I Am (Defiant)
i am, become...
i am the seat on the bus
Rosa Parks would not leave..
i am the fires of anger
when Martin Luther King was killed.
i am the grassy knoll,
where the true killer stood.
i am the Little Bighorn,
and Crazy Horse weeping...
i am the men that built the bombs,
and all the faceless souls screaming
through their long sleepless nights...
i am the brothers that killed each other
in the long Civil War...
i am the slaves set free,
i am the Native Americans sent
to live in poverty on reservations
in the name of a white god...
i am the farm worker exploited,
the coal miner who died...
i am the rats and the filth
of tenements and trailers...
i am the blues hand picked,
moonshine made in the hills...
i am the grandfather who built
his house with his own hands.
i am the rage of the common,
i am America defiant,
i am, become....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
They Killed Them!
my hero when i was a kid
was Crazy Horse.... they killed him!
my mother wanted me to be
a preacher, so i read about Jesus,
and His life... they killed Him!
when i was nine years old,
and in the fourth grade,
they killed JFK in Dallas....
just before he pulled us
out of the Vietnam lie......
by this time i had questions,
i knew something was wrong....
they went on to kill Martin Luther King,
Robert Kennedy, Malcolm X......
anybody that stood up for
what they believed.....
they killed them!
the fear of ignorant apathy,
the murderer that betrays humanity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Hands That Built America
Oh my love
It's a long way we've come
From the freckled hills
To the steel and glass canyons
From the stony fields
To hanging steel from skies
From diggin in our pockets
For a reason not to say goodbye
These are the hands that build America
Ah ah ah..... America
Last saw your face
In a watercolored Sky
As sea birds argue
A long goodbye
I took your kiss
On the spray of a new lined star
You gotta live in your dreams
Don't make them so hard
And these are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Of all of the promises
Is this one we can keep
Of all of the dreams
Is this one still out of reach
???
Its early fall
There's a cloud in the New York skyline
Innocence...dragged across a yellow line
These are the hands that built America
These are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Ah ah ah..... America
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Greece To Rome (Part Two)
it took the civil rights movement,
the women's movement,
and the laborer's movement...
led by such as Cesar Chavez,
Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
James Baldwin, Maya Angelou,
just to mention a few.
imprisonment, beatings, marches,
and many are dead now,
sacrificed to the cause.
JFK warned of secret societies,
wanted to pull out of Vietnam...
his brother Bobby stood up
for justice against the wheel...
both killed by the machine.
over 40,000 killed in Vietnam,
riots in the cities of America.
Nixon lied, America fell into stupor,
and those who believed
became part of the masses.
yet now, a turn for the worse!
/continued/
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Good Old Days
I remember the good old days.
The days when a black man such as myself could not even look at a white woman. Remember what happen to Emmett Till because he did.
Yeah the good old days
When a hard working woman named Rosa Parks got arrested
Just because she refused to get up and give a white man her seat.
The good old days
was when a group of men could burn down a of place worship
And kill four little black girls.
The good old days
When a man like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
got killed only because he had a dream.
I often hear people saying I miss the good old days.
But from my perspective those good old days
was not that good after all! !
Southern Heroes
One day the South will recognize its real heroes,
Martin Luther King Jr wrote a letter to white men from jail,
Who would rather that the courts settle racial segregation,
Where white judges make sure that they don't prevail.
After years of always hearing the word 'wait',
Which almost always meant never instead,
The bomb that exploded a church filled with children,
All for not being what the white men considered 'purebred'.
One day, the South will have to see the real heroes,
Like the man fresh from war when he took a bus to go home
Corporal Roman Duckworth Jr went to see his sick wife,
Killed because they thought he was a freedom rider who didn’t drone.
A full measure of truth and justice,
Is what they wanted to figure out
So many heroes like Dahmer killed,
Who gave a job to any colour without any doubt.
And what about Mrs Viola Liuzzo?
The amazing woman who was transporting
Those who needed a ride between marches,
Shot for being someone supporting.
Both sides had many supporters
But if the Klan was so good and so great,
And all the blacks wanted was to vote,
Why did they feel the need to retaliate?
They killed innocent kids,
Destroyed families aplenty,
They chose to make examples
Of many more then twenty.
