Why There's Three Chairs
The first question
You're asked
When you arrive is
What do you declare
It's not like customs
About what you are carrying
The guards have other ways
For checking for that
Without asking
The guards want to know
For your protection
And theirs
What race do you declare
What are your gang affiliations
Do you need protective custody
Your race decides a lot for you
Decides who they'll house you with
Determines when
You'll be locked down
Allowed on the Yard
If you need an escort
It all depends
On your answer
To that first question
Yes they'll get around
To asking you if you want to harm yourself
Or others
What meds you're on
Do you hear voices
But above all race matters
For your protection
To minimize the potential
Of fights in a two man cell
The guards try
To match you up
The best they can
With someone you can tolerate
Locked in a five by nine-foot cell
Twenty-two hours a day
Outside the cells
By the guards' station
You can see the three chairs
Behind each chair
Bolted to the wall
Is a locked metal box
They all contain identical
Hair-cutting supplies
Seperate but equal
The first box is painted black
The second box red
The third white
The contents and the corresponding
Barber chairs are for Blacks
Hispanics/Others and Whites
And only for Black
Hispanic/Other and White
Barbers
Make no mistakes
The inmates enforce the rules
The unwritten rules
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Related quotes
There Are Black
There are black guards slamming cell gates
on black men,
And brown guards saying hello to brown men
with numbers on their backs,
And white guards laughing with white cons,
and red guards, few, say nothing
to red inmates as they walk by to chow and cells.
There you have it, the little antpile . . .
convicts marching in straight lines, guards flying
on badged wings, permits to sting, to glut themselves
at the cost of secluding themselves from their people . .
Turning off their minds like watertaps
wrapped in gunnysacks that insulate the pipes
carrying the pale weak water to their hearts.
It gets bad when you see these same guards
carrying buckets of blood out of cells,
see them puking at the smell, the people,
their own people slashing their wrists,
hanging themselves with belts from light outlets;
it gets bad to see them clean up the mess,
carry the blue cold body out under sheets,
and then retake their places in guard cages,
watching their people maul and mangle themselves,
And over this blood-rutted land,
the sun shines, the guards talk of horses and guns,
go to the store and buy new boots,
and the longer they work here the more powerful they become,
taking on the presence of some ancient mummy,
down in the dungeons of prison, a mummy
that will not listen, but has a strange power
in this dark world, to be so utterly disgusting in ignorance,
and yet so proudly command so many men. . . .
And the convicts themselves, at the mummy’s
feet, blood-splattered leather, at this one’s feet,
they become cobras sucking life out of their brothers,
they fight for rings and money and drugs,
in this pit of pain their teeth bare fangs,
to fight for what morsels they can. . . .
And the other convicts, guilty
of nothing but their born color, guilty of being innocent,
they slowly turn to dust in the nightly winds here,
flying in the wind back to their farms and cities.
From the gash in their hearts, sand flies up spraying
over houses and through trees,
look at the sand blow over this deserted place,
you are looking at them.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Then, all of a sudden, here I am in the Press Room in the White House and walking in with the guards, who handed me three little pieces of paper asking me to send pictures to the guards at the White House.
quote by Majel Barrett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man guards himself
Man guards himself from animals.
Man made animals his servants.
Man guards himself from other men
By division of race, region and religion.
02.01.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Black, white and grey...
I was taught about Black & White
So that's all I see
If the world decides to go Grey,
Who decides propriety?
Whist once an answer could only be yes & no
Suddenly there's a 'Maybe'
The locks have been changed
Yet no one replaced my key.
Out of league, out of place
Out of sight, out of space
Even if all rules were made to be broken
Why such a haste? With such distaste? Are ideals waste?
Directionless, clueless
Can't figure out a way through this mess
Blinded by contrasts, misfit by race
Today morals are in disgrace.
poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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A good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.
Terry Pratchett in Guards! Guards!
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prejudiced? Who? Me? ? .....[Personal; Human Nature; Racial Prejudice]
I'm a white guy, aged 64, raised in a small town way up north.
Do some thoughts I have about blacks signal prejudice coming forth?
First I'd say NO, but then again I'd say YES.
But such thoughts, by both whites and blacks, are normal I would guess.
What thoughts am I now referring to you will probably ask.
To answer that sensible question will put my mind to task.
My interactions with blacks, I think, no prejudice does reveal.
And the rare times I have 'prejudice' thoughts, I think they're no big deal.
Do you wish to know of what my 'pre-judged' thoughts consist?
