The American Race is marked by a brown complexion; long, black, lank hair; and deficient beard.
quote by Samuel George Morton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Talking (and Singing) of the Nordic Man
I
Behold, my child, the Nordic man,
And be as like him, as you can;
His legs are long, his mind is slow,
His hair is lank and made of tow.
II
And here we have the Alpine Race:
Oh! What a broad and foolish face!
His skin is of a dirty yellow.
He is a most unpleasant fellow.
III
The most degraded of them all
Mediterranean we call.
His hair is crisp, and even curls,
And he is saucy with the girls.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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The King’s Beard
There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.
The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!
The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!
One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”
A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!
His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!
The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”
poem by John Celes
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African American Beauty
Brown skin, black hair, brown eyes, and sweet personality.
That is my culture.
My culture is about the beauty of black women
who are not afraid to show their curves
and express their beauty in the most sexiest way.
We come in all shapes and sizes.
Small, curvaceous,
voluptuous, and more to love.
From that neck bone to that chicken bone,
we are African American beauty.
We invented the big booties and big breasts.
Nice think healthy hair, some nicely wrapped.
We are truly a God sent creation.
Extremely talented to bless people across the country.
We have made ways for so many people.
Step by step
Minute by minute
Day by day
We continue to show people that we are a serious culture
Love to play n have fun
But knows when to stop to take life
And grab it by the horns.
Being strong and not intimidated
Holding on to what we know is right
Being of the minority
When it comes to
Sex
Drugs
Murder
Being of the majority
When it come to
SUCCESS!
What more can I say
We are truly what we say we are
African American Beauty.
poem by Carrie Suter
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At Journey's End
I'll not lie down, nor sit and wait
The black-draped barge to float on by,
Nor offer up my throat, like ears of corn
To wait the sickle sigh,
Should death's bleak hooded figure call
He'll find that I have quit the town
And left no forwarding address
That he might use to track me down.
One step ahead, I'll change my name
Then dye my hair a rich dark brown,
Or failing that, I'll shave my head
And raise my brows, an inch around.
I'll grow a beard, or cut it off
If I have grown a beard before
Then take to sailing out from ports
Where Death has sallied forth once more.
I'll dress my woman in long boots
And tie her hair up out of sight,
Then we will slink from town to village
Making love by day, not night.
We'll sleep in hay ricks, fields and barns
While one keeps watch, each turn about,
So if his hood should cause alarms
We'll both be gone by morning light.
We'll trek up mountains, hills and valleys
Everywhere that he's just been,
We'll tail him as he travels onward
Scything through each village green,
And when he corners us at last
We'll drink long from a stirrup cup
And cheat him from his final scene
By leaving life, before he's up.
6 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Must Have Been The Roses
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Ten years the waves roll the ships home from the sea,
Thinkin well how it may blow in all good company,
If I tell another what your own lips told to me,
Let me lay neath the roses, till my eyes no longer see.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
One pane of glass in the window,
No one is complaining, no, come in and shut the door,
Faded is the crimson from the ribbons that she wore,
And its strange how no one comes round any more.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Dancing Girl With A Black Hair
the little dancing girl
has a long black hair
with twin dimples
on her mabolo cheeks
she dances in the air
she dances in the water
in the hills, in the clouds
at night, in vast space
she dances in my dreams
when i am sober
when i am drunk
when i am engrossed
in something else
she is the brown little girl
with a long black hair
the dancing girl like a
whirlpool in my mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Other Place Is More Mixed Up
Black is the color of my skin.
Well...
Not really 'black' black.
But kinda mocha.
You see,
My mother had been referred to as 'high yella'
And my father dark complected.
My sisters and I have this brownish tone.
My hair?
Nappy.
Well...
Not 'nappy' in the conventional sense.
You see,
I have dreads.
They look like braids.
But they are not.
My race?
Gee,
Let's see.
I remember when I was a 'kid'
I was then a Negro.
Then there was that dreaded 'N' word.
Then I became Black.
And 'proud' of course.
To be mistaken as an American Indian,
West Indian, Puerto Rican, Mexican...
And even Italian!
YES.
Because of my last name.
Well...what 'is' you?
Then I had an uncle,
Who thought he had to correct all of our dictions.
'Speak clearly! Enunciate.'
I would hate to visit my cousins.
'Is your father at home?
I hope not! '
Then there was a period when I was told,
'You think you white?
Trying to talk proper! '
Today?
I think more about getting my bills paid.
Or the ones I do pay.
I can not concern myself with race.
There are white folks wearing their hair in dreads.
Hair 'nappier' than mine!
Close your eyes and listen to today's music.
Is that Eminem? Justin Timberlake? Robin Thicke?
They sound better than some blacks that do it!
Madonna ain't no Beyoncé.
But neither is Patti a Gladys Knight or Chaka
Or Sarah Vaughn.
And that list can go on and on.
And Frank? Sinatra! Elvis, the Pelvis!
You know what?
With all this talk about color and race...
What other place is more mixed up than America?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Dark
When I was growing up I used to be ashamed of my complexion.
I used to think I was too dark.
My brother was so light he could nearly pass as white. My sister was that cream in the coffee color just like my mother and my father but me I was the midnight child too dark.
Kids used to call me spook and gorilla because of my dark skin. They would say if the lights go out the only way I could be found was to grin. I was too dark.
Too dark is what I thought until I heard James Brown scream “say it loud I’m black and I’m proud.” I also saw the ladies start to smile at me and claim “the darker the berry the sweeter the juice.”
I ‘m now proud of my complexion and no more do I think I’m too dark.
Have hues a role?
Grass lends beauty to ‘green’;
Tooth lends beauty to ‘white’;
Sky lends beauty to ‘blue’.
So do lips to ‘red’.