But what good is a group,
Who only live to make the world 'pure',
What's the point of having someone
Who explains how to kill in a brochure.
Would you listen to the men
Who shot Reverend George Lee,
The man who convinced people to vote,
The man whose face became debris.
So why, why did they listen?
To the crazy power hungry Klan,
Turning their backs on the cries
Voiced by blacks when hurt by the white man.
Will one day the South learn of the true heroes?
One day, will they respect and honour the truth?
Will there be justice and peace for the restless souls
Plenty of whom were killed in the bloom of youth.
The true heroes are not the ones still standing,
But the ones who died for their beliefs,
The ones who stood tall like the hat of the KKK,
And didn’t back down from the life-taking sneak thieves.
The leader of the bunch was quite a man of speech,
Dr Martin Luther King Jr had a dream,
With his powerful voice he shared that dream
Let freedom ring, let them scream!
Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
A/N: This was for my Writer's Craft final project. I did it on the Civil Rights Movement, against the KKK. Now, it was supposed to be a ballad, but I wanted more of a truthful thing, so I changed it from your typical ballad, and now it's sort of a free verse ballad.
Please review or message me, I'd love to know what you think about this.
Thanks,
Dani
poem by Danielle Schneider
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Once More To Live...
we have been a dead people
worshipping dead gods for too long.
our living no more than simple arithmetic,
collecting trinkets we name,
that somehow define us...
to be spread across our graves...
as if, to testify... but to what?
we've built moral cages that drain all color...
have become black and white photographs,
wearing suits, carrying bibles..
and now it seems the world's gone crazy,
violence, sex, rampant poverty...
war after war, hatred after hatred.
we've defiled our beds,
even our shadows have fled.
who are we? who are these faces
that haunt our sleepless nights?
who are the bodies we sleep with?
what is real?
we have become the disease in search of the cure?
but is there a cure?
are we then the living, or just strange shadows,
watching life through smoke yellowed windows?
have we killed the wolf,
and stripped the wings of the hawk?
what ocean lives inside this shell?
do we still hear the voice of the Lover?
would we recognize it if we did?
if we cut our fingers, do we bleed?
are we more than nothing,
but less than something?
have we killed the messenger?
turned the silence to noise?
whose hand on the plow?
is the field then barron?
and this night, if we stop to pray...
will we recognize the mumblings of our spirits?
repentance, the body in the alley,
set ablaze to warm the rats!
do you love me? do i love you?
is there any evidence to prove we're here?
whose hand takes mine?
whose eyes meet mine?
do we dare once more to live?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Are Not Cattle!
they destroyed the Native Americans,
killed, raped, converted them
to slavery with a sword....
and built freedom on this premise...
on the backs of African-American slaves,
and immigrants that fled oppression....
now the actions of the past
are demanding their price!
and the battle again
will be fierce and harsh!
freedom isnt built on oppression!
they'll be no more herding,
we are not cattle!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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They Killed Him (feat. Memphis Tennesee Police Choir)
There was a man named Mahatma Ghandi
He would not bow down, he would not fight
He knew the deal was down and dirty
And nothing wrong could make it right away
But he knew his duty, and the price he had to pay
Just another holy man who tried to make a stand
MY GOD, THEY KILLED HIM !
Another man from Atlanta, Georgia
By the name of Martin Luther King
He shook the land like rolling thunder
And made the bells of freedom ring today
With a dream of beauty that they could not burn away
Just another holy man who dared to be a friend
MY GOD, THEY KILLED HIM !
The only son of God Almighty
The holy one called Jesus Christ
Healed the lame and fed the hungry
And for his love they took his life away
On the road to glory where the story never ends
Just the holy son of man we'll never understand
MY GOD, THEY KILLED HIM !
Sing about Mahatma Ghandi
Sing of Martin Luther King
Sing Of Jesus Christ Almighty
And the brothers Kennedy
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Killed Him
There was a man named mahatma ghandi
He would not bow down, he would not fight
He knew the deal was down and dirty
And nothing wrong could make it right away
But he knew his duty, and the price he had to pay
Just another holy man who tried to make a stand
My god, they killed him !