I'd almost rather not tell you. But, if you insist.
I sometimes think 'nigger'; when and where I grew up that was a 'bad' name.
I also think of them as different though people are the 'same'.
And here is where I say 'I don't like generalization'.
By 'same' I mean neither all blacks nor all whites are 'the same' in this nation.
So whites and blacks can both be smart or stupid, mean or kind;
within each 'race' criminals and 'saints' you'll find.
I wasn't raised to either love or hate blacks. My parents seemed not to judge.
And I've changed my mind again; I'm NOT prejudiced. From that opinion I shall not budge!
Then why you ask do I sometimes think 'nigger' when I think of a black?
I think it's due to both a primeval urge to break society's rules, and to thought-control I lack.
Luckily I don't act out my 'bad' thoughts. I might be in jail now if I had.
When in grade school, a boy said I called him 'nigger'. The accusation made me sad.
poem by Bri Edwards
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Guards! Seize Him!
Guards cease to wander where the hounds stay,
Yonder is peace for the entering marvels that may.
Guards cause innocence to object on evil,
Then seize that man or woman or child who is able!
Inside the door, inside the prison and cells,
Lies a more hopeful gate of magic and bells.
Beyond the common goal is another objective
That worries murder spraying blood - addictive.
Please lay off guards, for the murder to be done,
Munching morsels shunning us, and now abandon!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Who Locked The Boys Out?
Once I saw some boys
Outside a gate
They had come to school
But they were very late
Everywhere was closed
All about
It caused me to wonder
Who locked the boys out?
I saw a group
On the outside
It was graduation day
But they had come to play
The girls were inside ready to go
But for the boys it was not so
They were outside walking all about
I asked who locked the boys out?
I observed some boys
Wasting their lives away
For them
Life was only about play
In school they refused to learn
Diminishing their ability to earn
Their decisions caused them to loose their clout
Tell me, tell me who looked the boys out?
I noticed a gang
At the corner of a street
They had gathered together
There to meet
Only profanity
Came out of their mouth
I asked the question
Who locked the boys out?
I found some lads
In a prison cell
Who confided in me
That they were living in 'hell'
They longed to be flourishing and free
Instead they were chained in misery
Staked out in a desert's deadly drought
Will somebody please tell me who locked the boys out?
Too many boys all around the world
Are on the outside looking in
Reaping the harvest
Of their fathers sin
Some are tying to get in
But their chances seem so slim
So I ask with a serious, solemn shout
Who locked the boys out?
poem by Howard Simon
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I am a man of black and white
I am a man of black and white,
my name is written on the gates of the sky.
i am a man of black and white
my origin is united, yet two apart.
I speak the language of the whites,
but lost in the language of the blacks.
i am a man of black and white,
my resemblance is same with the blacks.
I am a man of black and white,
i was brought up in the land of the whites.
i am a man of black and white,
my home is in the south-east, in the abode of my black dad.
I am a man of black and white,
i love the aspirations of life.
i am a man of black and white,
although two apart, we are united as one.
poem by Randy Micheal
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~Reconciliation~
A black woman migrates to Europe
War devastated Germany in she finds a tolerant white widower to cope
Years some later a mulatto is born with arrear
Unluckily the newborn not so towards white but usual spirally knotted hair
She grows up and gets because of her white father´s repute a government job
Ego came out spontaneous in black aggression as corn on the cob
Her work by job agency comes mostly foreigners for demonstrations
Majority a jobless black immigrant who has not the lucky touch of Midas parentage in confrontations
She looks of blacks down and she herself is black
When asked to justify says she is more white hidden traits back
She repeats her satisfaction from day to day
Until she went to a white german barber for hair trim and foam some day
Your hair is another says the white old barber woman
I have no experience and i cut not those hairs as talisman
Go to a black barber she added
They understand more your hair as they the same headed
Black Tie White Noise
Getting my facts from a benneton ad
Im lookin thru african eyes
Lit by the glare of an l.a. fire
Black tie white noise
Ive got a face, not just my race, bang bang Ive got you babe
Putting on the black tie
Crankin up the white noise
Sun comes up and the man goes down
And the woman comes again
Just an hour or so to be safe from fear
Black tie white noise
Then we jump thru hoops, were divisable now, just disappear
Putting on the black tie
Crankin up the white noise
We reach out over race and hold each others hands
Then die in the flames singing we shall overcome
Whoa! whats going on?
