Calling on Yeats, Behan, Heaney and others to drown us in the language of our ancestors.
Telling the stories of old that only the academics & hippies were keeping from us then.
You know, it might kept us all on the same beautifully illuminated page.
We might have been comfortable in our skins and open to others,
not looking deep into our worthlessness and lashing out at them.
Language is being and language is connecting, I’ve learnt.
But that’s not something I got from my secondary school.
June-July 2018
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
In a city full of fake thugs and now record beef they just settle it with 8 slugs
There rose a kid from out of Rogers parkway who kicks slow flows containing dopamine in the bars I slay like Dre Day I'm celebrating out the melon insane like dry water the sheep I'll slaughter like a psychopathic ********** with a daughter
Allow me to introduce Nero The Damphir psychotic and I kick knowledge like a field goal my pen is spinning the rumpelillest gold causing static with the lyrical automatic I splatter brains on the floor it's a nasty habit to endure.
I'm Chicago's poet I spit knowledge and split spines with the rhymes so solid no one will notice I roll this ***** up like the best cest and smoke it unless you take it off the wax and into the turf I'll make you taste the salt of the earth and after you're in the dirt I'll bear you like Paul you have no chance at all against me the pen is all I need to destroy then employ my victims my rhymes stay within them like That dude they net in juvenile detention center I'm centric on hip-hop that is I got love for cold crush sugarhill grandmaster flash and whodini Wu-Tang naughty by nature and Cypress Hill
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
A gentleman is a guy who'll treat a girl right
But s thugg only wants to hit it for one night
A gentleman is romantic and sweet
A thugg is only nice to get in the sheets
The gentleman will open his lady door
And address her by her name of dear
A thugg will leave her and even more
But they say they bring a lady to cheer
A gentleman is faithful
Thugs are ungreatful
Calling girls ******* and hoes can be hateful
Thuggs are winning
Gentlemen are losing
The **** keeps lots of girls choosing
A gentleman dresses professional and neat
While a thugg sags and eorks the streets
You choose which one is best
Which one will win and put other to rest
A gentleman classifies me
But which one would yoh rather be
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
I do not see the hype
with High School Stereotype.
Why does it receive such attention?
It doesn't need the press's mention.
We all know of the smokers by the bike sheds,
Who have nothing but fluff in their heads.
Or the girls with skirts far too short
Who's think of *** as a competitive sport.
The sport buffs, we've all seen,
Full of life and far too keen.
Always poised and ready to go,
Every muscle toned from head to toe.
Young student teachers are here,
Enthusiastic about Bill Shakespeare.
Attempting to teach thugs to spell,
Whilst shady Heads make their life hell.
But do not forget, those you call friend.
The ones who stay by you until the end.
Making you laugh, Keeping you sane
Through rough times they remain.
These companions fit no mould
Therefore their tale is never told.
For the greatest things in teen life
Do not need the media's strife
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
**How can you be truly tough
In this painful world?
How can you stand firm
When the spears of agony are hurled?
Most people in the proud US of A
Don't have a clue of the
price they have to pay.
Western people do not know
What hardship really is.
So gratitude is lacking...
It is this...
Gratitude is having a ***
That doesn't leak,
To walk miles for diseased
Water from a creek.
Gratitude in thanking God
For the dry wood
To cook the rice or millet
For your food.
Gratitude is finding
A pair of shoes
In a garbage heap
That you can use.
Gratitude is finding
Pesos in your hand
When you beg the streets
In a poor land.
Gratitude is escaping
Vicious thugs
Who deal in human
Trafficking and drugs.
Gratitude is Hellen Keller
With no hope
Finding Annie Sullivan
To cope.
Gratitude is having NOTHING
And in pain
On one's deathbed, but yet
The fact remains
They are redeemed
And they have Lord Jesus' grace
So they know that they
Will look in his sweet face.
Being tough is seeing life
As is and still not breaking
Being brave and looking
Not forsaking
Being tough is a
Mental attitude.
Loving God and thanking Him
It's GRATITUDE.**
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
The other night
I spent all of my tears & paid all my prayers,
I had hoped it would end it all.
My pillows
cashed in the huge streaming check
from every drop my eyes spilled.
My blanket held me down
while both thought took turns
throwing hard punches & kicks
at every square-inch on my body.
Then
my bones crunched
with every attempt
to fully drain the hope-
-ful air in my lungs.
I could only lay there.
Twitching out breathless cries,
rubbing blood out of my eyes
& taking it all in for the whole night.
The following day
I brought these thugs to work
but no one else seemed to notice.