Another man from atlanta, georgia
By the name of martin luther king
He shook the land like rolling thunder
And made the bells of freedom ring today
With a dream of beauty that they could not burn away
Just another holy man who dared to be a friend
My god, they killed him !
The only son of God almighty
The holy one called jesus christ
Healed the lame and fed the hungry
And for his love they took his life away
On the road to glory where the story never ends
Just the holy son of man well never understand
My god, they killed him !
Sing about mahatma ghandi
Sing of martin luther king
Sing of jesus christ almighty
And the brothers kennedy
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Their Feet
My feet walk on soil where my ancestors blood, sweat and tears where shed.
Blood from the lashes on their backs that was put there by a cold wet whip all because they fought to be free.
Sweat that dripped from their brows from the hard work they did to help build this country we call America.
Tears that was cried so many nights they could fill a river with their sorrow.
But even after all that they did not crawl upon their knees or slide upon their bellies.
Their faith gave them hope for a brighter future for all those who would come after them. People such as Rosa Parks, Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and even me, and because of this faith no matter what they always stood upon their feet.
Wind Of The Human Spirit... (Part Two)
i came to America on a slave ship,
to work their fields in the sun.
and the earth i plowed gave up the bones,
of the ones they'd killed to make their home.
i hung from their trees in the moonlight,
as they drank with chests that swelled.
i signed the Emancipation Proclamation,
with the blood of the Civil War...
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
i felt the bomb at Hiroshima,
and became a nuclear ghost.
i swallowed napalm in Viet Nam,
while they protested on Kennedy's grave.
i was with Martin on the balcony,
and with Bobby on the floor...
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
i died for the rights of unions,
was buried with coal miners unnamed.
i picked fruit with illegal immigrants,
slept on the floor of southern jails.
i lived and died on factory floors,
stood in line when they sold my job.
i packed my belongings on the old truck,
the day the bank took our farm....
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If Rosa Parks had not refused to move to the back of the bus, you and I might never have heard of Dr. Martin Luther King.
quote by Ramsey Clark
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Within War, Within Peace
I was born long ago, in a city far away
not knowing would I live yet another bloody day
There were bombs all around me, deep into the night
children dissapeared as I stood by in fright
You would try to run, but could not hide
the taunting enemy, was by your side
You didn't know, who they were
it felt as if, it was all a blur
Families destroyed and pulled apart
by greedy hands, supporting this art
I now look back at all the sin
people with sorrows, who were killed within
I was born long ago, in a city far away
within war I stood up and embraced my day
I was born long ago, in a city far away
but within peace, I chose to live, in a city by the bay.
Charlie vergara
10.30.2007
17140
poem by White Tiger
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The World Of Killers
a killer to killed by a gun
when he counting a body of one his murder
a killer with a gun
behind our killer under sun
she have seen his job
she looked at him and his murder
she shot a bullet to his heart
he died
she looked at his blood
two murder in the park
one killer above them
looked at them
and again she killed with a gun
one killer hidden behind the wall
he killed her
with a snip
snipper behind the wall on the roof
looked at bodies in the park
he died too
with a bomb
into his bag
killer after killer
to killing oldest killers
the wild world
with the killers
requested one human between this animals
this killers
poem by Aidin Azarkerdar
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Ask My Mother
My eyes are red
Yet I did not smoke hemp
I have never been a smokered
Neither am I a drinkard.
But I am red in anger
Anger for my leaders.
.
They have have failed me,
They failed many a youth like me
Yes we are heading for a revolution
Revolution for a dying nation.
Ask my mother
She was here before my father.
.
When the white came
They killed my father
My sisters they raped.
They bent my brothers
Unto fields of foreign lands.
.
And I grown to know
They importants of freedom.
And I fought, me and my comrades
Again and again,
And then, the white,
They went away.
.
And then I picked them up
We picked them from the ground
Me and my brothers,
We made them our leaders
But they ended up making
themselves rulers.
.
Ask my mother, she has always
been here,
She was here when the white came,
She was also here when when they left.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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By Miners Hands
What miner’s art
Did meld and make,
Did stone on stone
Fling you on high,
Or lie beneath
The stars, awake
To think your shape
As nights sped by?