Therell be some blood no doubt about it
But well come thru dont doubt it
I look into your eyes and I know you wont kill me
I look into your eyes and I know you wont kill me
You wont kill me
You wont kill me no
But I look into your eyes
And I wonder sometimes
Putting on the black tie
Crankin up the white noise
Oh lord, just let him see me
Lord, lord just let him hear me
Let him call me brother
Let him put his arms around me
Let him put his hands together.
Reach out over race and hold each others hands
Walk thru the nite thinking we are the world
Whoa! whats going on?
There will be some blood no doubt about it
But well come thru dont doubt it
I look into your eyes and I know you wont kill me
And I turn my back for I know you wont kill me
You wont kill me
You wont kill me no
But I wonder why
Yes, I wonder why sometimes
Putting on the black tie
Crankin up the white noise
Theyll show us how to break the rules
But never how to make the rules
Reduce us down to witless punks
Black tie white noise
Facist cries both black and white, whos got the blood, whos got the gun.
Putting on the black tie, cranking out the white noise
Oh yeah
Cranking out
Cranking out
Cranking out white noise
Black tie white noise
Cranking out
Cranking out
Putting on the black tie
Cranking up the white noise
Cranking out
Cranking out
Cranking out white noise
Black tie white noise
Cranking out
Cranking out
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If anyone has it rough at Guantanamo, it is the guards. They are constantly harassed and threatened by some of these terrorists. Prisoners tell guards, we know where your families are. We know where your wife is, your children, and we are going to kill them.
quote by Robin Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Difference
The other day I wrote a poem
and a friend asked me how I
could feel the pain of her kind,
as she was a different race from me.
You are white and I am black,
so how could you feel the pain I felt?
The answer was simple
we were not of a different race.
There is only one race, the human race.
We maybe different in the colour of our skin,
but we share each other’s pain.
I share yours and you share mine
whenever we are struck by grief.
We may eat different food,
but we both breathe the same air.
We see through different coloured eyes,
but we both see the same things.
There is no difference between us
except within our colour
and I am a man and you are a woman,
but that is where the difference ends.
We both have a heart that beats
and lungs that breathe in air.
No difference there.
If we are cut, we bleed
and our blood is red.
No difference there.
Therefore, you see I can feel your hurt,
feel the tears when you cry.
Now my question is if we were blind
what colour would you see?
The answer is simple,
the same colour as me.
There is no difference between us;
we each belong to the same race.
We are the same,
but with a different face.
16 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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Haircut.
The Barber came to cut my hair,
I told him that it wasn't fair.
My hair had done him no harm,
Without it I would loose my charm.
The Barber he grinned a silly grin,
Said to cut my hair would be no sin.
That I should face it like a man,
But I'm a coward and away I ran.
Do you like sitting in a Barbers chair,
With him chopping away your lovely hair.
Once my head was full of curls,
Covering my face with twisty twirls.
But then the Barber came my way,
I was a child, I had no say.
Off came my curls one by one,
The Barber seemed to have great fun.
Now I'm old and very grey,
I'm nearly bald, my hairs gone away.
But when I see a Barbers chair,
I feel the loss of my curly hair.
You know I truly rue the day,
When that first Barber came my way.
poem by Bernard Shaw
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School is a prison...
The classroom is…
A jail cell
There halls leading
To each cell
The school food is
taste like prison food
In the cafeteria there
are long lines for food
The principle runs
the school
The warden runs
the prison
They have guards
telling inmates what to do
We have teachers
telling students what to do
The inmates are
the students
Were all serving
A 12 year sentence
School is just a prison for students
poem by Kitty In Love
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Cuz I'm Black? ? ?
Is it cuz I'm black that you think I'm poor
Is it cuz I'm black that we can't afford
A car, a house, and have a liittle more
Or does stereotypes take over and racism pour
into suburb neighborhoods that are scared of 'us'
Black people that is, where crime is a must
Nigger! Nigger! The #1 word
for white upper class to use as a term
To make us feel low and non educated
To make us feel weak, it so complicated
Nigger this, nigger that, the word is overrated
It was used in Africa, which equal segregation.
Separated us from the whites and so much to tell
That 75% of us is locked in jails
for doing pity stuff that will take our trails
of life we can have to just do right
Go to school Graduate, and get paid right.
Its not cuz I'm black, It's called nigger mentality
That causes us black people to fail so drastically.
