Welcome to Day 7 of the April Write 2013: a new era begins
Today is: Free Verse Sunday
It means you can write a poem on whatever topic you want to except erotica.
Once again, today is a VERY special day. It’s the First of our Free Verse Sundays and it means you are allowed to write a poem on whatever topic you feel you need to explore. Or, you may choose to stick with the same theme that another person has shared for today.
If you have not yet been able to share a poem in our last 6 days, then today is your perfect opportunity. But remember, no erotic poetry today please.
Zita Holbourne © April 2013
SHOULDN’T HAVE TO DIE FROM POVERTY
Each day she dies a little more inside
She’s given up on living – so so tired
It was the ConDem coalition
That put her in this position
She had a good job, happy, enjoyed the work
Never rich – public sector jobs don’t have perks
But main thing was job security
Enough money to raise her family
Pay the rent and bills, clothe and feed
Low paid but never one for greed
The change came quickly and dramatically
The attacks administered systematically
As if to destroy in stages
First they attacked her wages
Costs went up but her pay was frozen
Then for illness her job was taken
Waiting for an ambulance she nearly died
Local hospital shut down so a long drive
Once the ambulance eventually did arrive
They said it was a miracle she was alive
Now they’ve said she can’t stay in her home
Just because of a spare bedroom
Never mind she’s been there 15 years
Raised her children in it – no one cares
Main concern now is when the next hot meal will come
There’s nobody left to borrow money from
Everyone else is hard up too
Nothing left for her to do
But wait for death to bring relief
Don’t want the family to grieve
Or to take out yet another payday loan
To line the pockets of a funeral home
Just put her in an unmarked paupers grave
Wanted a funeral plan but too poor to save
Now they’re cutting her benefits as well
Nothing left of any value to pawn or sell
Bills to pay, rent arrears and an empty fridge
This is the reality of living on the edge
And a reality for millions more
Of Britain’s steadily increasing poor
If we don’t stand up to the powers that be
And fight back against them collectively
It will be you next or me
We shouldn’t have to die from poverty
Need to recognise that we make up the majority
And as such we have the ability
To overcome if we act in unity
We shouldn’t have to pay for a crisis we didn’t create
People please wake up before it’s too late
Zita Holbourne, Poet~Artist~Activist aprilwrite day 7
A ‘paintoem’ i created to go with the poem https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=4681027505838&set=t.1298338363&type=3&theater
Donna Parkinson © April 2013
Another young life droppin,
Brutha’s be hip hoppin,
To the dead mans prom,
And at the ripe old age of fifteen,
They’re caught in between,
A rock and a hard place,
Living the inner city rat race,
Reppin their endz on FaceBook and MySpace,
When they only just learnt to tie their own shoelace,
Bwoys walkin in big man shoes,
Carryin big man news,
Stepping with big man views,
The bwoy dem so confused,
With the misconstrued,
Thesis they have on life,
Live by the gun or the knife,
Fam, its all good,
Rep your endz, support your hood,
And die standing where your brutha before you stood,
Same script, different cast,
Babies growing up way to fast,
Cards dealt by the dead hands of the past,
Haunting the community,
Granting diplomatic immunity,
To the thugz,
That peddle the drugz,
To our kids,
And you say that honour forbids,
You from snitching,
Yet your own fingers are itchin,
To pull the trigger,
You say that you had no father figure,
And that life is too hard,
You say you are scarred,
Outweighed by societies expectations,
And influenced by the Media’s publications,
And that’s probably all true,
But the answers are deeper within you,
Buried, but long overdue,
Of a new population,
Society’s very salvation,
Is in your hands,
Life is not about bussing name brands,
Or breeding designer dogs for rank,
It’s not about the Hennessey you drank,
At last nights rave,
It’s not about the status that you crave,
Or the platinum bling,
It’s not about the herb you shottin,
Cos all of that is temporary,
And your contemporary,
Can take that away from you at any time,
That kind of status comes a dime,
A dozen, and fades just as fast,
You need the kind of reputation that can last,
One where your name is surpassed,
By your education,
Where knowledge acceleration,
Is your only goal,
Before its too late and some man drops a bomb,
That sends you straight to firstname.lastname@example.org……
HI GUYS NOT A NEW PIECE BY ANY MEANS BUT PROBABLY MY SIGNATURE PIECE… This piece really sums up why i write what i write when i write.. .. peace xx
Donna Parkinson © April 2013
Laughing and Walking,
Stepping and Talking,
Weren’t looking where he was going,
And without knowing,
Bumped into some guy,
With a deadly look in his eye…
“What the f*** bruv? You can’t see?
How ya gonna just bounce me?
What.. is man blind?
I’m here on my grind,
And you just come and distress man,
F***ing up my game plan,
Like it aint shit fam,
You got any idea who I f***ing am?”…
“Sorry bruv I didn’t even see you,
I’m just passing through,
Should’ve been looking where I was going,
But I was showing,
My friend dis new game on my phone,
We were just in the zone,
Looking at the new modern combat,
It was an accident blud, ‘low dat”…
“Now ya taking man fi eeeddiat,
There’s no way I’m gonna ‘low dat,
Bruv, d’ya fink I am sum fool from your endz?
Me and you aint no pussy claart friends?