What weary hand
Did knead and tread
Your mud in some
Dead winter’s storm,
While autumn’s bride
Long kept her bed
To wait his will
Who gave you form.
And though they lie
Unknown at last,
Without foundation
Still you stand,
Your walls have stood
Six score of years
While they ran through
Their shift of sand!
And every furrow
At some brow
Did trace in mud
These barren lands,
Each humble cottage
Built in need
Was raised in pride
By miner’s hands!
18 February 1983
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My version of Ginsberg's America.
Against the filthy politics found in America and against the actions of it's dispicable governments.
America tell Coloumbus to fook off, take his smallpox and Capitalism with him.
America, you've swallowed your national mythology like pancakes and syrup.
America, Land where eugenics was tried
America, Land where the native americans cried
America, Land where warmongering thrives
America, you think you're the world police.
America, you were duped by a Christian to believe he's the prince of peace and now a black man convinces you the same.
America, your obsession with religion is insane.
America, I hope your guilt drives you to suicide, having to stare into the eyes of the children of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
America, I hope the masterminds of the Manhattan Project are suffering like they should.
America, your dream is as fake as Hollywood.
America, what the hell happened in Zuccotti Park?
America, you actually have a exhibition dedicated to Noah's ark?
America, where is this democracy you're trying to spread?
America, why won't you let the poor be fed?
America, you lead the west in destroying the world and waging war.
America land of MKULTRA and CO-INTELPRO
America land of Glenn beck, Neo-cons, where gay marriage is a 'no no'.
America, you're no city on the hill.
America, you're the home of the corporate shill.
America, you're oil addiction has make the globe ill.
America, your tv channels still project cold war closed minds.
America, how is it that slaves built the white house?
America, what exactly did you mean by 'All men are born free and equal'? Terms and conditions apply?
America, what are you doing to right past wrongs?
America, where's your concern for the Navajo?
America, I would've fought with Geronimo.
America, I think you've forgotten the Treaty of Fort Laramie.
America, Pay back in blood those killed at Wounded Knee.
America, you lied about Pine Ridge and the FBI really killed Annie Mae.
America, massacring to the tune of a million dollars to catch a single man.
America, which small country will you invade next? America, I can see your eyeing up Iran.
America, You wouldn't want what happened in Diego Garcia to happen to you.
America you know a thing or two about Coup
America Bikini Atoll is still ailing.
America, Love Canal is ruined.
America, I love the Wobblies.
America, The city of Chicago can built statues but it really just needs to apologize.
America, you've poisioned us all.
America, Land of Bush, of agent orange and Monsanto
America, Trainers of the Taliban, guards of Guantanamo
America, Land where the poor are shushed
America, Land where environmental decay is pushed
America, Land where they pollute the air
America, Invade the world and don't seem to care.
America, Land where the Mexican hides in slums for a meagre sum.
America, Land where they strung up blacks for fun
America, Land where they worship the Gun.
America.
America, Land of government without dignity
America, Home of Jefferson's slave, Blackwater's crime,
The Red Scare
And Gulf of Mexico Oil slick slime.
America.
poem by Scott Forster
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I Built This House
I built this house from its foundation
It's foundation I made it strong
So that it can't be shaken
By anything
I built this house
On love
Not on lies
I built this house
I turned it into a home
And that was my vision
I built this house
Just like a wise woman
A woman who builds a house on a foundation of a rock
Not like a foolish woman
Who builds a house
On a sand
And then turns and destroys it with her hands
I won't allow anything to break it down
To break my children and my husband
With nonsense
With arguments, alcohol and unfaithfulness
So devil you better live
Cause I built this house
On top of the rock Jesus
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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Lies Told To Children
religious incantations,
written with dead bodies,
buried in ditches
with face drawn shovels.
the tint of skin tastes
like things done in the night.
and lies told to children
to let them sleep!
redemption killed
on a desert highway,
left to stink in the sun
of another faceless day.
we are what we have done,
in the final end.
yet we close our eyes,
and wash the blood from our hands!
blame it on the cost of freedom,
a white god with special needs.
religious incantations,
and lies told to children!
written for the spirits of over
100 million Native Americans killed!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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