Don't get me wrong black is beautiful
We need to work together. Come on....honestly.
poem by Sharon Goodwin
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The one game we all play
The one game we all play
We play games
To show our valour
And mainly to win
We do not mind going for coaching
If we feel we do not have the
Required strength to win
We play games
Either as a team or individual
The attempt is to demonstrate
That we are better talented
Than the team or member
Against whom we play
Nations enthuse people to play games
So that they add pride
Some games are played with
Gadgets and protective accessories
We have spectators to watch
The way we play
We have umpires and referees
Who ensure rules of the games
Are strictly adhered
And it is all a fair play
We play games indoor or outdoor
We play games in daylight
Or under artificial illumination
We score while playing
And the score achieved by a team or individual
In a specific time
Decides the winner
We telecast the games
We comment on the strengths and weaknesses
Of a team or individual
We conduct national and international
Tournaments to declare a team or individual
As champion
Irrespective of skills, race, gender
We all play a game
Which is played mainly to lose
It is an individual game
With no specific rules
With no umpire
With no spectator
With no commentator
With no TV coverage
With no scores
With no trophies
With no victory stands
With no top scorer
With no “player of the match”
But we play
Most of us like to play this game
Indoor and in closed doors
Decency and civilized ways
Do not allow this game being played in the open
There is no season for this game
It can be played any part of the day
And any part of the year
Summer, winter, monsoon seasons
Have no bearing on this game
The one requirement in this game is
Complete transparency and intimacy
Rules for this game
Vary from individual to individual
Rules also get refined
With the experience of the players
There are no restrictions to employ
Any method as both the players
Are determined to be the loser
Duration of play depends again
On the individuals
The game ends
Most often to the satisfaction
Of the both the players
In other games players declare
That they are retiring from playing
There is no retirement in this game
As players advance in age
They understand it is more a mind game
Outcome of this game
Are further more players
You guessed it right
It is the game of love
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Excuses
Why no one will help me
I am too dumb I am too smart
They'll not understand me
I am lonely
They'll hate me
And there is not enough time
It's too hard to help me
And god wants me to work
No resting no lazy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked in my own cell
I'm too far from home
It takes far too much energy
And I cannot afford to
No one will ever see me
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked inside my cell
These excuses how they're so familiar
They've kept me blocked
They've kept me small
They've kept me safe inside my shell
Bringing this into the light
Shakes their foundation
And it clears my side
Now my imagination
Is the only thing that limits
The bar that is raised to the heights
No one can have it all see
I have to they want me to
And I can't let them down
I'll never be happy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
Theyve kept me small
Theyve kept me locked inside my cell
These excuses how they're so familiar
They've kept me small
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked inside my cell
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prejudice and Racism
Prejudice
I don't like him or her or them
because they are
white, black, Asian, European, Middle Eastern,
Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Atheist,
those narrow-minded vegetarians,
and those cruel murderers who eat meat.
Look at those geeks, and nerds, and goths.
Why would anyone want to be emo or scene?
What kind of loser likes classical music and books?
Look at those disgraces to humanity
who have tattoos and piercings.
Look at how fat she is, and how skinny he is!
You jocks and preppy girls, you think you are so good.
Obviously anyone who watches TV or drinks beer is a bum,
and don't you hate those teens always texting on their phones?
People are prejudiced
against everyone and everything,
how you look, and what you do,
whether you are young or old,
male or female, what you believe and what you don't.
And let us not forget those people
who are prejudiced against people
who are prejudiced.
Racism
The blacks
the whites
the Asians
the Indians
the Middle Easterns
the Italians
the Jews
the Mexicans
the Russians
the Chinese
the Japanese
the English
the French
the humans.
No matter where you are from
there are people who will hate you
because of your race and nationality.
You cannot control
where you are born
nor your heritage
any more
than you can control
being a human.
Yet, that does not matter
to the racists.
Why would you judge someone
on such a silly thing?
Does it really make a difference
whether you were born here or there?
Does the color of your skin
affect your mind, heart, or soul?
Do the faults of our ancestors
become our faults?
Perhaps,
perhaps race does matter.
Perhaps someone who is white
is intrinsically different
than someone who is black.
Perhaps all Asians
are different
than Europeans.
It is true,
that certain characteristics
are more common in some races than others -
stereotypes do not form without reason.
Yet even so,
even if a stereotype does apply to a race,
does that make the race good or bad?
And even if a stereotype does apply to a race,
can that stereotype be applied
to every member of the race?
Is not every single person in the world
different and unique?
Can there never be exceptions to rules?
Must you really hate someone
because of where they are from
and who there parents are?
poem by Zachary Zuccaro
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