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Black People | BlackQueen - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Black People | BlackQueen

Black People
We are smart
We are brilliant
We are bright
Black People
We get judged
And shot
And mistaken—
Mistaken for being dangerous in the very comfort of our own home
Mistaken for being dangerous just walking down the street
Dangerous even while delivering packages because we are UPS drivers,
as it clearly says on our uniforms
Black People
They hate our color,
But love our culture
Black People
We see those who copy our hair,
listen to our music,
want to be a part of our culture,
but won’t stand up for us when times aren’t right
Black People
70,000 of us MISSING in the country,
But very few of those cases are in the news
Black People
We get SHOT because the phone in our hand is mistaken for a gun—
Black People
We aren’t allowed to be sad
To feel depressed
To have feelings
Black People
We don’t get hired because our names sound too “black”
And when we are hired, it’s for diversity
And we get fired for bringing cultural concerns up on the job
Black People
We are
Mistreated
Not trusted
“Dangerous”
A threat
We are “animals”
We are hated
We are Black People
And we are people.
We don’t deserve to be treated like animals
We shouldn’t be hated
We shouldn’t be judged based on the color of our skin
We deserve a fair chance at life
We deserve to be loved
We deserve to live
And prosper
And be happy
We are black people, and we deserve better, because
We are People.

Freak Out - A Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Freak Out – A Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

A poet
who says no to a thought
or denies an impulse
to start
pouring forth,
is not a poet at all,
but a fool
and a coward.

A poet
that censors the psyche
or strangles the soul’s
attempt
to release,
is not a poet, but
a bureaucrat
and a gum in the works.

A poet
that ignores intuition
or stops at a crescendo,
is not a poet, but
a killer of music
and murderer of art.

A poet
that loses the rhythm
or screws up the template
just on the verge
of hitting the high note,
is not a poet, but
a masochist
and a sadist
and a freak
and a future aborted.

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.

Not Perfect - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Not Perfect – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

There is the never-ending
story, cause and effect,
how they were killed,
which community they belong to,
these are never-ending
stories which are called
narratives, fables, myths
and repositories of media news. Let’s go and report
these fascinating facts
build analogies, anachronisms as they happen creating untold truth,
writing our searing
memories away in old-fashioned armchairs, throwing those precious
brickbats at one another.
This is hype. Newspaper reports, media newscasts.
The other is type.
Death in earthquakes, floods, famine.
In these stories we do not
worry, as we have less control.
Human beings after all are not perfect.

Evidence - A Poem by Krushna Chandra Mishra - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Evidence – A Poem by Krushna Chandra Mishra

Wherefrom, you tell me,
Shall I collect evidence
On my complete ruin in your hands
Once you in all cunning
Have erased everything
From coming to be used against you
To put me back in my place
From where in utter grief and loss
I stand displaced and perplexed?

Now thus once again
On your calculated return to me
I have nothing more to ask
Except to once in concrete terms
Explain to me how and in what conditions
You sought to withdraw from my life
To keep your shadow constantly troubling me
To my utter despair and ruin
From the dark abyss of which perhaps
Never in this life
I think I shall recover for sure.

Evidence it is
I am beside you and here
Not demanding anything except
Finding you broken and lost and groping
For something you know
You will never be able to lay
Your crazy hands upon.

Gin Thing - A Poem by G. S. Katz - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Gin Thing – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Last night I had a gin gimlet
Usually prone to bourbon or Irish whiskey
Departed from the norm
Took a lovely journey to clear spirits
Helped my mood
Became floaty and optimistic
instead of the usual dulling down of the senses
A drink before dinner, centers me
Gin races through my system
Euphoric
Everything’s gonna be alright
It’s a gin thing babe

Voodoo Doll - A Poem by Ananya Dhawan and Sanchit Goel - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Voodoo Doll – A Poem by Ananya Dhawan and Sanchit Goel

She’s darkened art,
an almost human (one might say),
a conjurer of charms so terrific,
of love and hate
and magic, prolific.

With pins and needles
Sticking out of her heart
She is hypnotizing humanity
right from the start.
A spiritual figure for luck and charm,
if fitly used, she means no harm.
I marvel at her sinister décor,
a bald head and eyes that lure

Is she the one to avenge wrong doers?
Or is she the one being avenged for?
With soothing colors that killed her soul,
Pulling everything around like a warm hole.
The doll that makes little ones smile,
Is all set to cause fear in their eyes.

If what they say is actually true,
Voodoo is her thing,
The doll is just for fools.
Then maybe we should burn her,
Put her in a ball of fire,
While her colors turn to ash,
We might just see her true desires.

Who Am I? - A Poem by Sanchit Goel - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Who Am I? – A Poem by Sanchit Goel

I am the extrovert who keeps to himself.
I think about myself before anyone else.
I look myself in the mirror for myself.
I talk to you but about me.
I selflessly extend my hand when yours is full.
I am the introvert who only believes in extroversion.

I am kind and gentle in most extraordinary ways.
In a way that I appear when you need me the most.
It is most unlikely that I might be of use.
I am soft and trusted when you whisper your secrets.
Your secrets are mine, but mine are distrusted.
I am rude and harsh in the face of self-beliefs.

I am courageous to the cowardly.
I stand up to them who can’t stand up for themselves.
My strength in my arms is a symbol of size.
My strength in my heart is nowhere found.
I protect myself from external disasters.
I am a coward to all the internal monsters.

Am I the face that they recognise?
Am I the name that they plagiarize?
Who am I or what am I?
Am I not to ever understand in this lifetime?
Am I human being that counts?
Or am I just another package of weight?
Who am I?

More at http://pepperscript.com/.

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