My father was
My father was
A colonized negro
He moved from rural Mississippi
To brick city St. Louis.
He knew how to be black
But he kept that to himself.
My father imitated his oppressors
Said yes ser and adverted his eyes.
My father died as a security guard
At a Kentucky Fries Chicken
Killed by a younger colonized black
A victim of European imperialism.
A victim of an imposed culture
To the miss educated black man
Who holds cheat as to be
Inhuman the life of blacks
Conceder deposable in
The American culture
That teaches us to be good negros
In the white way of colonial racism
Of the psycho-sexual norm
Of Occildemtalism
poem by David E. Patton
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Related quotes
Racism and the Culture Of Racism
We must be aware…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It’s a slur and a swear….,
The Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can’t turn your back….,
On the Culture Of Racism….,
Or you’ll feel the whack…,
Of the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
It’s hard to believe….
The Culture Of Racism….,
That’s why we all grieve….,
The Culture Of Racism…! ! !
We must face the facts….,
On the Culture Of Racism ….! ! !
Cause we’ve seen the attacks…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It follows us all…,
The Culture Of Racism….,
But we must stand tall….,
Against the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can we control or stop it….,
As long as it’s been livin’….? ? ?
That’s the priceless question….,
On the Culture Of Racism…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dressed Chicken
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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52
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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The School System
The school system
was not designed for us
Mexican-Americans
america is not designed for us
in school we learn
about wars, time periods this and
that
in only two colors
white and black
racism comes in many colors
its just not between white and black
its more like human to human
there is racism between every
race
and Im tired of seeing media only focus on the two
how can I be motivated as
a Mexican-American when all
I read in class is about
black and white culture and
how they clash
the school sysem was
designed by whites and blacks
and not for us...
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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My Ancestors Still Speaks
Hear the Negros from my ancestors to the generation of young Blacks
Americans proudly say: Our black is united together around the world,
different ethnic backgrounds together we are one.
Our black stands strong through the evil of racism and diversity
Our black is bold
Our black is free
Our black lives on
My ancestors still speaks.
poem by Anasha Greham
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The Victim
Between right and wrong
Black and white
War and peace
Perpetrators and victims
Passive aggressive
She is always the victim
He is always the victim
They say they are always right
Every relationship ends with being the victim
The abused one, the controlled one
Totally black and white
They hire psychologists to reinforce their game
Never have to take responsibility
They are always the clear good one
They never really stare into the mirror
Their own arrogance is never looked at
Their own violence is covered
Sexual manipulation
Black and white
Right and wrong
Gossip and slander
Poor little innocent victim
How easy we demonize one another
How easy we take the role of the good guy
How easy we make everything black and white
Make everything completely wrong and right
Pull people into our charade
Stereotype and profile
Sure some people really are extreme
Yes, some people belong in prison
But so many times we play the victim
We make the other person BAD
We do not forgive or let go
We bring our baggage into all our relationships
We profile
We play the wronged person to the hilt
We make the other person EVIL
We make ourselves GOOD
No shades of gray, no soul searching
No reality and we go looking for perfect people
No forgiveness or negotiation and compromise
We are the victim! We are completely innocent
I broke up again he abused me
What’s that now 6 in a row?
Yes! And I am so sweet and innocent
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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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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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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Zebra Child
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My father skin is fare like a pinkish cloud.
My mother skin is dark like coco.
My skin is both swirled into a light caramel color.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My eyes are hazel with a hint of blue.
My hair is kinky yet manageable.
While I have African hips
I also have European lips.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
I relish my difference
Although some times
I envy others similarity.
But I am what I am.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
Broken people
I know them from an old photograph-
my father sits on a stump in knickers
stern father by his side
mother in black and white
scattering chicken feed
I remember my father drove us to
the island where he is buried
parked in front of an institution
that reminded me of a prison
a woman in white brought Ann to us
we say her in a hallway
a woman with a placid face
who was somewhere nowhere
he spoke to her in calm tones
she looked beyond
we never met
poem by Walter Durk
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The Angry Soup Of Racism
ain't it a shame:
when hate lynches
a 14 year old, Colored boy
in 1955, Mississippi,
and blows away the dreams of
(four innocent little Negroe girls) ,
in 1963, Birmingham, Alabama.
yeah,
bus that to your segregated thoughts:
as I “interracially” walk you,
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children,
to march along side the National Guard,
on their way to a lily white school,
as the message of this-
un-segregates & un-tangles
the history of hate;
attackin’ Negroes in 1957,
whose only desire was to be educated;
and schooled too.
racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide,
the white citizen council back,
to their good senses,
‘cause racism-
don’t care ‘bout nobody,
being Jew or Colored,
when it needs to fire-bomb;
Negroe churches with... Negroes in them
or feels the need to “hang” somebody;
from a tree out of existence.
racism even devours… its own kkklan
as the innocent,
pay the ultimate price.
racism doesn’t care,
if, your church is the 16th Street Baptist,
and 14 yr old, Addie Mae Collins
( is one of the four black Alabama children):
killed in attendance.
racism ain’t concerned,
about you being Caucasian either
or your last name being:
Jewish
White
Black
B rown
Till
Schwerner
Evers
Liuzzo
Mandela
Martin or Rodney King,
and so many other names,
that we’ll never know of,
that racism wounded or buried six feet;
under hate.
racism doesn’t care,
about what kinda NAACP dream
you’re having,
or concerned about your last name;
being “Parks, ” in 1955
when it attempts to guide you back;
to the “Colored” section of the bus,
where you know,
your civil-rights will be denied,
every time you allow,
“ segregation & discrimination, ”
to collect its fare.
racism and its hateful followers,
have no regard at all,
for one’s race/religion
or sexual persuasion.
especially, when racism peeps
into its discriminating mirror,
century after century;
time after time,
day after day,
and tells itself, in 2006
“it’s better than you, '
because you’re 'cultured' different
from “them.”
yeah,
racism stirs an “ugly pot” of soup;
that no one should ever have to taste.
poem by Ronald Stroman
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Black Caesar
Black Caesar was Australia's first bush ranger
And as his name suggests he was not white
And when caught up with by those who pursued him
He did not go down without a good fight.
A convict who was brought out in the first fleet
And a victim of harsh British justice and rule
Transported into exile and confinement
Man to his own kind can be very cruel.
Black Caesar was a victim of discrimination
And though he is seen as one who died in shame
Those who are sinned against can become outlaws
And for his crimes he was not all to blame.
You will find some good in the worst of people
And some turn to crime because of circumstance
And why condemn a fellow like Black Caesar
When the poor bugger never had a chance.
Black Caesar was Australia's first bush ranger
When to be poor was looked on as a sin
And worse for him he was born with the wrong colour
You well might say that he wasn't meant to win.
poem by Francis Duggan
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No father?
i told my father it was so and i got up and left him then you know
though there was nowhere i had to go and nothing i had to do
i stand before you father
but you refuse to see
oh father, have you forgotten me?
i kneel before you father
but you do not feel
i am your flesh and same blood
if only you knew
if only i could tell you your an ass
if only i could say and put into words what you've put me through
if only you were around to say good job
as a father you have failed
as a father you were never there
i am ill be gotten history
...no father?
poem by Calvin Jenkins
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In Prayer to You
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.
In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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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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The Perfect Father
The Perfect Father
who accepts you
the perfect father
who protects you
The perfect father
what will you do?
but believe in him
and accept Him too
The perfect Father
who gave His life
The perfect Father
is found in Jesus Christ
The perfect Father
who knows your name
The perfect father
who will remain
The perfect Father
who lovingly guides
who wants to lead you
like a shepherd
and walk
by your side
The perfect Father
who listens and holds
The perfect Father
who gently consoles
The perfect Father
who changes you
by his Love and his kindness
and acceptance too
The perfect Father
who understands
This perfect Father
became a man
So that you could come
to personally know Him
and know there is a Father
who is out there my friend
There is a Father
who exist, your not dreaming
He's looking for you
while your searching for Him
He's found in Jesus Christ
Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life
no one comes to the father except through me'
(The Holy Bible) John 14: 6
poem by Debbie Bennett
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Father’s Day
A father loves his children,
More than words can say;
Dad’s the head of family –
This was so till today!
A father toils for children,
From morn, throughout day;
So that all can eat good food,
He gives his hard-earned pay!
A father teaches children
And tells what life is;
A good dad chides and canes you,
If studies, you do miss.
A father tells his children
About love of God;
He reads the Bible verses,
And warns about God’s rod.
A father trains his children
Moulds their character;
He helps them know, right from wrong,
And live a life better.
A father guides his children,
Walk on sinless roads;
To live a life of fortitude,
And righteousness, he goads!
Let children wish their father,
‘Happy Father’s Day! ’
Thank God for giving this nice man –
A blessing till this day!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-15-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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