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APRIL WRITE 2013 – Day 28 – Free Verse 4

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Welcome to Day 28 of the April Write 2013: A new era begins

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Today is our fourth and final – Free Verse Sunday. Our journey thus far has been an awe inspiring ride and there is still more to come in the next few days. 

Remember that if you have not be able to write or read all the days don’t stress, the page will be here for you to continue to add to the challenges or to go back and read the contributions which already grace this page. 

As you are aware on Free Verse Sundays there is not a topic or specific challenge set, as it is a day for you to ‘just do you’. The only thing we ask is that no erotica is posted today and it is added to its space and time on Freaky Friday, of which we have had 3 this year. 

So with all that said, it’s over to you to grace the page with your words and thoughts for today. 

Stay Focused, Stay Strong and Much Love to you all ♥ Marina

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3 responses »

  1. Zita Holbourne (c) April 2013

    My Black Is Beauty Full

    She shouted; My black is beautiful!
    MY. BLACK. IS. BEAUTY. FULL!
    Attacks on it are institutional
    Designed to make her feel inferior
    But as well as beautiful she has a tough exterior
    Her black has been denigrated
    She’s been discriminated
    Against because of the colour of her skin
    Sometimes even by her own kin
    Treated as though the smooth sheen
    Makes her an inferior human being
    At home they called her the ugly one
    Never considering the damage done
    To her confidence and self esteem
    At school they didn’t seem
    To recognise her beauty
    Never a princess always a tree
    In the school productions she longed to play
    A part that put her beauty on display
    But indoctrinated with the belief
    That she was worthless she embraced her grief
    Silently assuming she had no right
    And kept her beauty out of sight
    Covering up with clothing
    Secretly loathing
    Her appearance and being
    She stopped believing
    In herself and her ability
    Regarded her skin colour as a disability
    When doors closed and opportunity didn’t knock
    She decided to lock
    Herself away cut off from others
    No friends no lovers
    Her family worried and now feeling guilty
    Far too late realised they’d acted disgracefully
    Ashamed they purchased tickets for a flight
    Reluctantly she travelled in the night
    Where at least she could remain hidden
    Under the night flight lights dim
    She awoke apprehensive of what this new place might bring
    As she peered down below over the plane’s wing
    She saw golden sands that glistened against
    The turquoise sea on the descent
    So inviting she longed to be there
    Then sadly remembered she would have to bare
    Her ugliness to do so
    And knew she’d never go
    What happened when she arrived
    She could never have believed
    In the airport at first she didn’t realise
    That the beautiful people before her eyes
    Had the same dark skin she had
    She was just glad
    To be surrounded by such uplifting
    People smiling and insisting
    That she have a wonderful stay
    Complementing her on her way
    One woman told her mother she was blessed to have a daughter
    With so beautiful a complexion
    At first she didn’t make the connection
    That the daughter
    was in fact her
    Young men eyed her with admiration
    Older men looked on with resignation
    Wishing they were 20 or 30 years younger
    Young women looked enviously at her
    And slowly she began to recognise
    The attention bestowed on her and realise
    That she must in fact not be so ugly after all
    Especially when the young men lined up to call
    At her grandmother’s house where they came to stay
    And every day she heard her say
    The words she first said when they got there
    ‘I used to have the beauty you have my dear’
    ‘Now I am old and your are young’
    ‘Your black is beautiful dear one’
    And now she could believe it was true
    Each day here she grew
    Amongst her people blessed by the sun’s glow
    This place fitted her like a glove
    And it was here she found her first love
    And as they sat on golden sands and watched the sun set
    She became overwhelmed and leapt
    To her feet with joy in a daze
    She danced in and out of the waves
    In her new bikini flung her arms up in the air
    She felt no sorrow or fear
    And shouted loudly ‘My black is beautiful’
    ‘MY. BLACK. IS. BEAUTY. FULL!’

    Zita Holbourne, Poet-Artist-Activist

    Reply
  2. Donna Parkinson (c) April 2013

    URBAN ENSLAVEMENT

    Inner-city insurgents on a covert operation,
    Tooled up for Society’s condemnation,
    The streets germination,
    Morphs into the demobilization,
    Of surrounding turf,
    For what it’s worth,
    Our neighbourhoods are undergoing a re-birth,
    We are witnessing postcode purging,
    And what is actually emerging,
    Is a grotesque disfigurement of civilisation,
    Apparently it’s called urbanisation,
    Growth, change, advancement,
    The enhancement,
    Of cultures,
    Yet look around at the circling vultures,
    Waiting to swoop in on whatever might remain,
    They suck from the very vein,
    Pick at the brain,
    Without refrain,
    Can you feel the pain?
    Wake up! This is the ghetto not the great African plain,
    And we aint at the top of the food chain,
    This mission is destined to fail,
    This is urban cleansing on a global scale,
    The powers that be,
    Hold us in captivity,
    Within our concrete jungle confines,
    The hoods bloodlines,
    Flow freely through the heart of the street,
    And with every non-consequential heartbeat,
    The establishment are riveted at their window seat,
    Engrossed in the way we follow their definitive plan,
    Yes this is ….The white collar con man,
    Using us as a means to extinguish what they ultimately despise,
    Making us the catalytic agent in our own demise,
    Pseudo submissives at the hands of perceptive puppeteers,
    Unassuming volunteers,
    Disenfranchised youth moulded into weapons of mass destruction,
    Completely wiping out our communities production,
    Genocide on the inner city pavement,
    Urban enslavement,
    Not progression,
    A kind of ‘person’ linear regression,
    0x + 1 = 2….. It’s an impossible equation,
    As the invasion,
    Continues on its course of action,
    Sating the satisfaction,
    Of the slave master,
    And this whole thing spreads faster,
    Than nuclear fall out,
    Cos it’s all about,
    The survival of the fittest; supremacy and power,
    And this is the day, this is the hour,
    That we need to recognise,
    This warzone is right in front of our eyes,
    And we live it day by day,
    This was always meant to be the way,
    And we constantly play,
    Into ‘the hand’ that’s feeds us,
    The institution that bleeds us,
    Is winning the battle, holding ground,
    While we stupidly think that we have found,
    Our strength, Our place,
    And they sit back and laugh in our face,
    As we do their bidding,
    Who the fuck do they think they are kidding?
    Not me,
    For I see,
    This for what it is….. Urban Enslavement,
    Step up my youths and disengage from the pavement.

    Reply
  3. Halim Flowers (c) April 2013

    Free Verse

    I just wanted to share something
    Something pure inside of me
    SOmething not seeking to inflate my ego
    Or accumulate anything considered “Wealth”
    Nor anything that could be conceived as tangible
    I just wanted to give her something that would
    Probably uplift her
    Not because she was downtrodden
    Just to show her for a moment that the sky was never a limit
    That there was no limit to how much i was sure
    That she should be appreciated
    I just wanted to give something
    To her from me that was Selfless
    Something that was applaudible
    But I didn’t want to do it for the crowd
    I just wanted to give her something that was personal
    Simple
    But yet with the hopes of being perceived as Great
    By her alone
    Because I am sure she is a great woman
    And I just wanted her to be sure that I was grateful
    Because being thankful was something greater than love
    Because I could not find the words to express how much I admire her
    So
    This was my attempt to give her something…….

    Halim A. Flowers (c) 2013
    For Angela Edgar

    Reply

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