Showing posts with label Resistance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resistance. Show all posts

Friday, February 6, 2026

Yellow Thunder

Yellow Thunder


Yellow Thunder

Life is cheap

Makes me wonder

How you sleep

 

We ruled the plains

Before the trains

Hunted Buffalo

Lived to share

Came to know

God in care

 

More and more your lust does abound

Pollute the skies violate the ground

A road to a destination known well

Hell

 

Yellow Thunder

Six feet under

Still his cries

Electrifies

Our soul

 

You stole our land

With wicked hand

Your tongues still lie

And we defy

Your control

 

Our Great Spirit lives

Wisdom a gift he gives

Wisdom to perceive

Wisdom to believe

Your vain and futile path

Will be repaid with wrath

 

The Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria

Ships numbered three

Once more they shall sail the sea

For the land will be purged by fire

And you shall bow to our desire

You cities, roads, intrusions, no more

Burned Babylon the Whore

And on those ships you shall return

Where you go is not our concern

 

And Yellow Thunder will rock the Earth

And Yellow Thunder shall know rebirth

As countless drops of endless rain

Wash away the bitter stain

Soothing relief from the pain

Our land shall be our land again

Perfect, Pristine, Pure

And Yellow Thunder shall walk once more


 POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor


Monday, May 26, 2025

Memorial Day

  Memorial Day

 

Spring’s end Summer’s start

Weeping widow broken heart

Sales abound sales galore

The god of commerce

Is what he died for

Twenty percent off all merchandise

That my friend is freedom’s price


POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor


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


Sunday, May 4, 2025

For Deyshia Hargrave

 For Deyshia Hargrave


I am the chronicler of our time

Deyshia Hargrave

You had best behave

Let me tell you of her crime

She wasn’t chewing bubble gum

That would have been glum

There was no teasing at all

Or wandering without a pass in the hall

Not a single vicious spitball was cast

Still her transgression was vast

Deyshia simply spoke her mind

To those in authority

But the bosses weren’t so kind

And in the Land of The Free

She was evicted from the room

Deyshia left voluntarily

But once outside the assembly

The marshal laid down the boom

Handcuffing Deyshia Hargrave

As if she was some wayward slave

She protested

To be molested

Then arrested

So the moral of the story

With all the unwanted glory

Teachers be smart and wise

Organize, organize, organize

One thing that you lack

Watch one another’s back 


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Poet To The Poor