Show me da game you was playing,
Bruv I aint saying,
This s*** twice,
Pass me da phone and everyting will be nice,
Every actions got a price,
And yours is about to pay,
Bruv don’t f*** wit me today”…
“I’m sorry man, but I can’t give you my phone,
My mum bought this and she does fings on her own,
Moneys really tight bruv… she would kill me,
I said I was sorry.. I fink you should just chill ‘G’,
This was just a misunderstanding, no harm done,
Bruv.. me and my friend was just having some fun,
I bounced you by accident and I said I was sorry fam,
Come on bruv.. I’m gonna be late for my exam”…
“Do I look like I give a s*** about your f***ing day?
You come bounce me and f***ed up my play,
I got shit to do and tings haf fi run,
You slowed me down son,
So for dat you have to pay…ya feel me?
Bruv don’t p*** me off, this is what da deal be,
Give me da phone and keep passing through,
Otherwise I’m gonna cut you,
Is dat clear bro?,
Good …ya dun know”…
“OK man I hear that.. but dis aint right,
I didn’t bounce you looking for no fight,
I’m just on my way to school..don’t want no beef,
Bruv dis s*** aint fair I don’t need dis grief,
It was an accident plain and simple.. dats it,
I aint got time for this s***,
Im going to School bruv dis s*** is dun,
I aint the one”….
He went to leave; tried to run past,
But the other guy was way too fast,
And he didn’t even see the shank,
Until everything went blank…
One minute he was laughing and walking
Stepping and Talking,
And not looking where he was going,
Next minute his blood was flowing,
All over the street,
His life changed in a heartbeat,
Another youth lost to the concrete…
Sorry… i just wanted to drop this one too…as its recently written in the last 2 weeks and is like a narrative of what can happen straight out of the blue and is written in the turn of phrase that our younger generation can relate to..so excuse the language please!!
Halim Flowers (USA) © April 2013
For Colored Girls
Girls come in all colors
Not just the colors of their skin
Girls have different hues
Beautiful ugly things they secure in.
Some girls are insecure
Concealing wounds that beat them blue
Fists of an unfit lover
Purple bruises within their souls too..
Optimism inspires her smiles
When little girls are still green
Before colored girls become colored
And the cruel world shatters their dreams…
Some colored girls are white
Some colored girls are brown
Some colored girls still believe in love
Some will never trust a sound….
Men think colored girls are crazy
Because they can’t grasp a colored girls pain
Most men are too stupid to know
That verbal/emotional/physical abuse is all the same…..
Colored girls cry a lot
Because colored girls are not numb
They are alive to all the chauvinistic stereotypes
That little boys use to make them feel dumb……
Some colored girls see all black
They think it would be better if they were dead
Some blossomed prematurely by trusted molesting hands
So some see raging red…….
They portray colored girls as mean and vicious
Due to their ignorance of her hurt
So they keep saying she’s crazy
Just to neglect the gray tears on her shirt……..
Halim A. Flowers
Katie Rendon © April 2013
Halim A Flowers, beautiful piece that speaks to me.
I’m going to follow your lead by replying with a poem that I recently had published in Soul Vomit: Beating Domestic Violence. What She is Worth
He says he values her.
He picks the gold dust from
every chamber of her heart,
leaving no silver lining.
Bankrupts every branch of
her olive bearing gestures.
He bounces every
check she balances.
He treasures her.
He picks diamonds
from her tears
and rubies from
busted, bleeding lips.
He mines sapphires
with the back of his hand.
Leaves emeralds at the mouth
of cavernous eyes.
He needs her.
He harvests her every grain,
slurps the last drops
from her reservoir,
gorges himself on the fruits
of her labour,
He needs her.
He sucks the air
from her lungs,
plants his seeds
into her womb.
She sustains him,
though he will never comprehend,
what she is worth.
Alicia Patterson © April 2013
I can’t believe it.
Where are the words I’m normally breathing?
The words that give me life
That give me strength.
The phrases of my soul that give me reason.
I just can’t find them.Are they trapped in my cerebral?
Waiting to be be transmitted to my frontal lobe.
Well I need you Dear LMNOP.
To help me find the makings of me.
Dear Phrases, Are You Hiding?
Well come out where ever you are.
No time for games.
My words are like knights
They need to spar
Just like “u” and “i”.
But right now they are MIA
And I don’t know why.
Could they be…..
Stuck in a world of depression and sin.
Or lost in a cloud of smoke and just can’t see in.
Or just can’t get through being blocked by doubt.
Trapped in a whirlwind and just can’t spin out.
Dear words, I miss you.You are so special to my being. And being without you is detrimental to my seeing, hearing and yeah even touch. Being without you is like Yogi Bear without his lunch.
I’m at a loss for words.
I feel like my world is being rocked. I’m at a loss feeling my whole world is
Lana Joseph © April 2013
Embrace me my love
hold me in your smiling soul
please don’t let me go
Let’s not grow apart
This Interlocking bound love
is sent from above
Our bond is not sex
it’s that spiritual lust kind
a blessing to find
Captivating love bliss
this is the real raw jones thing
it’s not often seen
let me love you hard
we have been given God’s gift
it’s rare and priceless
love can be scary
sometimes it’s overwhelming
God sanctioned this one
Copyright © 2013-07-04 LJ
All Rights Reserved.