Red lips excel red blood;
Brown horse excel brown ass;
Yellow gold excels yellow brass.
So does black hair, black skin.
Black hair yields to white hair;
Green meadow yields to gray one.
Brown curls yield to fallen leaves
So does tender skin to one wrinkled.
The stuff rules; the merit rules;
The young rules. Have hues a role?
13.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For A While
i stop for a while on this morning walk
to see the ripening rice plants on the field
golden indeed like the blonde hairs
of the american woman
under the gentleness of the sun that has
newly arrived from the split sides of the
nearby mountain
my eyes were caught however
on this maiden with a brown skin
long black hair with an earthen jar
on her left shoulder held by her
small hands
she is just passing by to fetch
some water in the old stone-walled well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beside Me
an old american
wearing sleepers.
white sands clinging
still on his feet.
beside him
her filipina. the brown girl
black hair. orange sarong
wrapping her body
she needs yahoo.
he says, what are you looking for?
i do not really think
that she is literate. but i can sense
she is trying to be
just like anybody else.
he thinks she is beautiful and
cheap.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A World of Diversity
The world is a spicy pot of diverse races
that exhibits colours pleasant on different faces.
Each race revealing features distinct and unique
of varying hair texture but uniform physique.
Oh yes, you know undoubtedly that I am black.
But still my black heritage does not prestige lack
because my black beauty is revealed in the dark.
Oh yes, you all know that I am Caucasian white,
with my magnificent ocean blue eyes for sight.
I am blonde, brunette and red haired with fair skin light.
Oh yes, you know that I am oriental yellow,
having traits distinct that nature itself did bestow.
We look alike but vary from fellow to fellow.
Oh yes, you know I'm middle-eastern or Indian brown.
I adore my skin tanned and hair black as a crown.
I have a pleasant heritage of Asian renown.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (9 May 2022)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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What can I say of myself
What can I say of myself
That others has said of me
Even though they were always wrong
No, I do not grow a tail at night
No, monkeys have straight hair not I
They say that I abandon
My children for a jail cell in the company of men
They do not know that I do not hate my dark skin
It is the money of whites, their power
That denies me; keep me in the yoke of self hatred
They fear my power to survive
It is greater then their to enslave
Financially and sexually as is the American way
By my black American culture am I made brave
They think that I want their daughters and sons
To bring then over to the beautiful dark side
As they are entice by the art of being black
They want me to mount them to bring
Them closer to the animal that we all are
To praise me they say that I am to articulate to be black
And they want to know if this is my real hair
And they call my skull cap a doo rag
They tell me that they too love fried chicken
And watermelon and can get down with some corn bread and collard green
With smoked ham hocks or neck bones
They want to know why I am so angry
As a black man who should be prove to be born an American
And why I am acting white when I dress preppy
Why don’t I sound black over the phone
They want to know why I eat pig feet
They say that I should get over slavery
But not that the Jews should get over the Holocaust
They want to touch my hair
Their women folks are quick to commit crimes
And blame it on a black man
They think that the lighter my skin color
The less dangerous and friendlier I am.
They tell me that I got rhythm
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Characteristics of People
Long hair,
Short hair
Dark or light,
Black or white
Small or full lips,
Thin or wide hips
Blue eyes,
Brown eyes
Skinny or fat,
This or that
Everyone has one or another,
Wether it's from themselves
Or their father or mother.
poem by Jessica Goudreault
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America, So Beautiful.
Why is America the beautiful,
So beautiful?
It's because of German Polkas, and beer.
It's because of Irish corned beef, and potatoes.
It's because of French wines, and escargot.
It's because of soul food, from the hood,
The kind you find in Big Momma's,
In Cathedral City California.
It's because of Mexican food,
And the Mariachi's that accompany it.
It's because of the Hawaiian Poi,
And the Alaskan, fish ice cream.
It's because of the Italian Operas,
And spaghetti and meat balls.
It's because of the English language,
Brought to America,
By the subjects of the king.
America is blue eyes,
America is green eyes,
America is black eyes,
America is brown eyes,
America is blond hair,
America is red hair,
America is black hair,
And my all time favorite,
America is brown hair.
America is Japanese sushi,
America is Chinese hot and spicy soup.
America is mountains,
Beautiful snow covered mountains,
Shining in the sun.
America is deserts,
Hot arid and unforgiving,
And filled with life.
America is forests,
That extend,
'From sea to shining sea.'
America is ingenuity,
Great minds, from all over the world,
Reach their great fruition,
In America.
Where they are free.
Why is America the beautiful,
So beautiful?
It's because America is a rainbow,
Red, white, black, yellow, brown,
And all the myriads of colors,
These main colors produce.
It's so cliche to say,
We are a melting pot.
I prefer to say, What the great Bill Murray said.
'We are a mongrel race.'
Yet nothing on God's green Earth,
Is more loyal, more faithful, more loving,
And more devoted,
Than the mongrel.
America the beautiful.
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In terms of the revolution, I believe that the revolution will be a revolution of dispossessed people in this country: that's the Mexican American, the Puerto Rican American, the American Indian, and black people.
quote by H. Rap Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Face
you only see half of my eyes
a part of my nose you shall kiss
my mustache rugged like the mountain ridge
of cracking stones and parched mud
of wilted grasses under the cruel sun of long droughts
my lips are thick as the dark night and
silent like the short lived dusk
my beard are uncut for months now
my hair black and long is blown by the wind
always eastward bound
blending with the bleakness
of my future.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Real Me, The Outside Me
I have black hair with bright highlights, I have brown hair.
My eyes are black with green specks, my eyes are pale blue.
I am a vegetarian, I eat meat.
My wrist shows no scars, there are scars.
I stand-up for what I want, I go with the flow.
This is my dream, this is my reality.
poem by Blackregret Rose
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