My doctor tried to numb me with pills,
& I must admit
although they did work at giving it all the cold shoulder,
it didn't take long
before I struggled to use my shoulder
With their knives & spears steaked into my skin.
Every night now, I sleep to their stories
& their bullying,
eyes-wide,
cut-throat,
focused on breathing all night.
I thought I could fake my way through it all
but now
these noices have started making sense
& I
don't know why I'm breathing anymore.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
Like a thorn in the side twists, turns, shifts, thugs at my pride, who am I and why?
Forget to be, forget to try. Sigh, deny and try, oh try, to find out who am I?
Struggle to reach. Struggle to come to grip with reality. You see all these expectations get laid on me, I cant seem to find my feet.
Even in finding my feet, defeat. Defeating my mind and steeped and bleeding, I'm blind and beat.
I'm beating the blinds, the street, it limits the finds and eats, it eats at my mind.
But rise to my feet, I will. Beat my way through, I do. The passing days, they may get all hazy. But I got a vision, I do.
Clear as unmuddied water, that vision peaks and from the merky pool hope leaks. Not made that of odour which reeks, rather perfume which speaks to those bold, brave, not weak.
Who on top of a mountain sits and seeks and stands on the ocean before they may sink and know their song well before they dare speak.
Hope keeps us hooked. Pain gives us drive. For that, I will swallow my pride. My dignity beat, battered and bruised. But my reputation in tact.
My strenght unmatched. Unmask myself I will. Through this treacherous journey, I shall grace salvation, to find my inner will.
And with journey abound to destination unknown leaving that hope, strenght and will for events which have thrown light into the tunnel. Illuminating the stone which sits on the temple of freedom and soul, spirit, freewill, autonomy, suddenly realisation that still ...
Still I am me.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
As I sit and ponder, My mind begins to wander, here are my thoughts:
Mainly at night, as I look at life, "What is it?"
Is destiny just everything between life and death, or are we put in the positions of predicaments for a purpose:
Are poor single mothers and fathers given such a path so they may teach their children to live a lonely life; or,
to show them how to get out of that life?
Convicts, are they truly meant to receive life in prison; or, learn the essence of change, and share that wisdom?
Gangsters and thugs, call them what you will, are they only to have a short life consisting of death and sorrow; or, come out of the grind so they may one day return to help change the places and people of which they came?
Are those with clinical depression meant to remain on a medication for the remainder of their days; or, are they to learn that the deepest of pain allows one to truly appreciate joy?
These are just a few of the things I contemplate as my mind wanders, while I sit and ponder.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
daughters need hugs
Or they’ll grow up
To love thugs!
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
The night was hot
So she retreated
To her front stoop
But things got heated
5 shots rang out
Into the night
And who got hit
You guessed it right
Dem thugs ‘n gangstas
Ain’t up to no good
Dey always
Shootin up the neighborhood
Pregnant and shot
Right through the neck
And so the ambulance
Made the trek
To the hospital
Five blocks away
Where she arrived
DOA
Dem thugs ‘n gangstas
Ain’t up to no good
Dey always
Shootin up the neighborhood
In the O.R.
It was intense
But due to God
And providence
A healthy baby boy
Was born
Torn from her womb
His mother, gone
An act of violence
Gone aerie
A pregnant woman
Caused to die
Because of someone’s
Senseless act
And nothing said
Can bring her back
Dem thugs ‘n gangstas
Ain’t up to no good
Dey always
Shootin up the neighborhood
In the O.R.
It was intense
But due to God
And providence
A healthy baby boy
Was born
Torn from the womb
His mother gone
An act of violence
Gone aerie
A pregnant woman
Caused to die
Because of someone’s
Senseless act
And nothing said
Can bring her back
Dem thugs ‘n gangstas
Ain’t up to no good
Dey always
Shootin up the neighborhood
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
My garden once was green and lush.
Until on mass there came a mush
of leaf munching slimy things.
Vegetation annihilating thugs…
…an invasion of Spanish Slugs.
I’ve tried to stop them but I can’t.
They’ve decimated every plant.
In my shrubbery they dine like kings.
Sombrero wearing baronets…
…proudly clacking their castanets.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
They promote themselves as magician's
And only give us pain
They remote us in a kitchen
With a apron on, and say 'hey babe'
They try to take our moolah
And spend it on high cost drugs
They wear pants like their ten again
Wannabee southern thugs
I gave him my all
Had a beautiful girl from the mix
But in the mix he did not check out
He showed noone respect
So I will show him nothing back
He doesn't deserve no kiss
It's better to move on happy with me
And my daughter who he dissed
But I will let him see her
Because that's what mothers do
Because I love my ballerina
My daughter, I do love you.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC