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Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.

With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.

With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.

They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.

All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.

A ***** they said
should lower his head.

Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.

If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?

Bravery isn't
a word for the ****,
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.

I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.

Their plan
was to ****,
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.

They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.

Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.

So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.

They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.

So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.

That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.

This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
13th July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
When my past comes to visit me,
it isn't a smack in the face.
It gradually creeps up,
wrapping itself around my body,
engulfing me.
It knocks down all my feelings
and throws them away,
making room for itself.
My past is not a welcome guest,
but it's hard to kick it out.
 Jul 2015 yvonne cleland
niamh
A merry, mirthful clown,
I came upon a town
Where the stench of despair
Hung heavy in the air
And the ghosts within the town
Wandered aimlessly around
******* dry the joy of others
Delivered with the kiss of lovers.
No laughter can be heard
Or the trilling of the birds,
Only the silence of the tomb
In this ugly, poisonous womb,
Giving birth to fear and sorrow
With no hope of a tomorrow,
Spreading illness and infection
Eradicating all affection.
And though I long to leave,
I am granted no reprieve.
A sad and lonely clown
I cannot leave this town.
The despair of others can so easily drag you down

— The End —