Showing posts with label No More Pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label No More Pain. Show all posts

Friday, May 23, 2025

Mammy

Mammy

 

 

Mother wasn’t always old

Wide eyed children aglow

How could they know

Unless they are told

Husshhhhhh and listen

To our wisdom

See Momma’s face dark as night

Your skin paler, more white

 

You see momma was once a slave

She had to behave

Or the mastah would kill

Either way

They say

He would have his will

 

Victorian queen frigid as snow

It won’t hurt what she don’t know

Besides why would the princess care

If she was aware

The fine Methodist preacher does declare

Africans are animals in despair

So mastah having a little fun

Wouldn’t hurt anyone

And if Mommy would speak

Mastah wouldn’t turn the other cheek

Death on the whipping post

A deed most

Cruel

But to those that rule

At that time

It wasn’t even a crime

 

So momma didn’t even utter a single breath

For fear of death

She just laid it upon God on high

In a silent cry

Why God, oh why?!!?

The torture and pain

The guilt driving her insane

A dirty feeling never to be clean

His curses cold his compliments obscene

The sick smile upon his lips

The pain between her hips

Dejection

And then rejection

From Momma’s real man

Unable, refusing to understand

 

Momma did the best she could

See children, from evil came good

Have no fear

Momma loves you dear

Cept every day when she sees your eyes blue

It cuts as if raped anew

But Jesus never done no sin

And look what they did to him

My God, My God why have you forsaken me?

Momma understands that totally

Too well

All the truths of hell

But there’s victory, have no fear

In the one who can hear

Words that have never been uttered

For the heart is discovered

And Momma’s heart is devoted to her children

After all we’re all conceived in sin 


POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor


Tuesday, May 6, 2025

Cathy at the Texaco Station

 Cathy at the Texaco Station

 

Cathy

Pumping gas to truck and car

With a uniform red and a white star

The gas ain’t free

Everyone has to pay

The oil is bought

By wars fought

And Cathy’s uniform all red

Resemble many shot dead

Solders, women, children too

Very sad but very true

 

Somewhere an oil CEO

Is snorting his blow

Trying not to care

But all the while aware

In his wicked soul

As his conscience takes its toll

 

And Cathy

Needs to buy food to sup

So she says happily

Fill her up?

Poet To The Poor