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In Your Face

In your face.
And scrutinized on a daily basis,
That should not take place with such curiosity.
But it does with the getting of attention.

I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.

With a dignity I wear my identity to expose.
I have never had a wish to be depicted as a stereotype,
To appease those who are white to please appetites.
Not me I am happy to be who I am.

And then there are those who wish to be viewed,
As 'good' Negroes.
With obedience and subservience,
Served to those they'd rather not upset.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Without Human Fragrance

No scenery can be complete without human fragrance
Emotions, sadness and happiness must show its presence
All living natural things can depict the scene
But adding of beautiful lady with smile can artistically seen

Nature brings smile with advent of sun
Life too begins with hectic activities and run
Whole cay can be passed of easily with nice welcome
If smile is offered then happiness is bound to come

This is natural law and can be changed by none
Its presence and essence ahs to be shared by everyone
There is no dominance of whatsoever or any kind
That lives as live impression in mind

Every time I raise my thoughts to certain level
They give encouragement and certainly excel
I can’t exclude female figure from natural beauty
It comes before eyes as beautiful presentation from almighty

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Robust Thruster

I love life.
And the mystery of not knowing what comes next.
Like a roller coaster ride one takes.
A robust thruster,
With thrills absent of brakes.

Coming to take my breath away...
To leave me to recover,
As the adrenaline within me shakes.
This...
Is the life I love!
To experience like no other,
Animation made...
Within my mental state to date.

Teased and filled and free of safe escapes.
Adventurous is my mind,
When these moments come!
With temptation that persuades.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stealthed

Everything has been labelled,
To tag and remember.
As an implantation done.
And historically forbidden,
To forgive and forget...
By anyone.

Names of importance,
Given to please an aristocracy.
And nicknames chosen...
To depict those less 'dignified'.
With disrespect and atrocities.

While those attached,
And living to be dispatched...
Were convinced to match,
Themselves with crap...
And disgarded trash.

This 'experimentation' would last.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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True Poetry in Limelight

True poetry is filled with;
true inspiration,
true expression,
true composition,
true fun,
true-maturity,
true wisdom,
and true spirituality.

True poetry; deeply translate its true expression to the readers,
providing an unusual mutual extension which connects and familiarize its profuse massages to the reader.

True poetry has great powers of profundity
and unadulterated knowledge.

I keep hearing the saying; ‘plenty poetry lay in the graveyards'
but I don't give into that, because;
true poetry is like a moving destiny, its never lost or buried away.

No matter how beautifully engraved the grave is;

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poem by King Femi Oloidi
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Blinded By Design

Blinded by design.
A condition so effective...
Whatever comes next for them,
Few will accept.
And most will reject.
Especially those opposed to facing truths.
Since the feasting of historic concepts...
Have only been fed to them,
With the only best...
Of tasty deceptions.

Blinded by design,
And the majority are fine about it!
Or were...
Until just recently.
A disturbance regarding their finances,
Has cause their eyes to open wide!
Leaving many traumaticized in disbelief.

And even though the sky is falling...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Secrets 4

Second: secrets of (and this is hard to translate)
secrets of estate-water-fountain secrets-for lack of a better term
secrets which pertain to people in the flow of it all
unaffected by the course of desire
of woes never having never been earned per se
what might be an example? Let's see:
that so and so is getting a yellow slip,
that so and so is up to her ears in debt,
that someone is not well:
these must be conserved for half a year
under pain of the most abysmal Karma
and leaked to no more than two informees
themselves bid to secrecy for a similar time
the better to slow the secret's progress through a curious world-
the better to calm the snakes, to calm their hissing.
Conducting these secrets, one must burn the ghostly berries of mistletoe
Don't ask me why, I didn't make the rules,
I am just repeating what I read.

But the third kind of secret

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poem by Morgan Michaels
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Seconds to Go

If today was going to be your last day
What would someone like you do and say?
Would you spend your day with family and friends?
Putting the past behind and making amends
Talking to each of them like never before
Whilst the angel of death waits at the door
Would you shake hands with your enemy?
Telling them it’s your fault and that you’re sorry
Would they accept your apology or decline?
Blatantly refusing and pulling out the nine
Would you spend your last day in silence?
Watching the deaths due to the senseless violence
Men killing due to the colour of ones skin
Passing on bitter hatred to the next of kin
Would you spend your last day trying to preach?
Finding the deaf, dumb and blind to teach
Showing them that life isn’t about disbelief
Guiding the people towards the holy road to relief
Would you spend your day before a higher entity?
With the call for prayer you’ll listen intently

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poem by Yassar Ali
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You Will Come To Know The Obvious

Why is that crowd over there...
Backed up into a corner.
Bickering.
AND pointing fingers at one another?

'Well...
As the story goes...
They had been the movers and shakers.
Determined many years ago,
That they would advance themselves...
By chosing people to depict as their enemies.'

Enemies?

'Yep!
As the story goes.
Now they have become a fixture around here,
As a reference to those days long gone.
And also...
Folks come from all over the globe,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why am i still here

Am I besides myself about the thoughts of the future
Or reminicing upon frivolous times of the past
That even through all the loneliness I believe I'm inlove
We sleep on seperate sides of the bed
And the longest conversation we've ever had, is when we argue
The words you said will stain me like a tattoe
Where everytime you walk away feels like nothing new
As if its something I never knew
When you said you loved me, yes loved...
Was that true? , or just something you said not to come across rude
Why am I here?
When that wedding ring you wear feels like a burden
While I embrace our vows, its like making a promise to the devil
You say you love me, when your eyes depict a perfect lie
In public we the perfect couple
In closed doors I wish we were in public
You've taught me how to hate when all I ever did was love
Without my consent you aborted my only child
Why am I still here?
Why am I still here?

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poem by Kgagamatso Chimelwane
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