Poetry by Claude Robert Hill, IV.

 

 ‘Ode to the African American Babies.’        

Gangsta Overseers

Cowards are walking the streets with blindfolds.
Making that cash
Robbing that ass
killing the now silent babies.
The babies of a deafening community ear
That stands by, without the common sense
To hear the tears and the whispers of deaths on the horizon.
So focused on gaining material shit
bit by bit….
Boom! Boom! Boom! Here goes the next hit.
Everyone is an equal opportunity mark for the coward’s ball.
The events of all events rid us of the pulse.
The blood of community renewal in slow motion free fall.
I am losing the strength to stand
up against the fatherless and motherless black man
The prisons perform their Oliver and Twist,
While coroners whose heads bowed heavily after examining slit wrists.
The Muted Resistance

Peoples of color have surrender the fight,
The means to congregate on the hills of a grander sight
‘I have a dream’ has been pissed and dissed on and now a sore blight
on a promise that once had longevity and the seal of civil rights.
Now that ‘civil’ is laid to rest on hollow graves of a future silenced forever.

Live every fucking voice and sing… what?
This is the fairy tale of a separatist lies…
As the world withers up like a green herb tree and people fall into darkness.
The kings and queens of selectivity choose to save their riches and stuff.
There is no consideration for the alternative ‘instead’ to stop the mass bounty of violence on our babies’ head.
The greatest ransom for the days ahead is the closed mouth;
that performed its sinister acts of chi-town death and self dread;
to initiate the final measure of  a community on the edge.
The death march is blasting to a madness festering in the head.                               An unwillingness to
stop the angel of death from performing the ultimate sanction…
The genocide of the colored soul has reached its stereotypical and statistical conclusions.
Upon the dying wastelands of where the ‘Civil’ of the 1960s once tread.
Now a little baby girl lays dead.
‘Is There No Country Named Safe?’ 

 

Wars always claim our most precious blood.

Our future’s seed.

Our Children’s feet.

Days never walked by hope and innovative dreams.

Birthed by our ONE heart.

Our need to take from others.

Our private property ideologies.

We use religion as a designated driver.

Not even drunk though.

Let me take that back.

Very Drunk on what we perceive to be the only way.

Your kids!

My Kids!

Lying dead there in the streets.

All over disputed land.

All this land is the property of Mother Earth after all.

Don’t you know that land is made of me?

Don’t you know that land is made of you?

Our histories connected together over thousands of years

is buried under that strip of land.

No man has the right to kill our children.

No man has the right to kill his brothers.

No man has the right to kill his sisters.

No man has the right to kill his Father.

No man has the right to kill his Mother.

We are all ‘ONE’ after all.

The SAME COSMIC BREATH!

Inhale my Brothas and Sistas!

Exhale my Brothas and Sistas!

Each of our breaths was formed from Uniting Peace.

‘Peace’ is who we actually are.

We have just forgotten where we placed our HEART!

Our Heart was forged in many cosmic stars!

We are all ‘ONE’ after all.

Descendants of that sought after land.

We are its struggles!

We are its mustard seeds!

We are its STANDING FEET!

We give ourselves separating names.

Separating nations.

We create our own pain.

A pain that does not have TO BE!

Let us bring back together the Days of FREE!

Jews and Muslims originated from the SAME Family.

We all MUST be celebrated equally in grand LOVE!

There is no one better than the other.

Let us not war with our military might.

Let us talk from our human hearts instead.

Still, I haven’t found a country out there named ‘SAFE’ yet!

 

 

‘You Got CEO Swag.’

You got that CEO Swag.                                                                                           Hustling your inner beast.                                                                                               Channeling your many dreams.                                                                                   Laying down goals disguised as roots.                                                                             Your future is waiting for you.                                                                                                As the sun leaves its shiny cues;                                                                                          that you are perfect as you are.                                                                                            Let the Brothas and Sistas pay attention to how you fight and win,                                                                                              even fail at times.                                                                                                                 You are a mentor needed in these toughest times.                                                                You are a hero of our times.                                                                                                     I only stopped by to give you some positive rhymes                                                   because you are worth the time.

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